A devilish combination of video games and crisps

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Havisham and Morrissey: A Sims 3 Story (Part 1)
Imagine the magic spawn of Xtreme sports enthusiasts and guys with proto-aspergers and you basically get Robin Burkinshaw's Sims drama "Alice and Kev". Alice and Kev is an Xtreme minimalist playthrough of Sims 3, a kind of mawkish human interest story about fake homeless people. Now imagine the homeless Sims competing to see who can stand around idly for the longest without inevitably dying from insufficient waffle intake or something. That is the plot arc of Alice and Kev.

Apparently just leaving your Sim in a pool and deleting the ladder is passe and the only way that'll get you thoroughly wanked over by gaming virtuosos is by creating a blog based on watching Sims develop a thick crust of piss fumes around their torsos over the course of months. So I figured while I'm scratching the bottom of the barrel for Geralog topics I may as well make a weird, desperate grab for attention by repeating more or less the exact same thing.

So hey Robin Burkinshaw. I see your rubbish Alice and Kev and I raise you Havisham and Morrissey. Yeah! And the pictures on your blog loaded a bit slowly for me one time. How does that taste?

Like any Greek tragedy Havisham and Morrissey is a multi-layered story about adopting fifteen babies and succumbing to exhaustion and disease after I briefly walk away from the computer. On its deeper, more pulpy level it is a commentary on socio-economic issues in Northern England and therefore much better than whatever is happening here. Unlike Robin's in-depth study of the harsh realities of finding waffles in your neighbours house, Havisham and Morrissey was an attempt to see what effect totally fake class fatalism had on pre-programmed SimSuccess so I built a house with three rooms and forced Havisham to repeatedly order babies from the adoption agency to rack up unemployment cheques.

The main protagonist of this story is really Morrissey: a struggling musician who is probably quite good but it's impossible to tell through his thick veil of twat.

For the most part he spends his time standing about and looking like a bit like a 13 year old Winona Ryder while his wife uses her free time to loiter up against the kitchen counter for the three hours that's required to make an Orange Shake.

I started the game by giving him the ambitious and musically-inclined loner traits which basically forced his reptile brain to pick up a guitar the minute he entered the house, then spend the rest of the afternoon strumming for 15 hours to get to the end of one verse of Hot Cross Buns. In fact for the first three days he really just spent his time standing in a corner creating rubbish rock tunes while speaking to no one at all, only stopping occasionally to agonisingly piss himself, just like the real Morrissey. Had I not soon intervened by trying to order thousands of babies on the telephone Morrissey would be destined for stardom instead of spending his last days mopping his and Havisham's piss from in front of the lounge chairs. But naturally this was all just part of the Gerablog XTREME social experiment to see whether family life would cause his dreams become dashed on the rocks like a tiny baby seal. The answer, poetically, was actually that he would starve to death in front of a herd of toddlers who wouldn't move out of the way of the fucking fridge.

Stay tuned for more on...Havisham and Morrissey!

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