An Open Letter to Candy Crush
Most writers can sit for hours on end, writing and editing our master pieces. On occasion however, our mind turns to mush and we can no longer create. When this occurs many of us turn to playing quick games that will re- energize our minds — I am just such a writer. Normally I like to play Minesweeper or Word Womp on Pogo. Recently however, I started playing Candy Crush on Facebook, and before I knew it, I was playing more than I was writing. Then shortly afterward, I found myself in a love to hate scenario with the game. I hated how long it took to get through the boards, but loved playing it. Needless to say, I had to put an end to my relationship with Candy Crush, because it was interfering with my pursuit to be the next #1 Best Selling Author. So in the spirit of the occasion I wrote it a Dear John letter…Enjoy!
Dear Candy Crush
I hate you!
I know; hate is a strong word. But how else can I express my thoughts of utter inadequacy, while I restrain myself from beating my beloved lap top to a pulp with my bare hands, every time I get stuck on a board for hours on end, other than to say, I hate you.
I hate those boards of “Near impossible chances of winning” that I play hour after hour, day after day only to lose every time and then miraculously win; even though I didn’t do anything different than the first hundred times I tried. I hate the little bits of fruit and nuts that I have to bring down to the bottom before I can win, but then they don’t appear until I am on the 3rd to last chance, leaving me no hope in hell of winning. And although I am appreciative, I hate having to beg my friends for help and then wait for extra lives just so I can play at losing. And those chocolate pieces that expand and take over the candy, because I refuse to purchase those fake teeth that will chew them up so I can get at the jellies underneath — oh ya — I really dislike them. But do you know what I hate most about playing you -- that little girl with the pigtails. Ya her; all dressed in pink and white that cries at the end of the games after I lose, even though I tried my hardest to win. What demonic programmer thought that up? Why can’t she say something encouraging like, “That’s OK, don’t worry, you’ll win it next time.” Even if she is being condescending, at least it would be better than those tears. I can’t stand the tears; they make me feel guilty about losing.
Now my mother told me never to tell someone you hate them, but then you’re not “someone” are you. You’re a game; just a silly game that entrapped me into your web with sugar coated lies; “Play me! All your friends are playing me! #1 game on Facebook! Trust me, you’ll have fun.” I just wanted a break from my journey to fortune and fame, but you’re not satisfied with just a little bit of my time are you. No, you want more; you want all of my time.
I am ashamed to admit, I’ve fallen for you; hard. I find myself stealing away to my bedroom in the basement with the ruse of a multitude of excuses; I have to write, I have a headache, I’m tired, I have to find work. Only then, to sit in the dark and play you like I’m on a cohort mission and the survival of mankind is at stake. Several times I have even stayed up, until the wee hours of the morning waiting for my friends to send me lives so that I can beat you at your own game. Throughout the day I find myself day dreaming about game strategies, but there are no strategic maneuvers are there. You are a sick, twisted puppy that likes to torment players into believing there is though; move this piece of candy here; maybe it will work, maybe it won’t, but for sure you will lose this game several times before you win it.
And yes, I realize you are just a game and you didn’t force me to play you, nor did you force me to re-install you after I already deleted you twice before. Like any bad habit though you have become addictive. And it doesn’t help that I keep getting news feeds from friends who are requesting me to send them lives. How can I turn down their pleas for help? It would be inhumane of me to leave them stranded on a board, listening to that little girl cry every time they lose.
So, for the sake of what’s left of my sanity and the life of my best friend, my lap top, I have deleted you from my Facebook page for the last time. You and I, Candy Crush, will never cross paths again. And you can be sure that I will ignore the pleas from your minion of cohorts; to join them in your demonic rituals that I am sure were conjured from the depths of hell and disguised as a fun candy coated game to play with fruits and nuts.
I’m done! No! Don’t talk to me, I hate you! It’s over!