Many non-virgins don't understand the struggles of virgins. So I came up with this analogy: It's like enduring a very hot summer and being unable to eat ice-cream. The heat is unbearable. You don't need to eat ice-cream in order to survive, but having an ice-cream right now would make the heat much more bearable.

However you can't buy ice-cream or make it at home. In order to get ice-cream you must ask someone else to share it with you. But you're shy, a bit ugly and not someone people would want to give their ice-cream to. So you're stuck watching other people enjoying ice-cream, while you're melting from the heat.

Also, you've never had ice-cream before, so you can only imagine what it tastes like.

The days blur together now, with nothing here but the waves, the sand, and Monkey Ball. My old life, my old worries—they’ve faded, replaced by the single-minded pursuit of perfection in this game. I’m convinced I’m the best; if anyone else were here, they’d see it, too. I’ve mastered every level, every turn, until the boundaries of the game and reality start to merge. I talk to the screen like it’s listening, daring it to challenge me with something I can’t beat. The island means nothing to me anymore—only the game does. Someday, someone will find me here, a legend, the undisputed master of Monkey Ball.

██10 Clumsy / flirty
███ 20Creative
████ 30Weird / Random
█████ 40Cute
██████ 50Sweet / friendly
███████ 60Smart / Fun
█████████ 70Fashionable
██████████ 80Funny
███████████ 90Beautiful
█████████████ 100*PERFECT

I can't believe it, Monkeyball! How could a simple game about rolling monkeys in balls consume my every thought? The bright colors, the maddening levels—it's all I see, all I hear, echoing in my mind while I'm stranded here. It's driving me insane, these endless hours with nothing but the memory of that infernal game taunting me, laughing at my isolation and despair.

I can't believe it, Monkeyball! How could a simple game about rolling monkeys in balls consume my every thought? The bright colors, the maddening levels—it's all I see, all I hear, echoing in my mind while I'm stranded here. It's driving me insane, these endless hours with nothing but the memory of that infernal game taunting me, laughing at my isolation and despair.

Hanging out, down the street
The same old thing, we did last week
Not a thing to do, but talk to you
Not a thing to do, out in the street
Oh yeah

Mom and dad live upstairs
The music's loud
So we don't care
Nixon's gone
But rock lives now
Hell yeah

We're still rockin' in wisconsin
We're all alright
We're all alright
Yeah, haha, oh
I'd steal the car
And drive on down