Buster is gone. And the selfish bastard left me with nothing to sell on ebay.
I thought he was going to jump off my finger like one of those delightful animated birds in Song of the South, and then I thought he was going to alight upon my desk and sing “Zippity Doo Dah” while tap dancing across my keyboard. And then maybe I would make a little matchbox bed for him to sleep in and keep it on my nightstand, and before I fell asleep I could say things like, “Hey Buster?” and he’s say, “Yeah, pal?” and I’d say, “Why doesn’t anybody like me at school?” and he’d say, “Probably because you’re no good at sports, little buddy.” And I’d get all kinds of wisdom like that and be a better person. And when I got older I’d have someone I could go to bars with and not have to worry about looking like a psychopath, sitting at the bar all by myself. I could just sit down and open my little matchbox wart bed and if anybody came up and said, “Excuse me, but is someone sitting here?” I could point at the box and say, “Uh, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” And then I’d have two friends, and then the friendship snowball would just keep growing and growing.
But noooo. Instead, he disintegrates into a million warty chunks and sloughs off into a Kleenex. Not a real crowd-pleasing finish, Buster. You know, that kind of selfish behavior is EXACTLY why people hate warts.
On the bright side, I have always LOVED the word “slough” and I finally got a chance to use it. And here, on the Double Fine Action News, the most widely-read news page on the internet, pretty much. Slough!
On the bad side: all that sewing for nothing! Unless maybe this mole on my neck gets a little bigger and practices her singing.
Okay, I said it was a WART. Not a METAPHOR. Geeze. Some people have been speculating that I my wart updates are actually codified messages about the Excellent Game Psychonauts, but instead of saying "The Excellent Game Psychonauts," I have been saying, "This dead wart on my pinkie." Don't you people realize that there are SEVERAL substantiative differences between the Excellent Game Psychonauts and a dead wart on my pinkie? I mean, I can't think of any right now on the spot like this--I'm not a doctor!-- but I'm sure there are some.
Wait, hold on. Using a computer, and SCIENCE, I have managed to fake up the following chart:
|Dead Wart on the Tip of my Pinkie
||The Excellent Game Psychonauts
||Will never die
|Lives at the tip of my left pinkie finger
||Lives in the hearts of children, everywhere, young and old
|Getting soggy under a band-aid
||NOT getting soggy under a band-aid
|Hanging on by a shred of flesh
||Hanging on by a shred of flesh
|At night, writes down instructions on a notepad by my bed, which I must follow in the morning.
||At night, parties.
fig. 1 - Very Different Entertainment Experiences
I'm so excited for my little pinkie pal. Soon, he'll peel off and go forth into the world! I wish he could stay on the tip of my pinkie forever, changing into all kinds of magical colors: White, blueish-yellow, brown, dark brown, black, white again!
Some people have implied that I'm babying him by not just tearing him off with my teeth and spitting him out the car window. But I don't see any reason to rush it. Soon, little Buster, as I call him, will be gone forever, and I'll miss him.
I've begun to make little outfits for him to wear. I made a little sailor suit, and a fireman costume, and a superman cape. And a nice sports blazer he can wear on job interviews or on really fancy dates. My little man.*sniff*
That wart is still attached, but it’s just not as spunky as it used to be. And, to be totally honest, it’s not really much of a wart anymore. The dermatologist froze it with liquid nitrogen, and it’s pretty much just lifeless matter now, attached to my body. Pretty disgusting. It’s hard like a pebble, and yet somehow it still counts as the tip of my pinkie. It’s me, it’s part of me, but it’s dead. I guess teeth and hair are kind of like that. So maybe it wouldn’t seem so gross if I try to think of it as a little, black tooth that someone rammed under my fingernail. Ooh, wait, no. That’s actually grosser. Ick. I can hear it click, click, clicking on the “A” key as I type. Maybe I should think of it as a dead Siamese twin, but much smaller than me, and darker, and quieter.
Hmm. If he or she had grown beyond the size of a pea, that would have been weird. We would have been Siamese twins attached at the pinkie-tip. A little pinkie pal for life! Well, when he or she falls off eventually, hopefully, later this week, and if I can resist the urge to eat it, I’ll sell it on ebay. And not like that rat I said I would sell but then did not because of those fussy ebay people. I’m taking this wart all the way. We’re going for it! This necrotic nubbin is the first thing I’ve produced since 1998, and I’m putting it on the market, damnit! Stay tuned.
