Ate me some keys

After eating some sweet tuna salad sandwiches and finishing off Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, I had about 10 minutes left on my sweet Allegheny County Government paid lunch break.

Rather than walking around the block and enjoying the unseasonably delightful weather, I decided to waste my time playing Pac Man.

The result: 166,220. Level 17.

My brothers and sisters, I have seen a land where 5,000-point keys are available for gobbling every 20 seconds or so.

I have seen a land where eating a power pellet has absolutely no effect on the ghosts who tenaciously seek your implosion.

It's true. Why would I lie?

It is an incredible land wherein you survive by your wits, nimble fingers and Bruce-Lee-like instincts. I was one with my Pac Man.

And it was 166,220 times rewarding than walking around in the November 60-degree heat wave. That warm spell represents a terrible lie. It's an illusion. It's a trap to make you lower your guard. You decide you don't need a coat, you walk around breathing deep the unseasonable warmth, and inevitably you're left with a debilitating cold.

Pac Man is my vitamin C.