Speak not to me of your Flappy Bird, childling. I only sup from the finest Flash cup. In here? Why, it’s fully liquidised Copter. Please, have a taste. Ah yes, I can tell from your crinkling nose and gurning, twisted mouth that you do not see anything special about this crude single-click game of helicoptering through a simplistic cavern of lime green walls. Please, go away now, you’re depressing me.
Ah, how could the childing ever understand? Copter was our release, our craze. In my antiquated school, full of priestly ill-will and endless talking about “discipline”, there was a study hall with some computers. New age devilry that called to us, sexy grey boxes of distraction. Copter was one of the games we could play on it. You left-click and hold to move up, and release to fall down. Try to beat the score I just got: 607. You can do it.
We enjoyed this minigame of floating and crashing, at least until the IT technicians were instructed to block the Flash websites we would graze upon. In the endless arms race between teacher and pupil, this simply led to us discovering what a “proxy” was. Today, I know how to watch US Netflix from Spain. And it’s all thanks to Copter.