You throw the Hot Pockets into the microwave and grab the Tab. By the time the raid starts, you're sluggish, and within an hour you're stumbling on your keyboard. The last thing you remember is watching your virtual friends fall and die. When thin rays of sunlight sneak through the blocked window, you open your eyes, and the lingering taste of Tab in your mouth reminds you of the healthy soda. You know what, you think, it's time to clean my life up. You uninstall all your video games, give your consoles away, buy your own case of Tab, and then head to the library to check out audio books about yoga. Life looks good. And for awhile, it is, until you die of cancer a year later.
They told us to stop playing videogames on a school night. If only we'd ignored them.
As a vicious predator, I find that I have a constant, overwhelming urge to lick apples out of a huge block of ice. It's only, natural, right?
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