I may not achieve the ultimate goose shagging climax by Christmas, because my vomit children aren’t earning enough billions
A platoon of Tingi, strange mutant babies that a goose with a very long neck keeps vomiting out, march along in Santa hats. As they crawl, fall, and drop into drinks which serve as orange-hued progenating pools where they merge with others to form bigger tingi, they earn money. Millions and billions of cash bills a minute at this point. It collates in a piggy bank far below, beneath the base of the goose’s neck, which just out of the stomach of a rather bemused beachgoer. Everything’s as it should be in Tingus Goose. Well, nearly everything.
Having cut my teeth in the surreal avian idler’s Steam Next Fest demo, I’ve now spent a good chunk of this week having a post-Geoffs dive into the full version. It’s going.
As of writing, I’ve successfully financed six rounds of intense goose romance. You do that by earning money by ensuring the Tingi get thoroughly bounced around and manipulated by strange goose neck attachments as they slide down what amounts to a feathered beanstalk. Sometimes three will get caught in a test tube you’ve set up and evolve into a bigger Tingi wearing a graduation cap. Sometimes they’ll bounce off of a cow and cause it to make a money-filled hotdog. Sometimes they’ll slap a big eyeball and cause it to blink so hard a pupil-creature falls out. All of these things earn money which you spend to water the goose and have its neck grow ever close to the other goose waiting at the top of the screen.
For about 80% of the distance between the two, growth is near constant. Revenue goes up by the minute in a ratio which increases as you add more wrinkles to the Tingi descent path. Every few minutes, a many-uddered creature named Doctor Food shows up to offer you the chance to buy boosts and extra tingi path wrinkles for gems, which you earn by reaching specific heights. Successful mating grants you calcium, which you spend via a roots system below the goose tower to unlock abilities, such as a butler occasionally showing up so he can immediately deflate as he sicks out a pile of cash.
It’s plain old capitalism, especially when it comes to getting that last 20% you need to initiate the goose good times. I’m currently watching the cash go up with about ten meters to go in chapter seven. My seventh round of goose mating awaits, so tantalisingly close that I can taste it. My next couple of inches of growth will cost me 20 billion monies. The couple of inches after that will cost me marginally more. I’m currently earning about three billion monies per minute. Unless I fancy mucking about with micromanagement to try and ensure my tingi bouncing apparatus is operating at absolute peak efficiency, all I can do is sit and wait.
The clock ticks. I begin to fidget. About three billion monies per minute just isn’t enough, even though it could have paid fopr almost all of my previous mating growths in one fell swoop. It’s not ennnnnnnooooughhhhh. I want the geese to mate nowwwwwwwwww. I catch myself. Shit, this is how all those corporate execs ruining it for the rest of us think, isn’t it? Fair play, Tingus Goose. You may pretend to be a nicely unpredatory Steam port of a popular mobile idler that specialises in weird gimmickery, but I can see that you have a point.
You’re right. I’ll go out and buy some Christmas chocolates so the two geese have something to chew on after their round of ludicrously expensive beak-swallowing has concluded.