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A foot of teal plastic that shouted three words at you in a voice like a karate instructor with a sinus infection. The toy was designed to be lost to.

Four hundred white tiles of black serif words on a beige fridge. Nobody finished a poem and that was the whole point.

The game was called pogs. The game was not really about the pogs.

A purple Crown Royal bag. A brass disc wrapped in a paper towel. Two years of your life.

Every sprite was already printed on the LCD. The game was just deciding which ones to light up. We loved it anyway.

A nation of adults convinced themselves a stuffed pig was a retirement plan.