(Oh, please God. Let it fall off before it starts talking. Just this once!)
The wart on my pinkie is about to fall off. It’s really, really gross.
Magically, over night, Raz’ comic has become less gross, and less corny.
Haha. Get it? Corny?
Man, let’s get back on track here. This is a news page about Double Fine and the excellent game Psychonauts! Time for some real news!!!
This just in: The Psychonauts Team ate pizza last night. Also, an undisclosed team member reported that she thought one of the firemen next door was kind of hot. If you’re concerned about how much Diet Coke we have in the office, don’t worry. We have a lot.
We don’t have any rats here in the new office, so I have to write about this kind of stuff. Although… leaving work last night, walking under the freeway, a rat jumped out of the ivy and walked along side me for a while, and then jumped back in the ivy. I think it was pacing me, like sharks do. I could only assume it was going back into the ivy for reinforcements, so I protected myself the only way I know how: by squirting out a thick black ink which clouded the nearby water, confusing my enemies, concealing my escape, and turning on any octopuses who happen to be nearby.
Nice use of color, though. Okay, just in case you were totally offended by that, here’s one from Nathan. Unlike Raz, Nathan sits BEHIND Scott, which of course leads to a totally different art style.
(And I did find one missing paragraph terminator in my html code, so if it wasn’t fixed before, the comic index is definitely, totally fixed now.)
You heard Scott (see episode 48 of the DFAC). He’s going on vacation. He can’t do the comics from where he went because they don’t have art there. Art is illegal in the tropical isle where he is hiding. The punishment is death.
But do not worry. We have some special guests coming in this week to help out. The first one debuts today! Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you, the guy who sits next to Scott, Razmig Mavlian! Wooooo!
P.S. Thanks for all the helpful letters about the comic index. It’s true I did have some extra white space in there, so I went in there and deleted a bunch, and now it looks perfect. If it doesn’t look good to you, stop using Netscape!
Hey, when you get that email spam with the randomly generated text inside, is that copyrighted by the spammer? Do they own that? Or is it in the public domain because it was created by no human, merely the forces of advertising evil?
I think I’ll post some and see if I get sued. I just got this awesome spam today. First they asked me some rude personal questions about my anatomy, and then, possibly because they realized that I was so not in need of the services they were offering, they switched gears and busted out some freestyle verse:
His round-shaped mp3 player got an idea.
Their round bra spit.
Their expensive green computer stares.
The soft recycle bin fidgeting.
Any given round-shaped picture sleeps.
Any given silver cat stinks.
His brothers white glasses prepare for fight the time that our children round boots got an idea. Any given tall glove falls. His silver camera calms-down. Whose bluish white boat calculates. The round binocyles sleeps while our bluish white recycle bin show its value.
Mine tall white boots calms-down at the place that a given tall t-shirt is on fire. Our children green book is thinking.
An mp3 player that’s round-shaped! Imagine that! And it THINKS! and a spitting bra! A computer who seems depressed. A mysteriously fidgeting, and yet soft recycle bin. Wtf? It’s so evocative, so thoughtful. A fresh, uncompromised voice! If I could just find away to automatically pump my incoming spam into the Double Fine Action News, I would never have to update again!
Okay, I’m taking a nap. While I’m out, the spam’s in charge.
Okay, I sold out. I fixed the comic index. I just couldn’t take the daily emails telling me how do do it any longer. So, there. It should be totally perfect-looking now. It’s all straight and on the grid system. Man, just like in high school, forced to conform. Force to conform to your rules.
Some big news from the Double Fine Action News, Lifestyle Section: Fabulous Animator Ray had a baby! Which is pretty amazing considering he’s a man. I’m not sure exactly how this kind of thing happens, and I hope it’s not something icky, but somehow with the help of his wife Prascilla, Ray made little Elliot Yeachan Crook. Congratulations Ray and Prascilla! (P.S. Don’t worry—I hear the flower turns black and drops off after a couple of days.)
Look at the valuable game experience this young lad is absorbing through his ear. And that delicious-looking Sunkist he’s drinking? FREE. The cost to him? Nothing, except maybe a few chunks taken out of his ear. But only on the cartilage part that you don’t even really need anyway.