THE UPSIDE IS, NO ONE WILL CARE THAT WE WERE LATE GETTING OUR TAXES DONE.

Tomorrow morning is the 100th anniversary of the Great San Francisco Earthquake and Fire. If Mother Nature has any sense of humor or irony, then there will be another Great Quake at exactly that same time tomorrow. So, a mere ten hours from now, all of Double Fine will probably be dead. Crushed by bricks in our sleep. Those of us who are not dead will most likely be trapped in the post-apocalyptic hell that the city will inevitably become. If we are lucky, we will be able to stay alive—by eating the raw flesh of our deceased loved ones—long enough for the National Guard to get to us, and shoot us for looting.

I’m not trying to be morbid. I’m just trying to drive down property values in this town so that I can maybe buy a house some day.

Oh man, did I mention the post-quake banshees? The ones that slip into your house though the new cracks and scream you to death? They don’t sing about them in the Rice-a-Roni commercial, that’s for sure.