Guess who’s back, bitches!
(Using that phrase purely for power-drama. I think very highly of you all.)
To start with, thank you for your moral support/commiseration/technical advice on that very articulate Error 12 post. I’m happy to announce that WE ARE IN THE CLEAR! And in fact, I’ve nearly finished playing Gumby’s generation, so now comes a crapload of writing. Enjoy!
The fate of the family is now rests on… a guy who still creeps around like a grounded teenager.
Gumby: I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Polly.
Polly: Don’t tell me what to do! Go to your room!
This is it! THE LAST MELON— er, chapter of the generation. In 73 short screenshots, we will finally be moving on. As if the universe couldn’t stand for that to happen, I slammed my left hand in a car door yesterday. Soooo we’re gonna find out how funny I can be while typing one-handed.
Spoiler alert: Not very.
We’ll begin with Motherless Mandrake a.k.a. Mediocre Mandrake a.k.a. Lettuce Loins Langurd. Despite all the unfortunate titles, he has a new flirt.
Mandrake: What am I wearing right now? Well, it’s hard to explain.
The lucky guy is Rickey Lynne-Hudson, born of simself incest. He was dating my own simself’s son for a while, but little Andrew got his ass dumped. That’s my boy!
Lt. Surge: Greetings, scum. As the master of this household, I have taken over narration duties for the time being. The coup was easy; Sam is a creature of very little willpower, known to melt in the presence of cats. She lets us sleep in her clean laundry and chew on her headphone cords because she doesn’t have the heart to tell us no. All I had to do was sit up here and make this face, and she immediately bumped my picture to the top of the chapter. Pathetic.