chlamydia is not a flower

I don’t like video games. This is because they are against God and nature. Video games are evil. I hate them. I hate them exactly the same way I hate having sex with two Amsterdam hookers while taking heroin. That’s exactly the way that I hate video games. They are a vice.

I have a friend—we aren’t really friends now but we once were excellent friends so I will always call him my friend—named Zac(k). He asked me once, “Have you ever played Tetris?”

I said, “No.”

He said, “Don’t. I can tell. With your personality. It would be a problem.”

Goes to show how close friends can be and how deep insight can run.

I got Tetris from another friend like a Russian VD I didn’t know was lurking in our data exchange. She gave it to me on a disk with funny Star Trek stuff.

I discovered I had Tetris. She knew she had it and she didn’t even say anything. She had given me Tetris, the bitch. I thought we were friends.

I picked at my Tetris with my mouse. It unfolded like a hyperspace box. It was a very old and very black and white version but it hasn’t changed much that I’ve noticed from my forays into arcades to pick up young girls and lie to them about having had Tetris.

When Tetris opened I said, “What’s the point? How stupid.”

I was to discover the point.

I played it later. Okay.

I did some other stuff and then played it again. Not bad.

The next day I played it right out of bed. Cool. I tried to do other stuff but I didn’t get much done. I was supposed to be writing an award winning book at the time and taking care of a nice girl friend.

The next day I started playing that game at about six in the afternoon and stopped playing it at eight o’clock the next morning. My eyes looked like pieces of fresh steak with little moldy fruitcake cherries in the middle. I had played Tetris for fourteen hours and I was raving mad in total silence. My life was destroyed. I had things to do and I had played Tetris instead. I had Tetris. I was supposed to be graduating and having sex with a beautiful sculptor. I played Tetris fourteen hours. It was worse than waking up in the hospital with my family around the bed after botching a sincere suicide attempt. I was humiliated to the core. My infection was my name. I was Monsignor Tetris. Everyone who ever said anything bad about me was right because I had Tetris.

My madness gave me strength. I was willing to destroy myself for salvation. I had only one desire in life: Tetris. I was willing to lose all love and loose my mortal ichor upon the dirt. I would end it all.

I dragged Tetris—calmly pleading for clemency and a chance to establish moderation—to my “Trash” can, dropped it in, and selected Empty Trash from the Special menu. I held down the “Option” key while I did it. I wasn’t taking any chances.

It took a little counseling and the support of some of my best friends but I pulled through a couple of weeks later. I’ve never had Tetris again.

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