A platoon of tingas, strange mutant babies who are constantly being torn apart by a goose with a very long neck, marches in Santa hats. By crawling, falling, and falling into drinks that serve as orange spawning pools where they merge with others to form larger tings, they earn money. At the moment there are millions and billions of banknotes per minute. It folds into a piggy bank far below, under the base of a gooseneck that has emerged straight from the stomach of a rather dazed beachgoer. At Tingus Goose everything is as it should be. Well, almost everything.
Having cut my teeth in the surreal avian slacker's Steam Next Fest demo, I spent the better part of this week diving into the full version after Jeff. It's happening.
At the time of writing, I have successfully funded six rounds of intense goose romance. You do this by making money by ensuring that the tings are carefully bounced and controlled by strange gooseneck contraptions as they glide along what amounts to a feathered beanstalk. Sometimes three of them will end up in the test tube you set up and turn into a larger Tingy in the release cap. Sometimes they bounce off the cow and force it to cook a hot dog filled with money. Sometimes they hit the large eyeball and cause it to blink so hard that the creature and its pupil fall out. All of these things generate money, which you spend on getting the goose to drink and making its neck grow as close as possible to the other goose waiting at the top of the screen.
For about 80% of the distance between them, the growth is almost constant. Earnings grow by the minute at a ratio that increases as you add more twists and turns to Tinga's descent path. Every few minutes, a creature with many udders called Doctor Food appears to offer you the opportunity to buy power-ups and additional wrinkles of the tinga path with the gems you earn by reaching certain heights. Successful mating gives you calcium, which you spend through the root system under the goose tower to unlock abilities, such as having a butler appear from time to time so he can immediately deflate after eating a ton of money.
It's good old fashioned capitalism, especially when it comes to getting that last 20% you need to start the good times. I'm currently watching the money grow, and there are about ten meters left in the seventh chapter. I'm about to enter the seventh round of geese mating, so tantalizingly close I can taste it. My next couple inches of height will cost me 20 billion dollars. A couple of inches after that will cost me a little more. Now I make about three billion money a minute. If I don't feel like micromanaging to try and ensure that my bouncing tingi machine is operating at absolute maximum efficiency, all I can do is sit and wait.
The clock is ticking. I start to fidget. Three billion dollars a minute is simply not enough, although it could pay for almost all of my previous marriage gains in one fell swoop. This is not ennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооооо. I want the geese to mate right now wwwwwwwww. I catch myself. Hell, that's what all those corporate executives who are ruining everything for us think too, don't they? Fair, Lazy goose. You can pretend to be a fairly unpredatory Steam port of a popular mobile slacker that specializes in weird gimmicks, but I see you're right.
You are right. I'll go out and buy some Christmas chocolates so the two geese have something to munch on after their ridiculously expensive beak-swallowing is over.
