Flappy Bird is the tale of this worthless piece of shit:
You see this unnaturally rotund, wide-eyed, piss-yellow asshole? Notice how he has wings? They might as well not even be there, because this fucker can’t fly worth shit. A paper airplane crafted by a four year-old could fly for a longer distance, I am fucking certain.
So your job is to help poor ol’ Flappy hear fly. “Aw, poor lil’ guy! I’ll help him fly, how hard could this be?”
That’s what I thought.
Oh god, I was an unfortunate, misinformed soul. I was innocent, until I was corrupted.
For some reason, the game takes place in the same fucking universe as Mario, as evidenced by the green pipes. That is, save for the fact that there appears to be the skyline of a modern city in the background, something that certainly does not exist in the realm of our favorite mustachioed plumber as we know it. Who knows, maybe Flappy Bird himself overthrew the Mushroom Kingdom, creating a metropolitan dystopia run by other round, flightless fucks. I certainly would not trust those eyes - or rather, eye. There is a sort of evil lurking in the depths.
A normal bird would be able to avoid these pipes on their own, but Flappy needs your assistance. It’s up to you to repeatedly, yet methodically, tap the screen to raise Flappy back up when he inevitably begins to descend at a speed that requires a weight which we cannot even conceive as being possibly possessed by such a small, feathery shit stain.
There are no breaks. There are no checkpoints. Pipe after pipe, eventually it all begins to blend together. That is, if you make it past the first obstacle, which will probably take you a while since the controls are so fucking horrid. No, Flappy, you little pissant, I didn’t want you to go that high! Wait no, stop! Shit!
Please don’t play this game, I’ve lost family and friends. When I walk down the street, people look at me. They know. And I know, too, when I see someone who’s made the mistake of attempting to guide this avian atrocity. You can see the emptiness in their eyes. You can smell the regret.
Don’t let Flappy drag you into the vortex of despair with him.
Avoid Flappy Bird at all costs, lest you wish for a fate worse than death.
it consumes your soul
some thoughts are so private that you only share them with a therapist or 17,000 people on the internet
I can’t take “light [kink]” tags seriously, I always take the concept to its logical extreme
like I just saw a fic tagged with “light sadism” and all I can imagine is someone getting off to their partner getting a papercut
i always read them as “[kink] lite”, like the low calorie version of a kink
the vanilla froyo of kinks
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Bondage
MY MOM JUST TOLD ME TO CREMATE HER AND PUT HER ASHES IN AN HOUR GLASS SO THAT EVEN AFTER SHE’S DEAD AND GONE SHE CAN CONTINUE TELLING ME HOW MUCH TIME I’M WASTING ON THIS SITE.
when you are in a hurry and someone wont let the conversation end
sometimes i feel sad then i remember issac newtons hair
he may have discovered gravity but that luxurious flowing mane sure hasnt damn son