the Dark Project - the Band (Special Headhunter Edition)

Special Headhunter Edition

Programming Art Design Other
Read the
Project Diary

Doug Church Mark Lizotte Greg LoPiccolo Eric Brosius
Chris Carollo Daniel Thron Laura Baldwin Sara Verrilli
Kate Jenkins Robb Waters Dorian Hart Robotkid
Marc "Mahk" LeBlanc Mike Ryan
Tom Leonard Randy Smith
Mat MacKenzie Tim Stellmach

Programming	Art	Design	Other	Read the Project Diary
Doug Church	Mark Lizotte	Greg LoPiccolo	Eric Brosius
Chris Carollo	Daniel Thron	Laura Baldwin	Sara Verrilli
Kate Jenkins	Robb Waters	Dorian Hart	Robotkid
Marc "Mahk" LeBlanc		Mike Ryan
Tom Leonard		Randy Smith
Mat MacKenzie		Tim Stellmach

[Greg LoPiccolo] Greg LoPiccolo will happily work for your lame company. He'd like $215,000.00/year, a bunch of stock, and a palatial office with big tropical-fish tanks set into the walls, like in James Bond movies. No fish, no deal. Also, he's really hard to get along with.

Doug Church writes:
Dear Mr. Headhunter:
Please hire me. I'll promise I'll work extra hard, and not make trouble. They're not very nice to me here. They hardly ever let me go to the bathroom, and they make fun of my code. Sometimes, I just sit here and think bad thoughts. At the time of The Great Cleansing, they'll all be sorry they made fun of my code. If I come to work at your company, can I have my own bathroom? I really want my own bathroom.
[Doug Church]

[Laura Baldwin] A trained retrovirologist, Laura is expecting to become a hot commodity when someone starts writing SimEpidemic.

[Eric Brosius] Eric Brosius wants peace on Earth, and goodwill toward men.

[Chris Carollo] Chris Carollo wants soup. Piping hot. And now! He's not foolin' around, Chester!

In addition to the usual six-digit salary (of which no individual digit should be less than 7), Dorian Hart would require the following offered up to him as a condition of employment:
A Klein Bottle filled with a mixture of maple syrup and mercury; a chocolate-greased ham radio with sloth sauce^* served in a pineapple syringe; the life of his dead uncle Charlie; a sealed packet of freeze-dried cumulonimbus; raisins; one of those new ultralite cars constructed of carbon fiber and lemon glaze; half a television frozen in a block of ice; the square root of -1; the Death Star; and the genetic matrix of an armadillo.
*if available, he'd prefer "Rainforest Ralph's Authentic Old-Tyme Sloth Sauce," for that original three-toed taste.
[Dorian Hart]

[Kate Jenkins] Kate Jenkins won't work for you unless everyone in your company agrees to change their name to "Lloyd".

MAHK asks that prospective employers please send him three drops of their own blood, and a fountain pen.
[Mahk]

[Tom Leonard] Tom Leonard wants you to stop making that ruckus. He means it! He'll pull this Web browser over right now and you kids can just wait.

[Mark Lizotte] Mark Lizotte just wants everyone to stop making fun of him.

Mat MacKenzie wants a protoceratops for his morning commute, with one of those scrollwork leather saddles and 43 pounds of asparagus and fern fronds delivered for it promptly--promptly--every morning at sunrise.
[Mat MacKenzie]

Mike Ryan writes:

The demands are simple. I require the winged gargoyle that crouches upon the parapet atop Notre Dame. It's located just above the west Rose of Paris, on the left side. Deliver it undamaged.

Or if that's too difficult, grant me immortality, Anne Rice style.
[Mike Ryan]

Randy Smith will be your honorable and loyal servant provided you do the following two things:

You will host a tournament every 13 years in which the finest warriors from around the world compete to the death in hand to hand combat. Randy will be the champion of the tournament and thus will fight the participants only after they have defeated everyone else in the competition and perhaps some robots or mirror images of themselves. Be sure to contrive a weak plot with which to justify the tournament's existence.
You will convert the topmost floor of your office building into a lair for Randy, complete with twisting passages, an infinite number of faceless minions, and a huge, vaulted room in which Randy will spend every moment of his life awaiting the arrival of heroes to eat. Be sure to include in this room a lever which the heroes could pull if they so chose to drop some spikes on Randy's head, cause electricity to strike Randy, or something similar.

