Hang on. Not to worry. I found some leftover basmati rice from last night’s Indian food in the fridge. At least I hope it was last night… Anyway, there’s that, and some (unrelated) blue bread. I’m not sure who’s bread this is, but I’m going to eat it. It’s blue, but I think it’s supposed to be blue. You can eat stuff if it’s supposed to be blue. In general.
And if this was your blue bread and you were saving it to make a blue pb&j tomorrow or blue French toast, then, well, I’m sorry. I ate it. It’s gone. You have to let it go, and not get too mad, and here’s why: The reason I’m working late tonight is that I’m writing performance reviews. I might be writing yours. So just keep your mouth shut, and you’ll get a “4” in at least one category: “Employee provides me with food and doesn’t make a big, whiny deal about it.”
“Goals for next three months: More bread. Next six months: Butter.”
Oh, man. I’m working late, and there is NOTHING to eat here.
Okay, the action news is fixed, in that it is back to yellow, or at least the proper ratio of yellow to orange, which is essential to annoying people. I’ve found that more people are annoyed by the color scheme of our web site than by the color of pretty much any other site in the entire world of cyber. One of the guests—a GUEST, mind you—at that big party that we invited you all to attend… this guest says to me, “d00d, your page, man… it’s hella orange.”
“You don’t like it?” I asked sheepishly, my lower lip quivering.
“It’s… it’s a lot of orange.” He said, shaking his head sadly.
At which point I fainted. I’m not very good at the whole “taking criticism” thing. But as I’ve said, that guy is WRONG, because this page is mostly yellow, or “burnt mustard” if you must. So he was dumb and wrong, but still.
I just wish I had a good come-back to throw at him right then, but instead I just sat there crying until he got really uncomfortable and walked away. I wish I had thought of something clever, like, “Nuh-uh. You wanna know what’s orange? YOU’RE orange!!! HAHAHA! How d’ya like them apples, Mr. Orange? Hey everybody look! This guy’s orange! HAHAHA! Everybody! Look! Ha ha! Everybody! Hey! Hey you guys! Look! No seriously! No really! Look! Hey, why won’t you come over here and look at this guy? Hey, why are you flipping me off? That’s not nice. This is my party! Hey, shut up! You guys seriously. I was too invited! I sent out the invitations. This is my party. Now just come over here and look at this orange guy. No, I won’t leave! Stop it! What are you talking about? I’m not even drunk. Quit it! Don’t touch me! This is my party! OW! That hurts! Where are we going? Hey, you can’t put me out here! I left my windbreaker in there. Hey guys? Can I at least have my windbreaker? It’s cold out here. No, don’t shove it through the mail slot. My glasses are in there. No, I said DON’T shove it through the mail slot. You’re going to break my—oh, man you did! You did break my glasses! You guys are jerks! Shut up! I’m not crying. I have asthma! I only talk this way because night air makes my asthma worse. Now let me back in! I’m serious. I’m serious…”
Yeah. That would have been sweet. Why do we always think of these things after the fact eh?
Okay, I’m going to post that damn birthday art, I swear. But I’ve got to acquire some permission from some people. Hopefully I can do it with just the right level of legal trickery to leave an opening for me to come back later and sue some people to fund the rest of the project. Or at least, fund some more suing! And eventually, some bling bling for my teeth.
Except for the fact that this page is more blood-orange than normal, but we’re not going to talk about it. We’re just going to say it’s that way on purpose in honor of our birthday.
That’s right! Today Double Fine Productions turns three years old! Waaaoooooo!
Even though we haven’t released anything yet (except for one excellent catch phrase), and our first game is a little—just a smidge—on the late side, somehow we still have the most awesome fans already. They sent us cards and art and stuff, and I was going to post it all on the action news page here for everyone to enjoy (and to make the slackers who sent nothing feel bad all day), but of course I just realized I can’t get to the part of the server from my house, so duh, me. No pictures today. Pictures tomorrow. Hell-of pictures tomorrow. Or, at least, two.
That means that the slackers have one more day to make good. Next year we won’t be so lenient.
In Psychonauts news, well… here’s the most relevant thing I can think of, in honor of DF turning 3: When I turned three years old I got a big, yellow, Tonka dump truck. God, I loved that dump truck. Oh, and one year, my mom made me a cake in the shape of a dragon. So awesome. But I don’t think that was my third birthday, so it’s not relevant to this page so more talk about THAT.
Tomorrow: continued relevance. I just learned how to spell “relevance” correctly so I’m trying to use it a lot, even when there is no relevance.
