Where y'at!

Bonjour, mes amis! How's ya mamma and dem?
This past weekend we all dropped anchor at New Toulouse, the gin-soaked sim created by the that cold-blooded charmer Carricre Wind, or Mama Cre to locals. I'm stayin' in a little shotgun shanty on what mon-zer EllisDee so lovingly calls "Poverty Row". It was a regular welcome wagon all weekend, and smilin' (probably tipsy) faces peeked 'round every corner to say "hi" and make introductions.
The little ray of sunshine in the shack next door is Bedlamie Thunders. Jesus done rolled the good neighbor dice for me, cher, and I landed on snake eyes, 'cause she is just a gem and a half. She remind me of a good pecan pie: all sugar and a sweet, and a little nutty. We turned into a regular buncho of stalkers together, sitting on our stoops, waitin' for the go ahead to unpack. So if you eva' find yo'self in 'louse Nouveau late one night, suga', then listen for the chatter of two lil' betties sittin' out on the porch tellin' crazy stories about they torrid affairs, and swing on by.
Everyone got themselves big plans in 'louse already. Mon-zer Messmer got himself a swanky booze hall for all ya' dancin' needs, and so many fine ladies' shops have already settled for you to find a new pair of tail feathers. Mon-zer Montgolfier already found himself in a mess of trouble with his new case. Seems there's someone chalking up veve on his family plot in the cemetery and on the foundation of his detective agency. Been gettin' strange letters in the mail, too. Don't worry, child, I 'll keep an eye on him. Poor thing don't know what he gettin' himself into.
Our most esteemed funerary directoire, Mizz Yifu, been gettin' antsy over dere in the the cemetery. But somehow, but then end of this week, she had filled up half the plots. Hmm...