[Randy Smith]

[Tim Stellmach] Tim Stellmach wants a harem of slave girls, a spirited horse, and a sword. Or, the crew of the Mary Celeste. Stuffed. (That's the crew, not the slave girls).

Daniel Thron wants to be paid entirely in waffles and rich, buttery syrup.
Mmmmmmm.
[Daniel Thron]

Sara Verrilli wants an FTL ship and a couple of habitable planets to go with it.
[Sara Verrilli]

[Robb Waters] Robb Waters demands to be immortalized through an action-figure line, as well as a accompanying action playsets.

[Robotkid]
Guest star:

Robotkid wants new bionic arms, ears, eyes, and toes. (Or a chance to work on the new GODZILLA movie.)

	Greg LoPiccolo will happily work for your lame company. He'd like $215,000.00/year, a bunch of stock, and a palatial office with big tropical-fish tanks set into the walls, like in James Bond movies. No fish, no deal. Also, he's really hard to get along with.

Doug Church writes: Dear Mr. Headhunter: Please hire me. I'll promise I'll work extra hard, and not make trouble. They're not very nice to me here. They hardly ever let me go to the bathroom, and they make fun of my code. Sometimes, I just sit here and think bad thoughts. At the time of The Great Cleansing, they'll all be sorry they made fun of my code. If I come to work at your company, can I have my own bathroom? I really want my own bathroom.

	A trained retrovirologist, Laura is expecting to become a hot commodity when someone starts writing SimEpidemic.

	Eric Brosius wants peace on Earth, and goodwill toward men.

	Chris Carollo wants soup. Piping hot. And now! He's not foolin' around, Chester!

In addition to the usual six-digit salary (of which no individual digit should be less than 7), Dorian Hart would require the following offered up to him as a condition of employment: A Klein Bottle filled with a mixture of maple syrup and mercury; a chocolate-greased ham radio with sloth sauce^* served in a pineapple syringe; the life of his dead uncle Charlie; a sealed packet of freeze-dried cumulonimbus; raisins; one of those new ultralite cars constructed of carbon fiber and lemon glaze; half a television frozen in a block of ice; the square root of -1; the Death Star; and the genetic matrix of an armadillo. *if available, he'd prefer "Rainforest Ralph's Authentic Old-Tyme Sloth Sauce," for that original three-toed taste.

	Kate Jenkins won't work for you unless everyone in your company agrees to change their name to "Lloyd".

MAHK asks that prospective employers please send him three drops of their own blood, and a fountain pen.

	Tom Leonard wants you to stop making that ruckus. He means it! He'll pull this Web browser over right now and you kids can just wait.

	Mark Lizotte just wants everyone to stop making fun of him.

Mat MacKenzie wants a protoceratops for his morning commute, with one of those scrollwork leather saddles and 43 pounds of asparagus and fern fronds delivered for it promptly--promptly--every morning at sunrise.

Mike Ryan writes: The demands are simple. I require the winged gargoyle that crouches upon the parapet atop Notre Dame. It's located just above the west Rose of Paris, on the left side. Deliver it undamaged. Or if that's too difficult, grant me immortality, Anne Rice style.

Randy Smith will be your honorable and loyal servant provided you do the following two things: You will host a tournament every 13 years in which the finest warriors from around the world compete to the death in hand to hand combat. Randy will be the champion of the tournament and thus will fight the participants only after they have defeated everyone else in the competition and perhaps some robots or mirror images of themselves. Be sure to contrive a weak plot with which to justify the tournament's existence. You will convert the topmost floor of your office building into a lair for Randy, complete with twisting passages, an infinite number of faceless minions, and a huge, vaulted room in which Randy will spend every moment of his life awaiting the arrival of heroes to eat. Be sure to include in this room a lever which the heroes could pull if they so chose to drop some spikes on Randy's head, cause electricity to strike Randy, or something similar.

	Tim Stellmach wants a harem of slave girls, a spirited horse, and a sword. Or, the crew of the Mary Celeste. Stuffed. (That's the crew, not the slave girls).

Daniel Thron wants to be paid entirely in waffles and rich, buttery syrup. Mmmmmmm.

Sara Verrilli wants an FTL ship and a couple of habitable planets to go with it.

	Robb Waters demands to be immortalized through an action-figure line, as well as a accompanying action playsets.

	Guest star: Robotkid wants new bionic arms, ears, eyes, and toes. (Or a chance to work on the new GODZILLA movie.)