Lame is the Name of the Game

Ever since I was old enough to be competitive, I was. I can remember fighting over the remote control, the front seat, I even smacked my brother’s front tooth out with a Don’t Break the Ice hammer when he was four. And it didn’t just stop at sibling rivalry… I had to be teacher’s pet, the best at Tae Kwon Do, the most impressive grandchild, the best at treading water in swimming lessons… and the list goes on and on.

Well, now I’m 23 years old and there really isn’t much to get competitive over. I mean, sure, drinking and smoking the most is a battle, but the outcome is never glorious.

But today I realized that I might need some psychotherapy for my need to achieve.

I work at night doing at home parties (like Tupperware, but instead of burping, our products buzz). So, when I’m not peddling dildos, I have a lot of spare time on my hands. My recent sloth-like addiction has been applications on Facebook. I started my own little farm as a little blond-haired avatar with pigtails; I rated all of my top-five favorites and worsts; I took quizzes about where I could have the nastiest sex; and I’ve played trivia until my eyes shriveled up and fell out of my skull like raisins. But, by far the worst appli-diction has been Restaurant City. In this little online crack house, you create your restaurant, hire friends, feed your pint-sized workers and work to be the best on your friends list.

There are four other people out of my friends who have restaurants, and until today I was ranked in third place. No matter how many times I checked to make sure my employees were fed little glasses of water and electronic apples, I still came in third. And this wasn’t a close third, this was running-a-marathon-with-no-legs-or-lungs-third.

Something needed to be done; the competitive demon within was burbling to the surface.

So, I noticed a little button that says “Add Coins.” Initially, I thought this was a chance to earn some coin by answering questions or doing trivia. This made me excited, because I will play until midnight if I have to in order to win. But, alas, it was a chance to dip into my Paypal account and transfer real-world money into little bleeps on the computer. A laugh rippled through me at the thought of how absolutely pathetic someone had to be to waste their own money on a little Facebook application. That’s like paying money to be in the Special Olympics — no one really knows if you win or not, it’s just a way to pass the time.

But then I went back to my dismal little restaurant. The tables looked like they’d been stolen from the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre; the outside was one notch lower than insane asylum and my workers were starving for much needed fruit and water that I could not afford. The recession was beating on the door of my online eatery and I had nothing to give it. I felt like the little bunny family in Sherwood Forest when the Sheriff comes to collect their taxes. I was doomed with no where to go… so, before I knew it, my own Robin Hood was here to save my business. And he was in the form of Visa.

So, now I’m out $20 but, damn, is my little establishment sparkling and there’s an extra skip in each of my workers’ steps. Come visit me if you’d like and get jealous of how sweet my shit is.

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