Not even once.

This is my thumb. It hurts. When I try to bend it, it's sort of stiff and crunchy, and and I have to wiggle it and finally it will crack and pop and I can bend it.

It is such a useful thumb. It has knitted miles of yarn and typed millions of keystrokes. It has cheerfully and cooperatively helped fill a glove for years.

So what happened? I'll tell you. It held a cell phone for about 16 hours this weekend. I dared to use my newfound cell phone app capacity (thanks, Mitch!) to download Angry Birds. I dared, and it bit me in the ass. I'm addicted, and what's worse, I had all the warning in the world not to do it. Everybody gets addicted to this game. I thought my general game-playing negative-skill quotient would protect me, but I got hooked. I just wanted a taste. To see what all the fuss is about. I just wanted a puff, a snort, a tab, just one little hit, just a little clarity, a little corner of coolness to call my own.

I was driving yesterday and there were three cars in two lanes ahead of me. Idly, I calculated the angle I'd have to throw an angry bird to get all three in one shot. I blinked a couple of times when I realized what I was doing.

This is your brain. This is your brain on Angry Birds. Don't do Angry Birds. Not even once.