Messages

  Ok, thanks Wyz for the clarification.  I wasn't aware that is was only publicly available resources; being able to use plugins and/or modules makes sense.

Cold feet once you examine the goods from up close, eh?   

Nope.  In fact, you and/or Ponch could be working on a Toilet Tycoon sequel (for MAGS or just as a non-comp game) and I'd be game to join up.  You guys are talented, easy to work with, and you actually release games.  I've worked on a number of games that I either never heard anything about again or were scrapped by the lead developer.

My annoyance is that OROW, which sounds like a really cool and tough IT reality show, sorta becomes One Room Unlimited Weeks if you can use preexisting graphics and code.

[Baron's]

Best Character: Baron's Jotham.
Best Plot: Baron...I was curious to hear more about the rebellion and the Tavern wench's rackola, both were intriguing to read about.  And much like Baron voted, I'll give Stupot+ a point as well.
Best Atmosphere: Baron's alehouse reeked of rusty tankards of grog and medieval sexism.
So bad it's good: Baron, for I had to slow my reading pace due to the descriptions, and I loved "...as time grinds on we shall see the meek of the earth rise up like so many turds on water, and turn our polity into a crass echo-chamber of the lowest-common denominator."

So, on to kconan, who has very helpfully published photos of himself in his sharp orange suit to help me with my decision.  Right now I'm wearing a garment of bright yellow feathers, which makes me afraid that if we're seen in close proximity people might mistakenly get a hallowe'eny-vibe from us.  You have three sentences to set my Fashion-Faux-Pas-O-Meter at ease.

Those who didn't dress up for the "Jim Carrey as Lloyd OR Big Bird Costume Competition" are the only people in danger of committing a faux pas at this bar.

Blarghh, I'm now souring a bit on OROW...I wasn't aware until just now that preexisting assets/resources are allowed.

Dualnames is out of my league.  I'm going to sit over here in the corner of the bar and people watch for now.

By the way, there is nothing wrong with a 3-way or a 4-way right?  I don't mean Caligula-esque Swarm size, but small teams of compatible people can crank out more.

Yes!  I figured you were cooking something up...

Have you told Ponch your seeing other co-developers?

I'm free OROW week.  My biggest turn-ons are unique game projects and easy-to-work-with co-developers, and turn-offs include poorly documented code and missed deadlines.     

The big cheese in the Philly cheese steak that is my company wants to powwow.   Obviously I'm being promoted from stamping ordinary parchments to stamping more important parchments!  The lane of cubicles I must traverse to reach Mr. Big Cheese is a hedgerows of pressboard and plastic.  One human shaped go-faster hoof in front of the opposing human shaped go-faster hoof, you can do it Johnson!  Bunco Industries put their hard-fought legal tender on a majestically, magnificent racehorse!

I exit my ToilCubeâ,,¢ to begin the swagger-stroll that is my pre-promotion saunter-strut.  The first stop is Gertrude, who is a rubineqsue character of cherubic and fleshy intensity clocking in around three-hundred and fifty L-bees and also a proud Mom of three.  Crumbs fall by the wayside as she grins and greets; the food particles that landed on her oft-ponderous reports seem to form a smiley-face.  Her continued positivity is of far-reaching, paramount importance to this large domicile where tasks are undertaken to support an overall profit-driven goal.  After departing her work-area, my trek crosses paths with Loni's cube which is adorned with photos of the time when she was a beauty queen.  She is the admin/notescriber, though the big kahuna doesn't offload many responsibilities on to her lovely shoulders.  Perhaps Loni genuinely is royalty, as anyone with such curvy, voluptuosity that emanates sky high degrees of perpetual sex-related-pheromones can rule my kingdom.  Loni bats her gigantor eyelashes at me and I reciprocate said eyelash batting, and the wanton passion-vibes could very well be sliced in the air via a Nodachi samurai sword in the hands of a screaming samurai hailing from feudalistic Japan or at the very least, by a Kukri knife wielded by a gritty Gurkha from Nepal.  The next cubicle on my path belongs to Billy, who fist-bump-gnashes me hard and inquires as to whether or not I work hard or hardly work while cackling maniacally.  Billy is an energetic and funny wizened cracker who cracks wise, and proves that you don't need to be witty or original to make others jubilant like when he espouses his views on Mondays being “no-fun-days” and randomly, loudly declares “TGIF” in support of Fridays.  In addition to being staunchly pro-Friday, nobody makes those birth anniversaries where nine-to-fivers celebrate their continued existence more momentous than Billy!  Next up is Sam, known as “Serious Sam” to us office dwellers, who madly pounds away on his modern day, powered typewriter like a maestro composing â€" that is if maestros composed debits and credits rather than instrumental acoustics.  As I go past, he glances through thick spectacles over a skyline of heaping paperwork littered with digits and characters and curtly nods for a snappy second before straightening his bowtie and returning to the arduous process of arguably industrious keypunching.  Every office needs a Sam to loudly fulfill computatively challenging, bean-counting objectives and in-turn churn out reams of dead trees both regardless and irregardless (basically regardless of regardlessness) of necessity.  My newfound success train blows by Phil, who often golfs with the big man and chuckles overly hard at his quips.  He hits me with the double finger guns in a rare salute which I eagerly return.  It seems that Phil often updates the suits on what the miners in the trenches at the tip of the spear are getting up to, which is so helpful because they do need to be in the loop.  He is also the first one to point out when officemates make an embarrassing mistake - we appreciate his frank, artless candor!  Last stop before El Jefe is Scott, who was hired by Human Resources at the Triennial Ethnic Employment Event.  Unlike the rest of the office, he quietly and diligently performs his work at a relatively high level.  It is always good to have someone around who performs their vocation well and without complaint, and certainly HR appreciates that his mixed heritage allows them to check off several boxes on the diversity scorecard.  Scott tips his cap, and at this very moment I stand in front of head honcho's office.  I silently promise myself that the extra moolah and acclaim won't go to my prodigious dome, as my workmates regale me with accolades over my newly coroneted role.

