Dearest Candy Crush: A LetterCasey Mullins
Dearest Candy Crush,
I think it’s clear we’re in a somewhat dysfunctional relationship, we have been for awhile. What’s worse is many of my friends have entered a relationship with you even after seeing the torment you put me through on an almost daily basis. I swore you and I would never get together, not after I saw who was hanging around with you in the beginning. Farmville people, I never trusted Farmville people. Then I saw a few other people start to hang around with you, people I respected. I started to wonder if maybe I was missing something.
I had a long flight and needed a new game to occupy me after I was done reading my smutty magazine and my super intelligent book on the plane. It started out easy. Hey! This is kind of fun! Like any new relationship I was hooked from the beginning. Then I started to notice little issues, blank spots in your boards, a need to communicate with all my other friends on Facebook. I figured “Hey! We’re all in this together! Let us share lives and tickets and moves!” Then you started to suggest moves, the moves you suggest lead me to believe you don’t always have my best interests at heart. Why would you suggest I combine three reds in a totally unrelated area when there’s the most perfect jelly-crushing, match-making move front and center? I started to wonder if you were looking for the easy way out, testing me to see how loyal I’d be.
Then came the chocolate. CONGRATULATIONS CANDY CRUSH. I now hate chocolate and associate it with creeping, destructive mold. YOU HAVE PUT MOLD AND CHOCOLATE IN THE SAME CATEGORY IN MY MIND. The licorice I can handle, the licorice doesn’t grow and spread with wild abandon. The blank spots? Okay, I can work around those. But the chocolate? Damn it, Candy Crush.
I now live to have “Tasty”, “Delicious”, and “Sweet” called out to me by a Barry White sounding baritone as a match up and destroy various rainbow candies to somewhat porn-ish sounding background music. I time my life to revolve around the two and half hours it takes to build back up and full supply of lives. So far I have refused your temptations of buying cheats, extra lives and extra moves, YOU WON’T WIN COMPLETELY CANDY CRUSH.
As far as that sobbing heart I witnessed my friends lamenting over? It incites a desire to stab something, which I’m fairly certain is a mark of a relationship one should run from as fast as possible.
And yet I don’t, because maybe next time is the time I get lucky, with striped candies landing next to plastic wrapped candies joining together to make one monumental candy that can solve a multitude of trouble. Our relationship isn’t secret Candy Crush, as long as you keep breaking hearts and taking lives I will be talking to my friends about you. Sending them lives and moves so they can dominate you in the end.
You are only one game, I am only one woman, but I am a woman with five dozen friends also hooked on you which means I have about 34 extra lives just WAITING to destroy you. Because that’s what every good relationship is based on, destroying each other.
You won’t win, Candy Crush. You simply won’t win.
(UPDATED: P.S. The fish? WTH Candy Crush?)
Check out Heather’s post about the 12 signs you *may* be addicted to Candy Crush.