I'm doing a thing similar to MS Paint Adventures. If you're not familiar, MSPA involves the creator drawing with a picture of a character in some kind of situation, with a bit expository text to go along with it. The readers then post suggestions for what the character should do next, and the creator picks one, (usually the first idea) continuing the story. It usually has very humorous results. The use of the Sims 2 will likely result in an even more random and chaotic series of events.
So, we begin our tale with this dumbfuck bin townie we have just moved into the hood. Will our hero find the adventure he never knew he needed? Or will something else happen? It's up to you, the reader, to decide. Were it not for you, his fate would have been left to a ladderless pool.
This is the beginning of something beautiful. Or incredibly stupid. Again, viewer-driven!


Here you stand, on a precipice. In truth, just a sidewalk paved atop an arid plain. But that does not mean you are not indeed at a precipice! Your geographic location serves as symbolism for the coming adventure ahead. It is a dark and stormy night. You stand with your back to a palatial chateau. You have just remembered that you are a thing that exists. What will you do with this revelation?

Make him get a job in the Architect career and make him sell the computer after he does that (if it takes one or two days, so be it!). HIS FUTURE WIFE (or husband?) MUST BE A RED-HEAD. 'Cause, why not?

Use all your money to build stairs in imitation of the Curious brothers' stairs. You can start at ground level or tear off part of the roof of yon "palatial chalet" but you must ultimately get them up 5 or 6 stories.

No, not all the money. Stairs are fine, but not all the money. He needs money to bribe that red-head into moving in. No, seriously. Bribe the red-head. Make her move in, use familyfunds to get rid of all of the money she came in with AND along with 1k at least.

But first you need to get a promotion 2 times in order to afford all that.

Forces beyond your realm are ordering to build higher. Higher. You think that's kind of stupid and pointless, but what else can you do but obey?

Your funds are at §1,645 and drying up fast. You've had to sell all your earthly possessions, including your oven, toilet, and briefly beloved palm tree, to make your homely castle reach for the stars. But you just can't help wanting to make this tangle of stairs and platforms to look elegant. There's no reason why something so stupid can't at least look somewhat tasteful. You remember your mother's voice muttering something like this as she combed your hair for the first day of school.

Well, the next logical step would be to get a job so you can paint those walls... So you should obviously seduce the richest member of the welcoming group and get them to finance your home improvement!

It's almost noon by the time you've run out of money. You decide to go inside to take a nap on the floor. But as you make your way up the royal walkway, you spot a mysterious package on its concrete. It looks like a very special present, wrapped lovingly in red ribbon. You never get packages because you have no friends and no family that love you. This is exciting!


You sell it to add a higher floor to your manse. You now have §104.



You decide to take a break from all this mystery voice appeasement to have yourself some me-time. You lie on the carpet and count all the vibrant ecru fibers; a pastime that your mother most supported when you were a child. You've just passed the coveted 5,000 threshold when someone rudely scuffs the paint of your palace gate with a curt knock.


You save your place and enter the open-air parlor to greet this guest. He introduces himself as Vidcund Curious. A respectable enough man, despite his reputation for disturbing fine paint. He seems to have brought some friends along, under the pretense of a neighborhood meet-n-greet.


The troupe is joined by Jen, who greets you with a respectful nod. She seems to be keeping her distance. She averts her eyes and wrinkles her nose a bit, as if to keep her lust bridled for the benefit of maintaining society's rules of decorum. You can understand. You return the nod, with a brief wink. She knits her brow.


You are informed that there will be one more guest joining your companions this afternoon. Sure enough, you see the figure of another prospective best friend loping through the desert plains, gracefully springing from one foot to the other like a dewy Gordon's bladderpod digging through the sand in search of acorns to store in its hive as it hibernates through the winter. Your mother always berated your poetry, but you felt these words perfectly engulfed this flouncing silhouette. And then, the silhouette became a solid thing. Showered in golden light.


You had heard rumors of these extraterrestrial creatures, but never before had you screamed in such a soprano.


As she approaches, you resolve to diminuendo your horror as fast as you can muster. By the time she is upon you, smiling and spouting inane courtesies, you fortunately manage to bring yourself to an only slightly audible squeal. You even manage a polite nod. Or did you just bow? You haven't spoken at all throughout this entire procession, you just realize. You have been deep in thought, as deep as someone like you can possibly think. You are trying to remember what it is that you have forgotten that you forgot.


As you wail through tightly clenched teeth, it finally comes to you. It's your name! You don't know what your name is! A shame no one asked you earlier, that would have given you the strike of lightning you needed. Or perhaps someone had asked, but you were too busy thinking. Thinking and listening are two things you cannot do at once. It's like eating and moving your hands. But you should get off this tangent before you forget what you have remembered in the first place.


Think...think...what was your name?

This is the greatest sims photo that has ever been taken btw
http://i.imgur.com/VusN5zk.jpg?1

that was made on ms paint. full circle!!?
i need bed

Hmm, his name started with an 'O', he thought. Maybe Oscar, Oliver, Orville? Too bad the alien isn't a red-head, but that doesn't mean he can't date her until his true love comes along.

