I’m not gonna name names but some people have a problem.
On my Facebook status updates feed I increasingly see venting. No not the regular man/woman drama; inescapable “haters”; badmind, film-flammery; office politics, politics; monkey glands raised by rainy weather; soundboy beef; new local porn or who get make out, it is something way more insidious.
It is of a dark and sinister nature… people getting loud up because of Candy Crush.
And I quote, “Not me and allyuh b!tches! 12 days I stuck on this stage and can’t get no extra moves and I always sending life #forkitImtotin”
Is this what we’ve come to people? Toting feelings off of Candy Crush? Really?! From the eerie music, the yodeling, to the Technicolor confections, Candy Crush has seeped into our lives and clogged up our arteries with cloying sweetness!
Debilitating addiction is your only option when you have opened Pandora’s Box and beaten your first level.
At first it’s innocent enough. You need a distraction from your office distractions.
You have mastered sling and bird and brought your friends’ list to their knees as you rack up weekly wins, so now you need a new challenge.
You are tired of “selling coke in Amsterdam and settling mob feuds”. You have grown weary of the fashion police, their photo galleries have become repetitive, tacky and mean.
You click on an invite: Candy Crush Saga…
“What is this saga about candy?” you ask yourself. “Who is this weird, gangly man with a monocle and a moustache? Is he and the Monopoly man family? Are they and Mr Peanut from Planters in a cult? They in ting? Why is he pumping with this little girl? Is that legal? She has freckles and pigtails for God’s sake! What are these strange hard candies? And why must they be collected in threes?” You move past your initial horror and curiosity and play your first game.
It is enjoyable, and that first high of clearing that level fills your body with endorphins. You rapidly pass friends with each level and you smile and think to yourself, “Lazy bastards…I now start to play and I beatin yuh back!”
Then you are faced with your first dilemma, and start to realize you may have something deeply vested in this cherubic little girl and her creepy, lanky partner: “I need tickets…I need to board this train….why won’t anyone help me? I’m just a little girl….”
You pace as you wait for anyone, someone to heed your request. Nothing….you start smoking that cancer stick and randomly selecting people. “That oughta do it…yea, yea, see…yea…”
Eight minutes go by and you feel like you’re in primary school again and those last excruciating minutes before recess trickled slower than molasses down a fat girl’s third chin. Refresh page! Refresh!
You eye your phone, “Jeremy plays Candy Crush…yea, see, yea…he always has a top score so I send him lives…yea, see, yea….maybe I should whatsapp him and remind him I sent that request…yea, see…yea…”
You laugh at yourself, “That’s crazy! It’s just a game, yea…just a game see…yea…see…just a game see…yea…crazy!”
You start rocking back and forth sobbing softly as you listen to Coldplay…then as you type the message….you realize… “Tallman and Smallie aren’t on the stick….I’m on the stick….”
If Candy Crush Saga is just a game….then Saw is just a game… *In Ras Shorty I voice* Watch out my children, watch out my children!
