On my last blog about this game, one of you asked me how I made my Sims millionaires, so I figured I'd spread the wealth. I opened the cheat box by holding down Ctrl+Shift+c. Once that's open, you type in "Motherlode" and instantly receive 50,000 simoleons. Rinse and repeat. However, I do suggest you do this in a household of two or more, and that they continue to have jobs- or at least, babies. There's really no cheat in this Sims, so they have to try for a baby. This could take place in an elevator, bed, hot tub, and I'm pretty sure cars, too.
Instead of passing out on my friends' sofa, I walked home at 5 am, in a bad neighborhood, wearing custom shoes and carrying $100 in my purse, which was signed by I Fight Dragons. I'm thankful I didn't get beaten, mugged, or raped in that five minute commute.
Anyway, I opened my front door, and you wanna know the first sound I heard?
MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!
Marilyn, my oldest cat, noticed my arrival and started yowling, which caught the attention of Monroe.
"KEUM, FEED US."
"KEUM, GET ME FRESH WATER OUT OF THE TAP."
"NO, KEUM- YOU HAVE TO LET THE WATER RUN FOR A SECOND!"
"KEUM, PET ME!"
On Sims 3, I made a woman named Mazy Bacard and gave her a boyfriend named Mordecai Toro. Within five minutes of them moving in, I made them multimillionaires, married them, and produced what would be their first child. When the time came, it was announced to be a boy named Ashley, shortened to Ash. Then came Gerard. And Satine. Miles. And finally, Michaela, who looks like a changeling. It got so out of hand that I had to hire a butler to keep up with the housework and maybe change a diaper or two. Even so, those little bastards wouldn't shut the fuck up. Finally made them happy?
The only hope for May is June.
The only hope for me is juice.
The only hope for clay is use.
The Germans hope for death in Jews alone.
WHERE'S YOUR GOD NOW?!
Waiting for faggot Hausman to text me. It's his time of the month.
My best friend. You know, the one who listens to my problems, doesn't call me a fat cow, and hasn't seen me naked. Narrows it down, huh?
I'm on the rag, so I've taken four Tylenol and a hydrocodone, and everything's gonna feel really fucking sharp in about an hour. Anyway.
When I first got my copy of the 'Buying For Workplace Equality' booklet in PRISM, I was all like, "YEAH! IMMA START BUYING THINGS FROM HRC SUPPORTIVE STORES AND LET THE FASCIST CORPORATE COMPANIES FEEL MY WRATH, BECAUSE I'M AN INDIVIDUAL."
But then capitalism.
Since my step dad is working out of state, my mom signed my brother and me up for free lunch, which means I'll be carrying my Hello Kitty lunch box for the rest of my high school career. Seriously, the free lunches suck. You get an entree, you HAVE to get a fruit, you HAVE to get a vegetable, and you HAVE to get milk. There's no juice option, no snack bar, and you can't get a bag of chips or an extra banana with that. I'd rather just get a lunchable or some shit.
Sends you a text while you're unreasonably sad, never replies back.
I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for money, I can tell you that you won't get it. If you cut the crap now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't stop writing fan fiction that pairs the Harry Potter cast with food, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you.
Somebody just told me that I look like Larrisa, from the book Department 19. Considering that he started an uprising about my appearance on the book's fan page, I can't tell whether or not it's creepy; especially since I now have 200+ demanding for a photo of me.
I'm officially of my anticonvulsants, after six years. I've lost weight, not gotten a permit, and had to sit out whenever someone brought out a ladder. I'M FREE!
GET SOME!!!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tf_Rv0hCF6I&feature=youtu.be&t=1m7s