Clash of Addiction

My daughter recently introduced me to an app called “Clash of Clans.” When I say introduced, I mean it roughly the same way sugar was introduced into Western culture, South American drug cartels introduced addicts to their product, and small pox was introduced to the Aztecs. I am now convinced that civilization as we know it will collapse in a whimper as we all stare at a screen waiting for enough elixir to train another giant.

In my case, it started innocently enough. “Here, Dad, take a look at this. You can try just a little if you want.” Nobody can try just a little. Oh, I convinced myself it was just this once, to help her out. But in reality, I wanted more. I want that elven archer on the wall. I need that elven archer on the wall. Deep down, in places I don’t talk about at parties, I want that elf on that wall. I can’t handle the truth!

Wow! Wait a minute. That is something completely different. But, well, mostly the same.

First, it was the archer. Then the barbarian horde with a side of giant and exploding skeletons. I wasn’t even going to attack, but the goblins taunted me with their gobliny grins. “Oh yeah, mister goblin man, I can take you down.” I knew I had a problem when my daughter went from saying, “Cool, Dad. Why don’t you build me another wall?” to “You know this isn’t my game anymore, and I’m worried you’re taking it way too serious. They’re not real. They’re pixels.”

Well, she may be right. They may, in fact, be only pixels, but those pixels are toast. I’ve got a nasty clan, and we’re ready to rumble. It’s time for war. Peace out. I’ve got an addiction to satisfy.