Oh my god! The comics are missing! They're all gone!
Whoa, psyche! HERE
they are! In their new happy home which I made myself, using the internet. And some friends of the internet helped me. Thank you, my best friends
. Oh, and I would also like to thank the power of dreams
, and magic
The comics just looked a little cramped in the tiny boxes I had them in, and I didn't want them growing up all square like Japanese watermelons. So now they are free, and the laughter contained in the comics may now fly forth, like a swarm of locusts. Locusts of laughter! Fly forth and darken America's skies with your chuckles!
(Is that the proper way to spell "Psyche!" by the way? That's the way they spelled it in Wolfenstein 3D. I like to blame everything on Wolf 3D. I also blame them for my tolerance for dog shooting, and my love of dog food.)
I haven't found a place yet to put my awesome picture of Scott
, so I'll just find some way to mention it in the news and put a link there. And-- just like on Noah's Ark
--there was no room for the unicorns
. Well, if the artist
draws some more, I'll put them up I promise. Hear that, Unicorns? I have lobbed the Unicorn Responsibility Ball into someone else's
|Just in case you didn't look at the full version (10,583k!) of the mosaic picture in the previous post and notice that it was an insane compendium of Double Fine Copywrited (written?) material, then here is a close up of my handsome chin area:
Can you see the tiny screenshots and chunks of comics? It was like my dog ate the entire website, and then threw up! That is, if my dog happened to throw up in such away that the chunks formed a perfect mosaic of me, Chris Remo, and a paper crane. Oh, and also, IF I had a dog, which I don't.
I chose that chunk of the picture out of sentiment and nostalgia, to honor the soul patch I shaved off yesterday because in the picture it looks like a little Hitler mustache that sank.
Well, you're probably tired from all this news, so you go lie down, or lay down. Whichever you prefer. I will get back to work on this excellent game Psychonauts for which I have no actual news except for the increasing state of it's awesomeness and funativity.
Check out this crazy picture sent in by our VP of remote operations, Paul McAllister:
What’s that you say? It’s merely another photo of me trying to save one of our testers from a vicious crane attack? Ah, yes, but it is so much more. Look closer, at this BIG-ASS VERSION. When you first bring it up, squint your eyes, and then point to the screen and ask your computer operator, “Can you enhance this area here?” And after it pixel-fades in, say “Again.” And again. And again. And then point again and say, “That’s a Texas plate. Have Sanchez run that number and see if you can’t get me an address.” And when they say, “What license plate? What are you talking about?” Just stare at the screen and say, “Oh. My. God.” Because by then you will have looked close enough to see the secret hidden in that picture.
That’s right. IT’S NOT A REAL CRANE!!!
Even I, hardened game industry veteran, am shocked and inspired by the dramatic turn of events in Double Fine Action Comics Number 65! I totally did not see that coming!
People complain that there is no real news on this site. Here’s what I think: Just because we don’t have any actual news, is that any reason not to report it? No. Look, if you want news, you should look in the NEWSpaper. Especially TODAY, and especially if you live in San Francisco, because—supposedly—there is some mention of us in the “Datebook” section of the Chronicle. Go get it! I know it’s after 7pm, but they’ll still have a copy at your corner liquor store I’ll bet, along with some liquor. So get up, put on your little flippy-flops and go down to the store. Get the Chronicle, and maybe a snickers, and maybe some Diet Dr. Pepper, and take them all home and go nuts. You will finally be happy because you are reading news, printed news, about Psychonauts. And you will not feel guilty about the delicious candy bar because your soda pop will be dietetic.
Here’s what I can tell you: We are all here working hard on the excellent game Psychonauts. New stuff is going in every day and the game is looking great. We hope to be announcing a new publisher soon. I promise you will be the FIRST TO KNOW! Our volunteer tester army is the best, and I love them. Some of them have received hugs. From me. One of them left his jacket here. I dare the Chronicle to print that.
And come work here!
Nobody at your current job likes you anyway. And—you didn’t hear it from me—but I heard that they’re going to fire you as soon as you finish that thing you’re working on. I’m not kidding. Get the upper hand and quit now! And then check our jobs page for new jobs! We’re looking for a system programmer and a producer. (No, Caroline did not leave. She is just building an army of SUPERPRODUCERS to take over the world, and she wants you. Trust me, when the war comes, you don’t want to be on the other side.)
And we’re just hiring another programmer because someone said our company was too good-looking, so we thought we’d take that down a notch.
By hiring a programmer!
Because they’re ugly!
P.S. I would like to personally apologize to all of my programmers for that last comment. I am of course kidding, because you are all so very foxy, and I am deeply, deeply attracted to each and every one of you.
P.P.S. Okay, supposedly I shouldn’t have said that last comment either, because APPARENTLY it could be misconstrued to be sexualized harassment. Even though everything I do is—because of who I am—highly sexualized, this is not. It’s all in fun, right? Right? I am not attracted to you, of course. But, I mean, I’m sure someone is. What I meant was, even though you are attractive, I have not myself noticed. I have only heard that you were attractive second-hand. And the person who told me you were attractive has been fired for sexual harassment. There, are you happy now? Happy tearing this company apart?
Okay, but the rest of you: please come to work here. I swear I’m not around that much. Thanks.
What’s that? You feel left out because last time Double Fine called for testers you were too chicken to come down to our offices and touch the magic, and so someone else got an earful of origami and you spent another day sad and Psychonauts-free, not testing anything, except for your own will to carry on without any real reason to do so?
Well too bad! You lose!
You should never have ignored the wishes of the Double Fine Action News!
Oh, come on. Stop. Stop crying. Please? I’m sorry I yelled. I didn’t mean—oh come on. I’m begging you. Okay, okay! I give up! We’ll do it again! You hear me? We’ll have testers come test for free again! Just stop crying!
We have another fabulous and important build coming up so we’ll need fabulous and important testers from June 23 through July 2. This is the only second chance you’re going to get! After this there will only be third and fourth chances and things of that nature. So please jump at this opportunity now before you figure out that you can get paid for this kind of work elsewhere!
The last time we hosted a volunteer tester army we all got to be terrific and amazing friends! Unfortunately I go through friends fast and now I need more. Mail the I WANT TO BE A DOUBLE FINE TESTER hotline right now and say, “Yes. I, too, deserve love. I, too, want a crane in my ear. I want to see the excellent game Psychonauts way before anybody else. I want so much, so goddamn much, and I know you can give it to me so please god do not deny me this!!!”
Or use your own words because if you say that exactly you’ll probably creep out the I WANT TO BE A DOUBLE FINE TESTER hotline and your mail will be put in a special folder called, “Creepy.”
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.