Day 2 – The Celebrity Affliction – (July 14th, 2011)
Our little balding Ewok, tuckered out from a hard night of verbally assaulting depressed middle-aged housewives and shuffleboard with a VtM LARPer, gets some well-earned rest.
OK a quick story. Marty McFly drives backward in time to August 27th, 1963. Marty’s rounding a corner in his anachronistic outfit, not looking where he’s going when he slams into a running man. Both men tumble backwards to their backsides. A couple pieces of paper land in Marty’s lap, that the running man was carrying. In the distance in the direction the other man came from, you can see a couple men are aggressively running at them.
They subdue the man Marty knocked over and shout at him, “where is it man? Where is it? We know you took it or you wouldn’t be running, Louis!”
Marty looks at the papers- on it is a speech, and right at the top, ‘by Martin Luther King, jr.’
Marty looks at Louis and shouts,
“Hey man, that’s nacho dream!”
After that, Chester dreamed of a lot of random shit. A butterfly, some garbage with flies on it, matrimony, a stick of butter, a chick with a facial pack, swaddled hair and cucumbers over her eyes (what), but he had reoccuring instances of the following two things:
He dreamed of a new house nearly constantly, to which I have to say GET A FUCKING JOB FATTY. Less frequent than dreaming of a new house but still dominant, he dreamed of the criminal career track. Which could possibly earn him enough to a bigger, better house.
Actually getting out of the house for some gainful employment is not a highlighted activity for the omega goon. You just don’t get it so you might as well get out.
Chewy rises from his unholy slumber about quarter to 9am. That’s really early for the standards we’ve got for him to be sure.
And for his first order of business…
…straight to instant messenger.
He’s making friends with ‘Johnny Jones’.
Ok cool whatever.
FINALLY. Go put some clothes on you ungodly beast.
Ooo, I hope he’s going to fry some bacon in the near nude, and there’s dire consequences for it.
No, he just produced a bowl of some greenish shit from the fridge…
The tooltip says it’s ‘canned soup’, and it looks like some kind of bowtie chicken noodle.
And yes, I did work with the camera a while to ensure a horrid crotch-shot. The boy’s hung like a teenage Olympic gymnast girl.
Well, no deathdishes in this house just yet it seems.
It appears our boy is innately hygenic, too.
Hygiene is exciting!
His shower’s finished, and those familiar with normal Sim activities will notice a thing here. He didn’t emerge fully dressed.
Chester gives no fuck.
He gives no fuck about anything. At least he’s playing something other than that horrid football loop. I also see that the game is Burnout: Paradise. The audio loop is just some shitty throwaway digital music, which is actually a lost opportunity. A Simlish DJ Atomika would’ve been the perfect storm of irritation.
He took a moment to piss, then came back upstairs to babble some more on messenger. It is now 5pm. On a TUESDAY.
Damn… this is the third celebrity he’s met online. Either our chunky boy here is pretty slick and knows the right people to talk with, or this world’s a bit top-heavy with ‘celebrities’.
Ok, 7pm struck, the sun has set, and we’re left with a lovely, posturized purple sky, like we needed a reminder of how skyboxes looked in games from 1998.
Chester, your angry, Old Testament god is driving you out of your god damn house to go do something.
This sounds and looks like a disco-stupid place to go.
Chester once again demonstrates his amazing skills of teleportation, this time with a twist! He can instantly, fully dress on occasion.
I’m kind of jealous, of that.
And just when you think the powers couldn’t get cooler:
First, he hauls so much ass that he overtakes the taxi. THEN, he Kitty Pride’s THROUGH the fucking thing.
Here we are, at Disco Dan’s Sax Man Mammajam.
Woo! Some of you social network savvy know this already happened.
Chester’s waiting for the next elevator, standing next to THIS polished machine of class and culture. She happens to be a four-star celebrity.
I have a suspicion that this lobby juxtaposition, will be exemplary of the difference in taste in threads Chester will have with the rest of the club patrons.
They pack in with what looks like Billy Crystal trying to look discreet as possible.
Chester however thinks he might be Woody Allen, with a bad coloring job.
The tooltip said he ‘Whines about Life’ to her… let’s see if she’ll stay thinking he’s okay.
Nothing. She walks off.
Chester decides he wants to try talking with one of the goth bouncer ladies.
Something’s odd about this one.
Well they’re getting along. That’s one strike against her character.
Her eyes are weird…
But, she doesn’t have fangs. Eh, this is a buggy game right?
He tries his luck asking to get in, but gets shut down. Celebrity status of some degree, is a requisite.
Chester heads to the bar, and look who’s there! It’s Neon Rockets from the dive bar lobby!
Now there’s the typical hot female reaction to goon proximity we know and appreciate.
Chester orders up. Let’s see what testament this drink will be to his masculinity.
Woah dude, either she works the place, or she’s a total sociopath about to go Courtney Love on the place.
That right there is the bartender fucking up a cocktail toss and shattering it on the floor. And who knows what the hell Walks With Bright Headlamps is up to.
This is just one of those moments that is seminal to the Sims series. It’s like a pinata that’s constantly breaking open and spewing weird moments everywhere.
Ok, she’s countertop dancing, and Kanye’s giving another shot at drinkjutsu.
The drink pulsates with electricity bolts, but it appears Chester, being just a man, is enjoying the free show behind Kanye.
Aww, show’s over, and it was getting a real David Lynch feeling to it, too.
This chick’s pure class.
With his drink downed, maybe he’s got up some nerve and he’s going to get smooth with the ladies on the dance floor?
No. Apparently he is not going to be smooth, in the slightest.
This is like, a brief interpretive dance allegorizing the rational people (the lady) and the entrenched, misogynist male when he posts a thread validating the Ladder Theory with personal, anecdotal experience.
Then in response to Chester’s absurd introductory belligerence, she chats him up about normal shit, and they start befriending. At least we get to see what she looks like without her face screwed up in rage.
She’s also incidentally a slight celebrity. Chester has met more celebrities than mundane folks.
Chester decides he wants nachos… from the section of the bar he was denied earlier.
After rejecting his ass, she puts on her best Nurse Ratchett face to deny Chester’s dance partner, because she’s only a pissant one-star celebrity.
He apparently thought about trying to jump the rope, but the bouncer put the brakes on that notion.
Meanwhile out in the hallway, this lady has a slight mental breakdown.
Christ, she’s flipping out. Well, there’s more expression in this sparingly coded emotional state than you’ll see in a career’s worth of the CtrlAltDel comic, at least.
Icing on the cake?
As Chester tears by, he develops a good mood from witnessing Katrina’s misery.
Rejected, hungry and tired, Chester heads home.
Up in the lobby, Coyote Ugly still has to piss, and I think that’s Xtina Aguilera.
M-I-C, K-E-Y, you’re a skanky girl.
And in a great and completely Internet male finishing note for the day, Chester, who ate cold canned soup for breakfast, is having cereal at midnight after tanking up at the bar.
‘Internet male’ who am I kidding. We’ve all been there.