Today marks the fourth time that our friend Dadicus
has lent us his considerable artistic talents. Long live Dadicus! The once and future kick ass guest artist!
I have three stars on every available level of Angry Birds. With nowhere else to turn I had to bring the game to life in my backyard. It was my only recourse.
After the scene above I received three stars at the Emergency Room level.
Angry Birds is a bizarre addiction. It is a pandemic of fun. It is a daywalker. Break out your iPhone and play that game in a crowded space and everyone from three year olds to three-hundred year olds will approach you and ask you about your progress. Church ladies and lawyers who could not for the life of them tell you what a Big Daddy is will sit next to you and watch you tumble those bastardly pigs structures. And they will cheer. They will ask you if you have made it to Ham em High, yet. Jon Stewart
shoots birds at Lincoln Logs on the Daily Show, Salman Rushdie
describes himself as an ďAngry Birds MasterĒ, dads make playable Angry Birds cakes
for their sons. It is a phenomenon unlike just about any I have ever seen in gaming.
I downloaded Angry Birds the very minute it was made available to me and that day I played the game so much I drove my Droidís battery into the ground three times. Thatís nearly twenty minutes of play!
I do have a suggestion for the next level of the game which, I feel, will take the whole thing to a whole new place: The pigs have done their jobs, let them rest. In the next update maybe Tippi Hedron
stole the eggs and the birds have to attack her ass. Thatís synergy, bitches.
Synergy Bitches, by the way, band name.