AKA: The day I started playing Candy Crush on my phone…
Why would I do this? Why would I just give up on a life of success, happiness, wealth, fame, power, prestige, pizza, porcupines, pot-lucks, now-you’re-just-saying-P-words?… Why just throw it all away? And for what?
Humiliating as it is, the story must be told and the documentation must take place.
“What’s the big deal?”, a dumb person might ask. It’s just Candy Crush. A harmless puzzle game for mobile devices… You may be confused yourself because you’re one of the many people who enjoy this very popular waste of life, and no doubt historians reading this in the archives decades later searching for early clues and answers as to why I wreaked such havoc on the globe later in life after becoming Emperor of Earth, but the answer should be clear…
Candy Crush is for children, losers, and Nazi war criminals.
If you’re over 17 and play this game, you seriously need to reconsider the very merits of your existence. And since my 17th birthday was just a couple days ago, I am doing exactly that right now.
At the time of this posting, I am on on level 29 of the original game and level 101 of the far superior sequel, Candy Crush Soda Saga.
I fkking hate myself.
And I should. And you should hate me too. And you probably do. Because even though the only reason I know what-the-fudge Candy Crush is is by being harassed by bots on Facebook sending me requests to join this loser-cult I wanted no part of, forcing me to take notice of who had such negative degrees of a life that they would do such a thing and presume to think I would be on their level in any way to join them in this depravity – now – in February 2015, I find myself willfully, knowingly, and soberly choosing to send such requests… well. kindov. The requests was actually a mistake. I thought I was just connecting to Facebook after level 90something to get a wider audience for whom to get lives sent to me from but instead, I carelessly tipped my hand and was sending out requests for lives. The intention was noble enough. I was trying to get clean and go straight. I intended to stop, or at least reduce how often I would cheat at the game by circumventing the time limit on lost lives by changing the time on my phone. You see, after 5 lives, the sadistic creators of the game force you to either buy more with actual real-life money through an in-app purchase, or wait until any of your friends give you lives if you don’t want to wait the 20 minutes it takes for each life to regenerate. That is, unless you fast forward in time by manually changing the clock in your phones settings like I always do. But because I was not paying attention in my mad dash for more digital hearts acting as tokens to continue gambling my life away, I sent out multiple requests for lives to other Facebookers who, like me in my former life back when I was cool, were not pouring their youth down the drain in stupid phone games.
Ever since I realized what I had done I have been in a panic. Do I play dumb? Claim there was a glitch and that I had still never played the game? Do I allege that I had been hacked? Do I just kill myself and save me and my family the embarrassment of the newspaper headlines exposing me for being a hypocrite and fraud?
No. It was time to face the music. I opened up the page to start a new post on my satirical humor blog and did took to the familiar act of writing something vaguely over the top but rooted in reality. I revealed what I had been doing and accepted the shame and scorn I was owed while also making it clear to the Candy Crushers that while I had fallen victim to their spell, I would not be joining their clubs and support groups as I maintained that they were still the scum of the earth not to be respected by higher class citizens. I confessed to the Facebook request sending and as tears hit my knuckles on the keyboard I vowed that as *soon* as I get out of the Cupcake Cottage levels I would stop and never look back. I cried harder because I knew that was a lie. I shed these tears not for myself, but for the world that lost me for that time. The unfairness of it was too much to bear.
My only hope is that by coming out of the CCC (Candy Crush Closet), the dank puddle that is left of what was once the mighty cold hard ice sculpture of my Self Respect will somehow reconstitute itself enough to end this madness and save my life.
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