Unlike the post of July 3, the post of July 14 has already become stale and seems to actually be hurting people, and their feelings. Please use this bridge to quality to skip over it when reading, and re-reading. Betrayed by Santa AGAIN!
Last night I was working late and saw a ghost in the office. It was on a scooter. Not kidding. I don’t want to talk about it right now, as I am still a little freaked out.
Recent reports have indicated that the previous news item was posted a long time ago, and though thrilling in it’s day, it is now both old, and boring.
Objective, third-party testing has subsequently proven, however, that the previous post continues to delight, inform, and entertain. More now than ever. How this can be true, two weeks after it’s initial posting, no one knows. Scientists have postulated that this phenomena could be due to some sort of Christmas miracle.
Double Fine has moved! We are finally in a building actually meant for humans to work in. Which means no more stories about rats! Now we can finally get down to some hard, cold, super-informative, Psychonauts news!!!
Right after this: When we moved (and I warn you, this is not a hilarious exaggeration but in fact the possibly-not-entertaining truth) we found that, under every bookshelf (let me juice this story up at this point by putting the flashlight under my chin, pointing up, and speaking slower and lower so that everyone has to scoot in toward the campfire to hear me) was a little… rat… city. Or, should I say, the ruins of little rat cities. No actual living rats were found. But just their structures. Their houses and temples. Little piles of shredded McDonalds wrappers, pushed into delicious mounds of rat house.
It must have been so sweet for them, living in the basement apartment of a hastily-assembled IKEA bookshelf, gnawing cheese product off a filet-o-fish wrapper, all the while listening to programmers play quake. Hearing the explosions, gunfire, and screams of pain coming from above must have delighted the rats. “Ha ha! The humans are killing each other,” they thought as they nibbled, “Soon the world, and all the McDonalds wrappers in it will be ours to shred and pile!”
Suckers. When we’re dead, who’s going to buy all the fast food and leave the wrappers in Wilson’s garbage can for them? No one, that’s who. We’ll be gone, but soon after we go, so will the rats. And the best part is, before they die, there will be this one moment where they realize that humans had a purpose after all, and they will feel stupid and sorry. All over the world, thousands of millions of rats will starve to death at just about the same time, and a galaxy made up of all their tiny, little, peanut brains will be surging with the chemicals of regret.
I can see that galaxy now, through the telescope of my imagination, twinkling with rat sorrow, growing dark, lonely, and cold.
Die you goddamn rats. You shall nibble the flesh of Double Fine no more! Why don’t you shred and pile my middle finger, huh? Cuz that’s all you’re going to get. Except that you’re not even going to get that, because I was speaking figuratively.
Eh, what’s that? You don’t understand the concept of figurative speech, because you’re just a dumb rodent? Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were soooo smart because you figured out how to chew through the vinyl floor molding by Jon Stone’s desk and crawl up through it into the art pit so that you could eat Lance’s candy and leave the wrapper on Kim’s desk. Ffffft! I can do that. In fact, I have done the last two steps, many times. Anyway, you’re dumb and I hate you.
In other news, we hired a producer, and a gameplay programmer! Thank you for all the applications. Now you should re-word them and re-apply for our remaining positions: Environment Artist/Designer, and Visual Effects Programmer. Come on you guys! We have a nicer place now. If the rats scared you before, put that out of your mind. Just think about how unhappy they are. That’s the opposite of how happy you will be when you work at Double Fine. You will be as happy as a million rats dying, but opposite-style.
Exciting Psychonauts news: We are having a garage sale!!!
The place we are moving to is furnished, so we are selling off our chairs and desks and lamps and stuff. There’s enough here that you could probably come early and buy most of the necessary pieces to start your own game company! Especially if you know a lot about cloning, because there are many chunks of skin and hair slammed into the file cabinets and burned onto the lamps we are selling. Should be able to get some good programmer DNA off of that stuff at least.
This Sunday, June 29
215 Clara Street
10:00 am until 2:00pm
These desks are full of history, and so many of our employees tears. Won’t you give them a home?
Okay this is your last reminder about the party, because we’re about to take our server and phones down for the big office move. Don’t be offended if we ignore your email for a few days okay?
The only way to get in touch with double fine for a while will be through the dogs-barking-in-backyards network, like in the old 101 Dalmatians movie. So I hope you speak dog.
Oh, unless you come to the party and slow dance with us and get us to write our home phone numbers on your hand with an eyebrow pencil.
Don’t forget: the Dream Date with Double Fine party is tomorrow, and you’re coming.
The party is so soon, we are ALREADY out of ice…