Fortunately, I managed to get to this milestone without making any micro-payments or mugging pensioners on their way back from the Post Office for the price of an extra life.
So no more furtive "match three" highs for me: I'm on the wagon. If anyone sees me with a coconut wheel beneath my mouse, poised for a chained combo, you have my permission to slap me across the face and give me a shot of insulin.
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