There is an epidemic of addiction sweeping our nation. It pays no mind to age, creed, ethnicity or political affiliation. Families are torn apart. Jobs are lost. Millions of hours are carelessly wasted. It’s not cocaine; it’s worse. It’s Candy Crush Saga.
Below is the diary of a man who finally succumbed to overwhelming social pressure, and downloaded Candy Crush Saga on his iPhone.
Monday, July 15
Another slow day at the office. Finished up my work by two o’clock. Figured I’d download this Candy Crush app I’ve been hearing so much about. Every single one of my Facebook friends plays this game. At least it feels that way, because I get another invitation every ten minutes from some loser begging me download the app and send him or her a life.
Turns out, it’s pretty sweet. Maybe too sweet. I forgot to eat dinner when I got home. I’ve just been crushing the fuck out of candy on my couch for six straight hours.
Tuesday, July 16
Just woke up and emailed in sick to work. I accidentally played Candy Crush until five o’clock in the morning and then literally passed out on the couch with the phone in my hand. Time really flies in that magical fairytale kingdom filled with colorful candy beans that make dreams come true. I ran out of lives for the first time around 1:30 a.m. It was one of the saddest moments of my life when that little pink heart popped up on the screen with tears streaming down its face. Turns out, you can just spam every single one of your Facebook friends to get more lives, or buy those suckers from the App Store for 99 cents. I did both. Rather be safe than sorry.
Every time I make another candy-obliterating move and hear the soothing baritone of God approvingly proclaiming “Delicious!” or “Devine!” or “Sweet!” or “Tasty!” and especially “SUGAR CRUSH!” my brain unleashes a stream of endorphins. And the music is just so enchanting. I wonder if it’s available to download on iTunes so I can listen to it while I sleep, if I ever sleep again.
Tuesday, July 16
Finally left my apartment to pick up some food from Taco Bell so I don’t starve to death. Got into a pretty serious fender bender because I was desperately trying to beat level 19 instead of paying attention to the road. Even as I handed over my insurance information to the woman I hit, I struggled to break eye contact with my phone.
I eventually made it back home alive, and shoveled six Doritos® Locos Tacos into my face while contemplating a new strategy to get past this incredibly annoying level. I’m starting to think the flashing hints on this game are bullshit. I refuse to use boosters though. Boosters are for pussies. No performance enhancing candy for me. I’m a fucking purist.
Wednesday, July 17
Don’t ask me how, but I’m still stuck on level 19. I’ve spent $24.75 on new lives, but am still holding strong to my “no boosters” policy. I’ve sent out tweets and Facebook status updates begging for hints and tips from other crushers. It’s like there’s something I don’t know about these fucking candy beans, some unknown power I’ve yet to discover.
Now if anyone on Facebook asks for a life, you can bet your ass I give it to them. Crushing takes teamwork. I keep a list though. If I give you a life and you don’t reciprocate later on, I’ll murder your family.
God help me if I don’t beat this level soon.
Wednesday, July 17
Still haven’t slept. Popped an Adderall around 4:30 a.m. to give my mind the strength it needs to stave off sleep and conquer level 19. Finally, around six o’clock this morning, I beat it. I’ve been an unstoppable candy slaughtering force of nature ever since, riding the adrenaline rush of victory. I emailed my boss and said I was getting over a stomach bug, which everyone knows means diarrhea, and nobody wants an employee with diarrhea in the office, so I’m clear for at least one more day of candy dominance.
Now I’m stuck on level 30. I’ve seriously played it over fifty times. On my most recent attempt, I only had one little piece of fruit left to clear, and I fucking blew it. One fucking apple. I’ll never eat another goddamn apple as long as I live.
Thursday, July 18
I can’t stop like Miley Cyrus. Ordered a large stuffed crust pizza around noon to serve as both my lunch and dinner so I can keep crushing without interruption. The satisfying noise this game makes when you connect three or more pieces of candy is better than the sound of a woman moaning as she achieves orgasm. Then again, seeing the words “Out of moves!” makes me as depressed as I was on 9/11. I’ve seen those words many times today, because I can’t fucking beat level 33. This is nothing like the other levels I’ve been stuck on. I’m not sure it can be beaten. Maybe this is all an elaborate hoax staged by society to send me spiraling into madness.
Friday, July 19
I still can’t beat it. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I need to recharge my brain for a few hours. I can’t miss work again tomorrow or I’m pretty sure my boss will wise up. Might as well get some sleep.
Friday, July 19
I tossed and turned all night. My mind was plagued with nightmares of candy that can’t be crushed. I keep telling myself it’s not my fault. It’s the fucking game! You just have to get lucky! This shit should be all about skill, not luck! There’s nothing I can do but keep trying. Persistence is key. Playing with my phone under my desk without looking is getting difficult though.
Friday, July 19
Work didn’t exactly go well today. My phone ran out of battery around one o’clock, so I told my boss that my dad died in a car accident so I could go home, charge up, and keep crushing. Turns out, the boss is a little more clever than I give him credit for. He called me out on skipping work to get my crush on, explaining that his Facebook News Feed informed him every time I beat a level, which I was doing at “insane hours of the night.” That’s what I get for being Facebook friends with that cocksucker. He could never be an elite crusher.
I had some weird hallucinations on the early drive home. Every stoplight turned into candy. Anything I focused on became the game. I think maybe I have a problem.
Saturday, July 20
My apartment is littered with empty Red Bull cans, prescription pill bottles, bags of chips, and pizza boxes. There are three broken chairs piled in a corner from a fit of rage I broke into after failing to beat level 33 for the umpteenth time. Maybe I should just use a fucking booster. No! I’m better than that. All master crushers have one thing in common: patience. My day will come. I know it will. I just need to do another line of cocaine, wash down another Adderall by shot-gunning a Red Bull, and get my ass back in there to crush some fucking candy.
If anyone finds this diary, and I have passed on to the next life because my heart exploded, know that I gave it my all on level 33.
Keep on crushin’.