Why Candy Crush Cannot Be Trusted

If you’ve got decades of time to while away and fuck all to achieve in your day, save a silent air of dejection and the empty dream of a social life that never was, you’ll love Candy Crush, a game which offers to fill hours and weeks and years of your life with nothing but the cheerful boom of imploding sweets and the muffled sound of Bejewelled’s sapphires sobbing from within a dark cupboard. 

The Candy Crush sweets are not simply benevolent harbingers of free entertainment, however. They are much more sinister than that. They are, I’m sorry to report, TERRORISTS.

Essentially sugar-coated suicide bombers who choose to detonate themselves for no other reason than the fact that they can’t stand being around sweets of their own colour, the Candy Crush sweets are probably the wickedest of all snacks.*



Their rather frightening ideology is loosely based on the idea that ‘three’s a crowd,’ but, because of the fact that they are merely boiled sweets and lack the determination of more intelligent confectionary such as Smarties and the wise old Haribo Gummy Bear, we worry that they may be hard-pressed to back up their ideas with anything more than Russell Brand style nonsense speak.


Propaganda is an important tool for these terrifying treats, and when we examine the way in which they spread news of their atrocities this campaign of fear takes on a terrifying new twist.



Once you’re within the clutches of the Candy Crush sweets there is, unfortunately, no escape. You’ll ultimately just want to explode more and more sweets, so many sweets that all you’ll see is sweets and when you go to bed at night all you’ll hear is the jubilation of sweets as they obliterate themselves all over your phone and your life.

This is when you’re at your weakest, and this is when they strike.


“Want to play MORE?” Squeal the sweets, a terrifying look of pleasure in their eyes.

“Yes,” you mutter, ashamed that you haven’t showered for days and all you can remember eating is a cold tin of baked beans and a bag of stale crisps.

“Well you CAN’T!” They screech. “You CAN’T unless you let us TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS what you’ve been doing with us for the past three weeks.”

“Ok, tell them.” You say, slowly casting your eyes down to the ground as you wonder how it ever came to this.

And you let them, you let these devilish treats fill your Facebook page with gloating messages about what good chums you’ve become, what fantastic progress you’re making on their futile game and how far you’ve wandered into the abyss of absolute despair.

You let them tweet about it, too. You’d probably let them ring your mother if they wanted to, you’d let them call her up and fill the phone line with their hysterical laughter as they congratulate each other on breaking you. You’d let them, just to keep playing the game.

Step 3: THE END

No one will hear from you after this point. The only signs of life will be a constant stream of Candy Crush updates on your Facebook page. This is the end. The sweets have won.


*This includes Pringles, a crisp which contains significant levels of crack cocaine yet remains on the shelves because it’s The Queen’s favourite. 


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