A Sims 3 Experiment: Days 31 & 32

Days 31 & 32: The Lap of Luxury

Owing to his late return home, Pete was unable to enjoy the first “Nice Quality” meal of Farrah’s – waffles. No doubt, he was dreaming of eating Sugar’s waffles (nudge nudge), so I suppose that’s just as good for him. Regardless, I had a momentary celebration for Farrah. She’d reached level 5 cooking. And no, I wasn’t celebrating as some kind of woman in the kitchen joke. She now had options in her life. If the band eventually failed, she could fall back on her guitar skills, or her cooking skills. She was the first of the group that had a backup plan. Plus, her penchant for taking her clothes off also allowed her to become a nude model, if she so chose. Hey, we all make our own way in life, with or without clothes.

Hot, fully-clothed waffle on waffle action
Hot, fully-clothed waffle on waffle action

Eventually, he did wake up, and got down to business pretty much immediately. Eating? No. Stargazing? Nope. Well, what the. He went out to the pool, turned on his favorite piece of classical music, and broke that shit down like no one was looking.

It almost looks like he’s doing the Carlton
It almost looks like he’s doing the Carlton

Anyway, by now it was about 3 in the afternoon, and there wasn’t much going on. Claudia was cleaning (I was allowing her to revel in Han’s absence for a day, letting her stretch her neat-freak legs before sending in the hired help once more) and Farrah and Robi were learning their final instrumental compositions. Really just a chill day within Casa del Llama. A few more hours passed, which of course meant that everyone was starting to complain about extreme starvation, because Sims have never heard of a snack. Seriously, these guys need to carry a bag of trail mix or some damn Pringles with them at all times, or else they’re all at risk of going into some kind of systemic shock due to six hour starvation. Luckily, our very own Farrah was able to whip up something called a goopy carbonara, which sounds a lot like what it’ll be called as it’s rocketing out of their SimAnuses. It must’ve been delicious, because they all inhaled it. Robi loved it so much, he ran outside and started reliving his early days.

It may not be a dumpster, but damn does this bring back memories
It may not be a dumpster, but damn does this bring back memories

Miraculously, he found quite a few things, which is odd, considering it was their trash to begin with. If it was something worth finding, why was it thrown away? Ahh, the logic of the Sims. Any, he found some bubble bath, a rubber duck, a freakin’ emerald, and a big pile of industrial metal fillings studded with old pistol magazines. By this time, it was about midnight, and the rest of the house was falling asleep, so Robi followed suit – reeking of refuse – and hit the sack. Good night, indeed.

The next morning, he was surprisingly the first one up. After a quick breakfast of old, stale waffles, Robi did what he does best (besides drumming) and talked to himself for a while, holding an entire conversation which ended with him trying – and nearly succeeding – in choking himself to death. He didn’t even stop when Claudia came down to whip up some fresh waffles. Even stranger, she didn’t even bat an eye upon seeing her French compadre in the clear and present throes of a psychotic episode. It must just be the norm for all of them at this point. In fact, I bet if Robi ever has a normal day, the rest of the group will freak out and send him to the hospital. Mind you, another reason why Claudia wasn’t paying too much attention could be because of the problems she was dealing with herself.

I…I don’t even…is she fingering that bowl of waffle mix??
I…I don’t even…is she fingering that bowl of waffle mix??

Yeah, I still never found out what the hell was happening here. Perhaps she beat the batter too much and it revolted against her? Whatever the reason, she walked outside, carrying the mixing bowl like it was glued to her palm, and just sat it on the picnic table. She was starved and complaining about her extreme hunger, but whatever happened between her and that bowl of waffle mix was just too much to continue with. Luckily, Farrah once more stepped up and saved the day.

“You see this, Claud? Now, this is how you make a waffle. You gotta make it your bitch, see? Pretend it was prison, and it’s just you and this waffle in the showers. Who’s gonna drop the soap first, Claud? Don’t let it be you.”
“You see this, Claud? Now, this is how you make a waffle. You gotta make it your bitch, see? Pretend it was prison, and it’s just you and this waffle in the showers. Who’s gonna drop the soap first, Claud? Don’t let it be you.”

Of course, after such words of wisdom, the only thing to do is stop and reflect on your life.

 “Dear God….I dropped the soap…”
“Dear God….I dropped the soap…”

At this point, everyone was awake, eating, changing their clothes, and generally turning the house into a damn landfill once more. But, my record with the maids was far from stellar. In fact, it blew. So, I made the executive decision to reach a little deeper. How deep? Butler deep, aww yeah. That’s right, I figured it was time for Masochistic Murder Llama to begin their climb up the ladder of luxury, and what better way to start than with their very own Alfred. What I didn’t know was that he’d be a snooty bastard and require his own room. Thankfully, I had some space, and was able to build a Butler’s Nook next to the upstairs’ bathroom.

The dude’s room is fancier than the entire house.
The dude’s room is fancier than the entire house.

Now, I was expecting an old, Jeeves type. Bald, perhaps. Stiff and exact, with little time for anyone’s shit. But then this dude shows up.

You can tell he’s the butler because of the monocle
You can tell he’s the butler because of the monocle

His name is Bertram Blumfield. Of course, that’s not his real name, but it’s actually not too far off. I think. Maybe it was something like Terrance P. Wigginsworth. Something like that. Anyway, he looks like a Bertram, and he’s going to keep this house in ship-shape. Or else Robi will eat him. That’s an actual clause in his contract. The Robi Clause. Like with any other addition to the household, the band celebrated by not giving a single shit, instead jamming out downstairs to some cool jazz tunes. I knew that they would eventually come around to him, but I think at this point, they just didn’t want to become too attached to anyone. The pain of loss was just too great. I didn’t blame them. There was still a Hans-shaped hole in my heart….

With Bertram busy adjusting himself into his new life, I decided to add a few new goodies to the household. Namely, a bar and an espresso machine. There had been a noticeable lack of liquid refreshment in this house, and it was now time to right that wrong.

Robi was the first to step up and try his hand at mixology. He was also the first to drop a bottle of booze
Robi was the first to step up and try his hand at mixology. He was also the first to drop a bottle of booze

And, living up to his Hipsterness, Pete was the first to make a cup of coffee.

He made himself a Triple Venti Half-Caff 120 Degree Hazelnut Upsidedown Caramel Latte, No whip, light foam, and one of those paper drink umbrellas.
He made himself a Triple Venti Half-Caff 120 Degree Hazelnut Upsidedown Caramel Latte, No whip, light foam, and one of those paper drink umbrellas.

All the excitement from the new bar and Mr. Coffee went straight to their heads, and within an hour, sleep was setting in. I was curious as to how the gang was going to handle sleeping with a strange, new man in the house, just a few doors down from them, but they didn’t seem to mind. I’m sure they knew Robi would simply go Dark Wizard on Bertram if he tried anything funny.

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