The ornate handle turns and clicks, and I skip into the High Lord's chamber.  It smells of teak, polished brass, and unrelenting success.  The chief adjusts his putter, hammers his target, and sinks it.  I fist-pump his eagle eye shot, just as he tells me that I am “out”.  Fantabulousness achieved!  I'm OUT of stamping and into executive-ing.   Bossman picks up the dimpled golf ball, stands up to the apex of his full height with perfect posture, flattens the creases in his tailored Brioni suit, and clarifies that I am out on the street and replaced as of right now.  My exclamation was drowned out by his flooding the room with torrents of oratory which ends with him reassuring that my replacement wasn't some newfangled automaton - since in the top suit's words “a fancy-schmancy robot would be vastly overqualified for the menial application of inking approval chops on paper” - but instead a trained macaque monkey!  With all of what remained of my herculean strength I force my eyeballs over to the newly added upscale room nearby, and spy my furry replacement â€" who was given a luxurious corner power-office â€" furiously eating a banana with one paw and mindlessly stamping documents with the other!  An animal handler scurries out of the monkey's room as I return my glare towards the former superior.  He barks at me to shut the door on my way out, and alleges that he prefers it not bonk me in the haunches while the process is undertaken.

The force of the door clobbering closed behind me was somewhere between a stalwart knight lopping heads mid-battle and that of a brawny King Kong fist-pound after three months of daily high-dosage testosterone injections.  I began the unenviable march back to clean out my desk.  The almighty, malevolent King's door finished reverberating just as Scott, you know Mister look-at-me I'm sooooo Worldly and exotic, tilts his head and feasts eyes on his newly fired colleague.  My noggin spins in his direction and I heatedly remind him that he was hired only because everybody likes mixed people, and the fact that he is a hard worker who grinds out crackshot results matters to no one.   I witness his head recoil from the ego blow and move on to Phil, who would require a heavy duty chisel to get all the brown off of that huge sneezer.  Grousing past I overhear him engaged in a hushed phone conversation about how my leaving affects office dynamics and politics, and how the monkey coming onboard is a game-changer for office parties/shindigs.  He receives two sturdy middle fingers for his efforts, as I jaunt by down the avenue of shitty, ramshackle cubicles.  One finger is for gossiping about me post-firing and the other was earned by his mercilessly stabbing me in the back weeks ago when he snitched to the bossmen about one of my rare mis-stamps AKA the “calamitous mis-mark heard round the work.”  Sam pretends not to look at me as I shuffle past, and I reward his lack of acknowledgment of my current position in space by swiping my hand across his dumb pile of dumber papers which send them flying, like a stack of paperwork compiled by a digithead workaholic with no life who produces sheer quantity rather than quality should go flying.  As Sam's weekly output descends around me, I powerwalk by Billy.  Billy's happy-go-lucky moron smile is returned with a sneer, and his attempt at a high-five is reversed into a behind-the-back judo armlock which I briefly hold, and then release with disgust upon arrival near Loni's Cube O' Lust.  Having front row seats to my treatment of Sam and Billy, Loni leers at me as she shakes her overly made up head from side-to-side, and I tell her to return to doing exactly one-tenth of jack shit while looking moderately-pretty while pretending to do something other than hoping for a rich client to walk in who also happens to be a desperate sugar daddy in the market for an aging seven point five.  Unashamedly and despite my biting comment, I playfully toss a snippet of paper with my mobile phone number on Loni's desk as the stroll o' shame passes by Gertrude.  My eyes surveil Gertrude's mountain of flesh that she calls a body, and continue on to her desk where I stare at her kid's attempt at artwork which was framed and prominently displayed at her work area.  Previously I had proclaimed to her that this shitscribble of unintelligible shapes was a masterpiece, and I now disabuse her of that notion.  Gertrude frowns, and I notice that from my current angle the disgusting crumbs on her desk presently appear to form the shape of a thumb pointing downwards.

