Douglas Kern: Disgusted by the indolence and vacuity of my Sims, I hearkened back to Jonathan Edwards, and turned my game into Simmers in the Hands of an Angry Doug. I smote my Sims with psychotic neighbors, grease fires, and starvation. I was a cruel, tyrannical deity, you say? Not so; my homicides were acts of mercy. Absent the intervention of fire, electricity, or hunger, Sims live forever, locked in an eternity of self-improvement and false materialism and the dubious merits of pastel carpets. Yes, my little Sims shrieked and panicked as the flames from the kitchen drew closer, but secretly, I think, they embraced the soothing oblivion of sweet death.
What a great game!
So I hear.
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