My main homeboy, Matt, is a gamer. I am not. I get the appeal of video games, and I read Everything Bad Is Good For You, so it’s not that. It’s that I, myself, don’t find them particularly interesting or engaging. I also hate every video game controller since the Atari stick, because I’m too stupid to remember more than a stick and a red button’s worth of What Stuff Does. And the new ones hurt my thumbs.

However, this Saturday, Matt pulled back the plunger on a giant cyber-syringe, poked me right in my vein, and filled me up with some of the purest video game smack you can get on the streets these days – Peggle.

(Only, I was trying to talk about it on Saturday night, except I couldn’t remember the name, and did what I always do – make up words to fill the void. That is why we now call Peggle “Gleeberg.”)

I only dabbled on Saturday – sitting on his lap at the computer, taking turns aiming and pressing, getting my first addictive tastes of sweet, sweet Gleeberg. I was susceptible from the start – it’s remniscent of Plinko, and we all know how I feel about The Price Is Right.

But on Sunday, the dabbling blew up into a full-fledged junkie binge. Brunch at 1, then Gleeberg.

At 3 p.m., I emerged into our living room, looked around, and came back into the bedroom to inform Matt that someone had broken into our house, strewn our clothing and belongings around, and left. He barely looked up from his zombie game to laugh, so I shrugged and sat back down at my machine.

At 6 p.m., I noted I was still wearing my pajamas.

At 7 p.m., I noted that we both were starting to smell, and that The Amazing Race would be starting in an hour.

At 8 p.m., I emerged from the office for the second time to watch Phil.

At 8:11 p.m., I returned to the office to squeeze in a quick round of Gleeberg during the commercial.

AT 9:22 p.m., I declared Tyra’s attempt to channel Oprah really fucking boring, and headed back into the office.

At 11:13 p.m., Matt dragged me away from the computer so we both could take a much, MUCH-needed shower.

I dreamed Gleeberg.

This morning, I admitted that I have a problem. Then I told myself I’m not allowed to play Gleeberg before work, EVER, because I’ll just get sucked in and get late.

A few minutes later, I decided to play ONE game, just to test myself, to see if I could handle it.

Three games later, I left the house.

Would AA help me? Nicotine gum? Rehab?

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