The Strange Case Of Mr. F, Part One: I Am My Own Special Creation
Or: This wierd quirk (for simulated murder) I’ve tried to suppress and hide is a talent that could help me meet The Wizard…
Today’s YouTube comes from ‘audreanaisawesome’, who kindly demonstrates how to play the original Sims game, way back at the turn of the Millennium.
Some might turn around and say that this is needlessly cruel - that the object of The Sims was not to fill the virtual world you presided over like unto a God with death, despair, misery and bitter tears of grief. But those people would be quite wrong, as I will now demonstrate by recounting the strange case of Mr. F, which should ideally be read in the voice of Tom Baker.
Mr. F was a fat man with grotesque hair that shone with a greasy lustre, prone to wearing a white jacket, an open shirt and a gleaming medallion that seemed to scream ‘low class’ to all his fellows. The cheap and cheerful bungalow that I built for him was decorated in a style reminiscent of the late seventies, and he seemed happy in his world for a time, cooking, eating, defecating and sleeping to a schedule, in between a reasonably-paid job on the political ladder - or it may have been the acting business, it was all much the same. But something was missing from the life of Mr. F. He was a man of humble means, but in his simulated head there lurked dreams - great dreams of expensive furniture items that seemed forever outside his scope.
Oh, he could slave and slave to raise the little green bar that controlled his happiness before the bus came to drag him to his ill-defined labours, in the hope of a promotion. He could spend all of his free time courting the friends that he needed to make in order to advance, friends carefully created by his benevolent god to appreciate his crass, ugly witticisms and his greasy, sweaty appearance, friends stuffed six at a time into tumbledown shacks barely larger than breadboxes, their only purpose in life being to visit Mr F’s house constantly in order to allow him to claim to his superiors that he did, indeed, have friends.
Mr. F. had barely been born and already his entire life was an endless parade of work, rest and sycophancy. Where was the dream house he craved? The hot tub he lusted after? The expensive sculpture wrapped in boxer shorts that would set his soul at ease? Why did his nebulous job promise so much but grant so little? Would it not be better to quit his job altogether and spend each day that the merciful God sent enjoying his expensive furniture items by himself, only inviting his empty-minded coterie into his dwelling when he felt the green bar of his loneliness creeping down into the red?
But how could Mr. F. afford such a life of ease?
Through murder.
Murder most foul.
None knew it in those first days, but the little bungalow with the seventies-era decor was about to become… a charnel house.
TO BE HULKINUED.
1 opinion for The Strange Case Of Mr. F, Part One: I Am My Own Special Creation
b5media - There Be Monsters Here!
Apr 19, 2007 at 12:51
[…] We begin in the future of the past that now becomes the then you were worried about yesterday. Say, “Ahoy, matie!” to our newest seadog, Al Ewing. He now mans the wheel at Re:Retro. Sail into his harbor for the latest in bleeding-edge technology. Truly the finest of 1986. Mind ye closely The Strange Case of Mr. F […]
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