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.