You have a long think.


It starts with an O, hints the voice, rudely jarring you out of your think. Hmm..Orlando? Omaroff? Oleagina?
Odors O'Toole! That name sure rings a bell. You're not entirely sure of it's precision, but there is definitely a warm familiarity about it.


Lola really is beautiful, you think, despite the fact that she makes you want to burrow your eyes in the warm, desert sands whenever she meets your gaze.


So fall in love, chaffs the voice. Consolidate. Anything so long as it fattens our bank. We must go higher. HIGHER
The voice is you, and you are the voice, entwined in the very fabric of space as kindred spirits, so you're gonna go for it! You begin the courting ritual the only way you know how.


"WHOO hwoo! Are you from outta this world? Cus I think I wore your face as a Halloween costume one year!"


Oh, society. Always making us put a mask on our true emotions. Why can't we all just show our passion for one another? Whatever happened to free love?


We lose so much in these chains.


You do admit though, that may have been an odd remark to make to break the ice with your new friends.

Oh no! Quick, salvage the situation! TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS AND DEMONSTRATE YOUR SUPERIORITY!

(I am back, after a long frustrating hiatus. If you thought I was not going to change the structure of two separate outfits just so that I could make this guy look like he was wearing a pair of stupid fruity boxers, you are out of your goddamned minds. It seems like Maxis decided to make this stupid shirt a full body outfit, but I won't complain about that until we meet in Hell. DOESN'T IT LOOK PRETTY THOUGH)


Don't let these useless rubes play you for the fool. Show them who the leading man is here! For in this sandy tumor of a town, they will be the lowly worker ants and you their queen! YOU ARE THE GREAT JACKRABBIT IN HEAT. YOU ARE SINGLE AND READY TO MING
"GOOD MORROW, FRIENDS," you bellow, rounded by the sensual timbre in your voice. "I AM PLEASED TO INTRODUCE MYSELF AS ODORS, OF HOUSE O'TOOLE. YOU ARE WELCOMED THIS DAY FOR THE FUNCTION OF A HOUSE-WARMING PARTY. I HOPE THAT COME TIME I MAY COURT ONE OF YOUR LIKENESS IN MATRIMONIAL ACCORD. THERE WILL BE CAKE AND LIVE SKA."

In the awed silence of your companions, you can swear you hear a low, ethereal grumble. Perhaps it's time to sup! You go inside, and they follow. You are a man of the people

Oh, your forgetful nature has gotten the best of you again. You sold the kitchen so that you could build higher. Ever and ever higher. Remember?!

What ever will you do now?

Make him tear out the lower original house to increase funds to build skyward. demolishing all doors and windows should do the trick. Higher, higher we say!

I... I thought he could just switch to underwear... I remember that he wears the silly leopard print briefs... I'm so sorry...

Start rapping with the tip jar. This will entertain your guests AND get you money.

[never apologize. I'm simply committed to this shit. Just not committed enough to look up what underwear he actually wears, apparently ]

Weave your rhymes, Odors. And we shall weave a tapestry of simoleons enough to blanket the heavens through which we shall ascend.

"An O'Toole man could blush and run away / But I am here and I won't say nay / To a donation that will give us some grub to slay / So that we may have a bite to eat after we pray! / You are my welcomed guests this day / And I just wanna make you feel okay / So if you don't bray and you just pay / Then we can stock a fridge with some cake or stea(k)!

"See I was listenin' one morning to the voices in my head / When they told me I must build a tower to the sky above me spread! / So I obeyed my masters and did just as they said / Just like the good O'Toole boy I was bred / But soon I found this enterprise made my bank account fall dead / For every simole of my beloved treasury been'd bled / So now all I ask for is a little bread / It's not like I'm asking you to make me wed / Though if you would do me honor to join my bed..."

This is proving fruitless. Though your words have roused passions among your audience, it seems their simoleons will not be pried from them without a healthy dose of lead. The sun is setting fast, and the grumbling has only become more irate. You will have to take more severe measures in order to entertain your guests.

You sell every window, door, and light that you own. Darkness fills the kitchenette. There is some strife, but you know it will not last long. You are going to make your friends happy.

You purchase a counter, stove, and refrigerator. You now have §49.

No soul shall be empty-stomached. Not under this roof.

Steam clouds your vision. But you must power through to complete your sacred duty.

"WHOOOO'S HUNGRY??"

Good work, Odors. Good work.

Well, clearly you need a bigger audience, so the community lot is a great idea. However, you have just sold your door. Tear down a section of the wall with your Mac & Cheese fuelled superpowers first, then take your captive audience to the coolest place in town.

You and your cohort arrive at the community lot, only to find it full of switched off Servos and the Unsavory Charlatan prowling about. No other sims are present. Now what happens?

Ask your sworn enemy, Lola, out on a date.