Yes, we made another game. Though the last attempt left us both mentally and physically empty, lifeless and gray, boneless and splayed across the ground like old chicken breasts rejected by a foraging raccoon… we decided to try again.

Holy Shit.
It seemed such a simple thing. A fancy, a lark. Let's make a video game! It's clearly the only way to reach the kids these days, those godawful kids. Let us trap them in in our Sisyphean Pixelscape, our coded windmill punches of manic punishment and false reward. Let's craft airy online diversions for office drones as they await their layoff notices. Let's entrap human beings we've never met in our ephemeral Labyrinths of nervous activity. Let's make a Graphical User Interface for sublimation.
How hard could it be?

It's really freaking hard.

Wipe those tears from your eyes, friend. We never meant to hurt you, to forsake you, to cast you adrift on the high seas of shame and ignominy. Nope. We are just really, really lazy.
But now we're back!
And a sea-change has taken place, rich and strange. Yes indeed. For, in light of the recent popularity and 'hipness' of indie-games on the Internet, we have decided that we want a piece of that glorious home-baked pie, lovingly fashioned from scratch with our own filthy, gnarled hands.
Yes. We are game developers now. The high-falutin kind that leave grouchy responses to forum posts about 'bugs,' and 'lack of playability.'
God it feels good.

Yes, my dear friends, I have made another bold experiment, taking a dark journey into Roger Rabbit territory and making ill use of an old Vincent Price movie. I am very emboldened by the success of this, and will soon be inserting my personality into a far-range of other people's creations, rubbing my filthy hands all over their hopes and dreams. Yes. Don't be surprised when you rewatch your wedding videos and find hideous cartoon characters crashing the reception and groping your private parts.
Enjoy!
Click the picture above or the link below to see it!

God I Love Vincent Price

And yes, it was a very complicated process to insert my animated character into an old movie. I had to gingerly slide my drawings behind Vincent, or into the car, etc. I now understand why all the animators for Mary Poppins killed themselves.

Hmm, there seems to be some sort of link below this text ... I wonder where it could lead? I'm kinda scared of links, myself. I mean, what if it's something that will offend my Christian sensibilities? Oh, I wouldn't like that one bit. Or what if it's some ghastly fetishistic porn involving slap-bracelets and Mickey Rourke impersonators. Ew!
Worst of all, what if it's some kinda goddamn stupid-ass internet cartoon? Oh man, that'd REALLY piss me off. I HATE those.
Oh well, only one way to find out.

It's a goddamn internet cartoon!

1. Preparation is important!

This holiday season, as the last vestiges of the modern monetary system come unraveled at the seams, it is important not to procrastinate with your holiday plans. The disappointment of your family members will be revealed on their sad, plaintive faces as the hordes of scavengers half-mad with hunger clamber through your broken windows and woefully unreinforced doors.

It's time to become zombies. I don't mean on Goddamned Facebook. I mean for really reals.

Look, I'm not afraid to admit that I'm considerably older than your average internet-dwelling racist 12-year-old. My first computer was a room full of Roosevelt's New Deal hobos that did the math, in real-time, for me to play Pac Man. I enjoyed text adventures back when Infocom employees would personally come to your house and live-parse your commands. A bygone time. I still look fantastic, but let's face it: I poop terra cotta soldiers. On the plus side, I have also gained the dimly recalled aggregate of a lifetime of horrible experiences, and feel an unnatural urge to pass this knowledge on to the younger generation, in the hopes that it will somehow help and prepare you lousy venereal-diseased hooligans for the sucking doom that's been laid out for you like an inverse Thanksgiving dinner.

Zombiefication. Get ready to take the plunge.

(Important note: This is not the cute and paradoxically well-known 'secret menu' you've heard about that gives one access to extra beef-patties and such: this is the True Secret Menu, known only to clientele that have consumed their way to the Fourth Level. I reveal the secrets of the True Secret Menu at great personal peril, so that at last the public can be warned of the dark eldritch mysteries of this privately owned fast-food enterprise.)

The menu, which is scarred onto the back of every employee, is as follows: