I found this in the parking lot between Double Fine and the Bank of America.

A fashionable wig of a almost-indescribable color I shall call, “Mocha Champagne,” complete with little bits of hay and a functional hair clip!

What happened? You were about to rob the BofA, but at the last minute you realized your Golden Girls costume wouldn’t work, so you ditched it? Or were you on your way to Double Fine for a job interview, and realized you should just come as yourself, not disguised as Tippi Hedren from The Birds? Or were you actually Tippi Hedren from the Birds, and this was an actual chunk of your actual hair that some birds tore off your scalp in Bodega Bay and flew all the way down to San Francisco, just to abandon it here because they had finally licked off all the blood? Or were you just taking a hay ride down Brannan Street and it hit a bump and you flew, feet-first, into a pothole and are right now underneath that hair making muffled screams for help?

Some times a news page asks more questions than it answers.

U P D A T E :

I checked in with our wig later on that day, on my way out of the office. Looks like he made some progress home! He had moved at least 15 feet, and was just about to try navigating the crosswalk.

Watch out for that bike, Wiggy!

Remember, the walk of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

Oh, how rude of me. I forgot you don’t have feet. Ouch.
Well, hopefully you are full of lice, and they can all pitch in and get you moving.

People have been haranguing me for more information, so here is a close-up of the weevil.

All he wanted was a little oatmeal! And to spread just a pinch of E. coli!

I recently got these in the mail. Up for grabs, in case anyone wants them…

Oh, and I also have this, in case you want this:

You want to know the sad thing about this diet? I’m totally excited about eating that jello right now. And I have been for the last hour and a half. “Soon, soon,” I have been thinking obsessively, “I get to eat jello!”

Believe it or not, this is game related. People have asked me, “Why isn’t Brütal Legend at E3?” And I can not tell them the real truth: That I am just too fat to go to E3. But let’s not say fat. Let’s say “Jolly.” And I don’t mean, “Wah, wah. I’m too jolly and everyone will laugh at me.” I mean I am physically too jolly to fit out the door of Double Fine. I’m stuck in my office, wedged into my tiny-looking Aeron chair, my jolly flesh poking through it’s woven back like cheese through a fine grater. I am now forced to bathe by scraping the sticky parts of post-it notes over my armpits. Somewhere in one of my jolly belly rolls, my cell phone is ringing, but I cannot find it. Oh, woe is my jolly.

But I have my jello, and soon the world will be sorry.

Anybody out there missing a weevil? One that looks something like this cute little guy?

I have good news and bad news for you.

The good news is I found your weevil!
No more wondering where he got off to this time! That curious little ragamuffin. Always running off and getting himself into a jimmy jam! That darn weevil.

The bad news is I boiled him alive. At least I think he was alive at the time. He might have slowly suffocated weeks ago in the package. Either way, he’s definitely boiled now, and in a plastic baggie. I didn’t do it on purpose. I was just trying to prepare some delicious (looking) Kashi Instant Oatmeal this morning.

And when I poured in the boiling water, your little buddy floated to the top.
I thought at first, “My my. Is that… a rat turd?”
Can you imagine? That would have been gross.
I was so relieved to see that the little turd-like thing had tiny little, lifeless legs sticking out of it. And a mischievous look on its scalded face.
“More for your Heart,” indeed!
Oh, why didn’t I look more closely at that label?

Until I get this out of my system.

If you get drunk in GTA4, the controller starts to rumble and pulse rhythmically. If you are holding a baby at this time, lay the controller on the baby’s back. It might get a burp out of her, and it will definitely help her fall asleep. I think the vibrations must have a rhythm similar to that of a mother’s heartbeat. Especially if your mother is a drunk Russian man.

Alright, I’ve reproduced. My work here is done, right? My genetic obligations have been fulfilled. So now I can just sit back and basically wait for death, no?

The thing is, Death, like the cable guy, won’t give you an exact arrival time. He just says, “Yeah, I’ll be there sometime between 8am and 4pm, from now to eternity, or whenever else I feel like it, probably when you least expect it.” So I figure I have to keep busy, and set new challenges for myself.

First challenge: to create the finest work of English literature ever, of all time. The best writing that money could buy, if the writing weren’t so priceless and beautiful and therefore timeless, and yet affordable. I wanted to scribe something that would actually justify the incredibly pretentious use of the verb “scribe.” I wanted people to think I had called up to heaven and said, “Hey, God. Is there any previously-unreleased material that you left out of the first two bibles? Like some forgotten wisdom or other out-takes that I can use to make life better on earth for humans?” I wanted to pull together a collection of words that have never been pulled together before and make them wonder where they had all been all of each other’s lives. I wanted to go back in time to the mind of the person who invented writing, and blow that mind.

Well, I have to say in my honest, conservative judgment… I did it. Frankly, I even exceeded those expectations. (When will I ever learn to stop underestimating myself?) Sweet success and a half. Everything that Guggenheim had in mind when he invented typewriters or whatever was encapsulated in this amazing document.

Unfortunately it was only two pages long. So I decided to pad it out with about 300 of Scott’s comics. Plus a Knight Guy board game, a bunch of sketches, a commentary section, some secrets of how to draw, and sexy pin-up art. (Not of me, though. Sorry.) And for legal reasons, we named it, “Double Fine Action Comics by Scott C (Vol. 1)”

You can now buy this amazing book, and read it wherever you want. Remember how before you couldn’t read the Double Fine Action Comics when the power was off? Well, now you can. In fact, I suggest that when this book arrives, you shut off the circuit breakers in the house, huddle up your whole family under an old quilt, and gather around a candle to read The Double Fine Action Comics together. Just like how Abraham Lincoln used to read comics when he was a kid.

They say when you have a child that you no longer have time to do a lot of things, especially video games. And I have found that to be very true. But mostly because my dang kid is playing them all the time! How am I supposed to get in there? With a crowbar?

For instance, I pre-ordered Wii Fit, and was super excited about playing it, but guess who’s hogging it? (Again!)

But the joke’s on her. She can barely register on the BMI scale at all!

11.92? Pitiful!

You should have seen her stumble her way through a simple balance test. Like a drunk sailor!

I don’t want to push her too hard though. I know she is her own worst critic. She took it pretty hard when her “Wii Fit Age” test results came in.

I, the Lifemaker™, have returned to work. After successfully delivering my genetic information at least one hundred years into the future via the world’s first perfect human child, I have returned here to the relatively simple task of video game creation. I expect that after forging a human being, making something like a video game will feel trivially easy, and I will be able to do it with one toe. All I need to do is apply all the secrets I learned in my person-making experience. For instance: I’ll need to get my wife to do all the hard work again.

Now, I don’t want to be the type of irresponsible journalist who would take a serious news page like this and turn it into his personal venue for baby pictures. But I will.

Another baby? Is Double Fine breeding an army?

Yes we are.
It is my great pleasure to present to you the second in our long line of quality babies, James Oliver Annable!
Baby Annable is the joyful outpopping of our very own Malena Annable (former kitty-hater) with some assistance from the famous and potent Graham Annable.

As you can see, the feet are still in the concept art stage, but we’re still letting Malena call him “done” because she promised to come in this weekend and finish him up.

The Excellent Baby Girl Schafer, 7lbs 10oz. Why do people want to hear a baby’s weight? All you need to know is that she is CUTE.