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!
Hello again! Seems like all I do these days is blog. Just as it should be, since I checked the archives and apparently this generation alone has taken me over a year to write. How? HOW? That’s 1/3 of the time this blog has been alive. What is it about Katana’s children that have made things so difficult?
Don’t answer that.
Thanks again to everyone who read the birthday posts. I know it was a lot to get through, but the party isn’t over! Oh no, keep your dancing feet warm because it’s Christmas in July! This post would have made sense if I’d stuck to the schedule dammit
Teqeq: Do you like what I’ve done with my hair? I hear chicks dig the flow.
And since Snowflake Day is a time for family, we invited all the relatives we could think of. Birth certificates/paternity tests required at the door.
You know how when people live together, their cycles sync up? Apparently, I’ve been “living” with the Langurds for too long, because I’m experiencing a severe case of simulative synchrony. (Why yes, I coined that term myself just now.)
Just like Boa, Lira, and the rest, your Director of Shenanigans is now officially a Gryffindor graduate! Discovery: the door clusterfuck is a myth. In fact, the whole process was highly streamlined and efficient and the worst nightmare of a socially awkward person. Why am I telling you guys this? I’m pretty sure 80% of my readership is older and more life-experienced than I am. Which is an interesting story, but seeing as I haven’t finished this one…
Howdy, partner! No, actually, I refuse to start a chapter that way even in jest. Instead, let me start it by saying I BOUGHT THE SIMS 4! It was on for half price, and—having over-budgeted for groceries for the year—I thought I would treat myself. You know, to make up for those nights when I had a microwaved potato and some vanilla frosting for dinner. I made one sim, put her in a lot, then got bored and quit. But that’s okay, because my attention span right now is about as broad as a WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME, I have to go watch Game of Thrones.
In the Land of Langurds, Dax’s death reminded me that Katana is no spring chicken herself—nor, for that matter, is she a seasoned chicken traveler as she set out to become so long ago. For shame. You might say that Old Peabrain gave us the little push we needed to seek greatness. However, he also gave us a bunch of shitty moodlets to hinder the pursuit of said greatness.
But you know, sometimes the first stage of grief is “press a button and magically get over it.”
Katana: Wow, I’m not sad anymore. Oh wait… I never was.
Holy moly, generation three! I’ve been procrastinating writing this because it actually feels like progress. Until I remember that I started this legacy 18 months ago, not to mention I started attempting legacies when I was a preteen. Then it just feels pathetic.
A quick note: Thank you all for voting in the heir poll! In case you missed the mini-post, Katana won. By a landslide. Lance did so poorly I’m tempted to rookie haze her.
Another note: School has returned with a vengeance, but this time my courses are all—would you believe it?—really enjoyable, so it’s gonna be a challenge on more than one level to tear myself away and procrastiblog. Yes, I am kidding myself. I will, of course, be shirking my studies wherever possible. Still, when your prof integrates this video into a lecture in a meaningful way, you can’t not do the readings.
I DIGRESS (as per usual). Time to kick this generation’s ass. But first, a word from our retiring torchbearers…
Arabella: Peace at last! I am so relieved I could just fart sparkles!
Razor: I am honoured to be a part of this manly, manly picture.
Fun fact—I call them “retiring torchbearers” but neither has fulfilled a LTW as of yet,
because they are useless because their LTW’s are a bitch and a half. Thus, as sick of them as we may be, they still have some screen time to look forward to.