There's a game series out there called 'Final Fantasy'. Numbers 7-10... Fuckin' best games ever. It's an old game, but I'm older than carbon. (Probably not as old as you though grandad/ma). I started playing number 8 last week on this ancient device called a 'Playstation 1' in my bedroom, to try and relive a treasured (albiet digitally rendered) childhood memory, and to have something bright and colourful to stare at for an hour like a dumb fuck. You know Final Fantasy 8? Yeah ya do, don't pretend you haven't! It's the one where that emotionally retarded, whiney, wooly-coat wearing psycho who carries a big knife everywhere goes on a mission against the government to impress that slut in the blue dress, right? It's all warm and fuzzy, and the whole time you're surrounded by friends and you fall in love and you make new friends and travel together, and friends become enemies, and enemies friends, and at the end of the adventure everything is great for everyone! And you feel a little smile just knowing you helped make this imaginary world great.
...Except this time I played it and it crashed a quarter of the way through. I tried a couple more times, and everytime the garden starts flying, and the missiles miss, and you run out to watch the birds and the sun, and the music sings of triumph and freedom, and everything is about to work out,... it starts stuttering like a schizophrenic with a jackhammer. And that's the game for me now, a reminder of premature failure.