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Tim Schafer Tim

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.

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