If the images in this chapter are broken, read it at gruglysims.ca instead!
In which a fire is bon.
Theresa: Everything set for this afternoon's engagement?
Cory: Oh, yes. We're gonna school them but good.
What're we talking about?
Cory: WE are talking about GYPSY KIDNAPPERS. I don't know what YOU'RE talking about.
I pity the handheld gamer who hasn't got a 3DS or a Switch.
Cory: I pity all nerds equally.
Theresa: Alright, our contact faxed me the address.
Theresa: Our contact is old, she thinks email is just fancy fax.
Theresa: You ready to go, fancyfax?
Cory: Let me ingest some gypsy-killing fuel first.
Theresa: Play your cards right, and later on, I might ingest y-
Theresa: You've let worse statements proceed.
Theresa: I'm glad we sprung for the low-key, subtle sports car option.
Cory: I might be a secret agent, but I'm not avoiding the finer things in life for anybody.
Cory: Go away, lady, you're just Theresa with different hair.
Cory: I like Theresa's better.
Where IS Theresa?
Theresa: In the trunk.
Cory: Alright. If our information is good, I'm speaking very loudly outside a building full of very angry cultural appropriators who probably shouldn't be alerted to our presence or things will go very badly so I'm gonna stop.
Theresa: And if MY information is good, about GUNS, we are POINTING OUR GUNS AT EACH OTHER.
Cory: Fair point, fair point
Cory: FUCK IT, IT'S RAINING
Cory: RAINING LEAD
Cory: CORRRRYYYYYYYY a-HUFFFFFMANNNNNN
Brenda Bertino: WAIT! I'M TOO MANY MINORITIES TO DIE!
Starla Bertino: Bertinos, ASSEMBLE!
Brenda: THAT'S SOME KICK-BACKY SHOOTINS YOU GOT THERE, BUDDY
Cory: DUE PROCESS, BITCHES
Starla: Wait! Shouldn't we swordfight instead?
Theresa: No, the warehouse full of fake gypsies is already a lot for people's suspension of disbelief, thanks very much.
Theresa: Thanks very much for EATING MY BULLETS
The Grim Reaper: AH, I SEE THE HARVEST FESTIVAL HAS BEGUN.
The Grim Reaper: THIS ONE'S STILL TWITCHING, YOU MIGHT WANNA PLUG HER AGAIN
Marion Sell: SELL YOUR LIVES DEARLY, MY DEARIES!
You guys really wanna go out on name-based jokes?
Theresa: They lived their lives as clothing-based jokes, so why not.
♪ Now my advice for those who die ♪
♪ Declare the pennies on your eyes ♪
Cory: ♪ 'cuz I'm Attacks Man! ♪
Cory: ♪ Oh yeah, I'm Attacks Maaaaaannnnnn ♪
Cory: ♪ And you're sticking… your… sword, through… your… head…? ♪
Marion: ADMITTEDLY NOT MY FINEST MANEUVER
Cory: The bullets seem a bit superfluous, at this point.
Kiera: Just ONE swordfight.
Theresa: Alright, but I reserve the right to get fed up and start shooting.
Aiyana: Do you hear a ticking sound?
Theresa: I'd be surprised if you ALL didn't.
Marion: I'm GOING TO THAT BIG CARAVAN IN THE SKY, FOLKS
Just, fucking… stop it, would you?
Cory: No, let it continue. Live as a racist caricature, die as a racist caricature.
Theresa: I'm glad we're killing them all.
Kiera: That's an awfully bold prediction.
Theresa: At most you're gonna injure my wardrobe.
Kiera: That so.
Theresa: …maybe should've followed through with that?
Cory: Goddamn sweaty palms…
Aiyana: TIME TO SING YOUR SWEATY PSALMS!
Cory: Full points for trying.
Theresa: No further points awarded.
Theresa: Oh, is that your "Stab me! Please!" pose?
Theresa: Let me take you a hand.
Kiera: Wait! Lose by the sword, die by the sword!
Theresa: …the ticking stopped.
Kiera: Lousy discount bombage.
Theresa: Yeah, when you shop explosives, you go government.
Theresa: There's nothing to blow down there, dearie.
Theresa: And everything to blow over there.
Kiera: …oh! You mean blow UP.
Kiera: Took me a moment.
Aiyana: Kinda want to see what's about to happen.
Cory: Yeah, don't stab me for a minute.
Kiera: I think you mean "a second."
Cory: I didn't see it. Was it cool?
Aiyana: It was pretty cool, yeah.
Theresa: So, there's a minimum safe distance for those things! Good to know.
Theresa: I'll put it in my report.
Aiyana: So…are you… protecting me, or…
Cory: I am protecting in relation to you.
Aiyana: You're gonna stab me, aren't you.
Cory: Unless I think of something cooler to do.
Cory: Or something HOTTER
The Grim Reaper: DAMMIT. I JUST HAD THESE ROBES DEFUMIGATED.
Cory: ♪ INTO THE FIRE ♪
Cory: I've always wanted to do that.
Aiyana: Come on in! The fire's lovely.
This looks like a mid-2000s movie poster.
Cory: May I please have my weapon back.
Cory: So, that's a "no," then.
Cory: Can't say I blame you.
Aiyana: Good news! The bullets are exploding.
Cory: Good news! Ghosts can't shoot guns.
Theresa: Good news! I'm not dead.
Theresa: Which is rapidly becoming a distinguishing characteristic around here.
Theresa: Oh, Cory. I love what we've done with this place.
The Grim Reaper: PLEASE DON'T LOOK.
Theresa: This doesn't mean I don't think you still might be evil.
Cory: I would never think anything would mean something that hard to say.
Theresa: Speaking of HARD.
Cory: GIRLS DON'T GET HARD
Cory: …DO girls get hard?
Cory: I have a bad feeling about this.
Theresa: You're thinking babyque?
Cory: I'm thinking LIVE BABY.
Cory: Yep! Dangit.
Cory: Then again! It's a free Ember sex-ticket.
Cory: Then again again, pretty much everything is a free Ember sex-ticket.
Theresa: Do you think they mistreated her?
Theresa: …yes, okay, the barbecue. Yes.
Cory: Speaking of THE BARBECUE.
Theresa: Do you think we got them all?
Cory: Oh, yeah, definitely.
Next time: the work is not enough.
This chapter depicts gameplay from 21 February 2013.