I totter into my ToilCubeâ,,¢, ferociously sweep everything off the escritoire onto the floor, and yank out all of the drawers/cubbyholes haphazardly relegating the stuff inside to ubiquitous positions on the floor.  My hand swipes a baggie and small pillbox off the floor and I hurriedly shovel the contents of both down my gaping maw, and finish the procedure by maniacally gulping down my Kamikaze flavored Samurai Energy Drink to chase the dried peyote and Percocets.   Sifting through my crap on the floor while stewing, I eventually decide to once again wade through the cubicle passage and valiantly, boldly, stridently, and cavalierly confront…

…Beelzebub himself in his own fiery lair of doom.  The path of lost souls can easily be traversed, yet again, as I make my triumphant return to vanquish the vile Satan which thinks it bested me via shame and dismissal!  The shifting shapes which currently swirl around me are merely a minor, inconvenient obstacle in the gauntlet which lies before the great Johnson.  A disembodied voice asks me what I'm on, and I calmly explain to the unknown speaker that I've very obviously been huffing unicorn farts.  The mystery voice responds with something about calling “security guards” or maybe it said “furious tards” or “obscurity bards.”  No matter, if my path crosses that of a musician performing an overly vague and confusing song then I'll cross that bridge when he strums to it.

Now that I'm ready for Thunderdome both mentally and physically, I adjust the saddle of my jumbo hamster-chicken hybrid and give her a light kick behind the right tentacle and we charge off towards Gertrude's particleboard fortress.  The smiles of her neck flaps begin taunting me as I heroically soar past in a blur.  Loni begins swinging her now weaponized breasts in my direction and I'm bucked off my formerly trusty steed onto Billy's desk, who advises me to “run the Mengele file up the flag pole so we can close the deal champ” and further elocutes by raucously shouting “Thank God Its Sideways” which propels me sidelong into Sam's cluttered grindout-hut.  I look up at Sam's word TV, which declares “Initiating human civilization annexing sequence…” and then careen backwards into a beast of unholy concoction that consists of Phil's face on a giant buttocks adorned with the imprints of lipstick kisses.  I accuse the monstrous butt creature of shining Lucifer's pitchfork, and then stagger on past to collapse in a jumbly heap smack dab in front of a seemingly taken aback Scott.  The most international man at Bunco industries shakes off his case of the startles, gathers me up, and we exchange oddball glances as he gently leans me against the evil Dictator's foreboding gateway.  My right hand metamorphizes into a vintage door-knocker made of flesh, and so I use my left to lift the ring and dramatically strike the plate.  The entryway is now clear and I march into the wicked, opulent den of my arch nemesis.  The demon glowers daggers of hatred in my direction, calls me a “vociferous bastard”, and fires off a verbal barb about stamp efficiency already improving threefold.  Satan is now out of focus and bordered by black bars.  I sway, totter, and aurally perceive the sound of approaching footsteps as voluminous blackness overtakes my vision and I pitch rearward…

Johnson, splayed out on a stretcher unconscious and drooling, once again journeys through the alley of cubicles.  He briefly comes to as the mobile cot passes by his old desk and is awake long enough to hear an excited monkey shriek, immediately followed by the solid “thunk” sound that could only be a meaty paw cudgeling down on a punch-clock.

Is it Repo Man?

Come check out our game, and let Steam know if you think it deserves to be on the shelves!

This was once on the shelves: https://toilettycoon.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/toilet-tycoon-win8.jpg


Your game deserves to be on a shelf...A much, much higher (and prestigous) one than Toilet Tycoon.

Yea the infodump was a failed experiment, anyway thanks for the game!

You can call it Baron, I've been resoundingly trounced.

[Mokho]

This was tough...But I've got to go with Mokho's DJ Smiley

I was an Atari 800XL and later 130XE man (well, kid actually) myself.  The Atari ST rocked, but of course Atari dropped the ball and it had a relatively short heyday.

I've been using the Windows 10 preview since earlier in the year.  Its good stuff, once you make the menus look like old school Windows.

[Best Character:]

I've read and thoughtfully evaluated all of the entries and...

Best Character: Sinitrena (Old Woman / Illé)
Best Atmosphere: Sinitrena
Best Background World: Sinitrena
Best Writing Style: Sinitrena
Most Substantive: Sinitrena

  Sorry to see only two entries!  Hopefully voting will be more active.  This topic was good timing though, as last month I refereed a little person boxing match: http://postimg.org/gallery/1s2zwcf48/d8692aa7/  I was on a business trip and there was a dive bar with a boxing ring in it near my hotel (Manila) where all kinds of matches take place, so I checked it out and was asked to ref for a match.  Had a blast!

If the boob signal works for calling Ponch...

Its only been a month, so hopefully she'll be back.

Wow!  This looks and sounds awesome!