My niece was playing Candy Crush Saga and wouldn’t stop to explain how it works (Warning #1), so one terrible day I downloaded it.

With a Candy Land-ish footpath, sparkly explosions (of candy!), laudatory commentary in a soothing male voice (“Dee-licious!”), and otherworldly digital music that eats your brain, this malefic tease was designed by a bad person or evil entity to cripple mankind, likely the same devil who invented off-label opiate use.

After four days on level 23, lured there by e-z prior levels, I became admittedly obsessed (“Must. Crack. The. Code.”). With a ferocity normally reserved for those avenging the injury or shaming of a family member, I was determined to subjugate 23. But I noticed that while I did not want to stop, I was not actually enjoying playing. I was grinding my teeth and sweating and nervously checking the clock (10:30…11:00…midnight, uh-oh).  I YouTubed how to to win. There were crazed nutters in there that actually purchase tools (Lollipop Hammer, Coconut Wheel, Bomb Cooler, what?)  and time to keep going in a single game, courtesy of exploitative game mechanics. Too bad you can’t buy real time. The time you wasted playing.

I finally muscled through (“Candy crushhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!”) and whistled, That’s it — I’m done. Later I realized I had won on my phone. But not on my iPad, where I was still stuck on 23. So that’s where Sunday’s “extra hour of sleep” went.

Don’t do it.*  There are five HUNDRED levels and you will be trapped behind the candy curtain foreverrrr.

*Bet you didn’t know Sammy Davis. Jr. sang that theme song. Just one of many fakts you’ll learn if you don’t fritter away your life playing Candy Crush.