I’m not really a “games” kind of person. The last computer game I became addicted to was Spyro the Dragon on the PS1. Before that it was Sonic the Hedgehog on the Sega Megadrive. I was addicted to watching the spikey blue little dude run through Green Hill Zone and swim through the Labyrinth collecting rings, despite being absolutely terrified of the “baddie” Dr Robotnik. I even remember the “cheat” to unlock all of the levels… “up down left right start”.
PS2, Xbox, Wii.. none of those consoles have ever interested me. I happily accept that some people love computer games, I have quite a few “gamer” friends and some who has actually made online careers out of doing exactly like, but it isn’t for me. I didn’t even cave to the likes of Farmville or Texas Hold Em and the like on Facebook. I have much better ways to waste my time than playing computer games (mainly watching pointless soap opera dramas like Dawsons Creek or rewatching chick flicks). When the whole world was addicted to Candy Crush Saga and repeatedly sending life requests on Facebook, developing CandyClaw and spending hours of their day with their iPhone plugged into a plug sock (oh faithful Apple chargers) I was the one posting Liam Neeson style Candy Crush memes and guffawing at the grip which had a hold on the UK en masse. “I’ve been on level 96 for 3 days” I’d see people write on FB, whilst their child started chewing on the arm of the sofa because it hadn’t been fed and it’s nappy ballooned to twice its normal size.Smug is what you’d call me. I am not defined by which level I’m on on Candy Crush because I don’t play Candy Crush *dusts off shoulders*.And then. Then those stupid Twitter bastards start writting Flappy Bird this, Flappy Bird that and before I know it the stupid yellow flapping fucking bird comes along with his inability to fly and avoid objects and his stupid f!cking beak and my smugness is broken. I’m convinced my phone is jinxed. You may wonder why I’m calling flappy bird a “him”. I don’t believe that any woman could cause me as much anger and inexplicable rage as they feathery little prick so Flappy Bird = a man. I’m absolutely certain the stupid bastard flies into those pipes when he’s nowhere even near them and ANYWAY why are there massive pipes that he has to fly through in the middle of nowhere anyway? Wouldn’t it make more sense if there were branches?
So I deleted it. I held down the icon on my iPhone, clicked the X and he was gone. How dya like that you one hit bastarding wonder?
My resolve lasted for 2 hours.
I needed to show him that he couldn’t get the better of me, the smug pixillated little bastard his big googly eyes and his stupid beak that makes Tulisa’s new injected lips look relatively normal sized. His front heavy entirely face heavy which is probably why he falls face down onto the floor more times than Ricky Hatton when he fought Senchenko. He’s mocking me. He flies into the pipes on purpose or moves too slowly and I find myself screaming at my phone “YOU DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH THE FUCKING PIPE!”
I’m a broken woman. I’ve now become one of “those” people who sneak away to have 5 solitary minutes on their phone and instead of composing some sarcastic and lambasting tweet which is the norm, I find myself opening the stupid game and hating myself because of my thumbs inability to makes a cartoon bird fly through a gauntlet of pipes without hitting them and dying. My high score within a day of playing it was 5. 5? I felt like an utter failure. Is there some kind of knack to it, or a cheat that I just aren’t getting? Is my flappy (twatty) bird a dud who’s egg should have been smashed in the nest? I don’t know. But so far my high score is 13 and I’m beginning to get the sort of RSI in my fingers that you’d expect from a seasoned porn star (only much, much cleaner).
Is there a Flappy Bird Anonymous treatment facility anywhere that I can check into? Please?