As a child, my parents were pretty strict about the times they let me play video games. Frequently, the only game I was allowed to play was Art Alive, because I guess it wasn't really a game. So I just sat there, looking at the Sonic cartridges resting on the shelf, "playing" Art Alive. I drew mazes with dots in them and used the eraser tool to hover up the dots, emulating Pac-Man. That, my friends, is desperation.

Today, I use the game's box to store my weed. A late, silent rebellion.