Playing videogames is often a lot of fun. It’s true. Look at any photograph of a family playing videogames. Ha, ha! Look at those beaming faces! They are smiling so hard that their faces are threatening to split open! I don’t know what game those people are playing, but I would very much like to be playing it right now.

But there is, however, a darker side to gaming.

Playing videogames can be frustrating. During those frustrating parts, which no one ever thinks to take photographs of, gamers take comfort in the fact that the fun, happy parts will return very, very soon. And when they do? Those fun parts will be that much more fun in the wake of this brief, frustrating part.

Scientific fact: a little despair is a healthy part of playing a videogame. It’s true. In fact, without despair, games can be pretty hollow and empty. Which is why most people don’t bother to play iPhone or iPad games for any length of time greater than five to seven minutes. iOS games, for the most part, are one-note experiences that are too timid to push back.

In their worst moments, videogames can feel utterly unfair. They become a patchwork of annoying elements that leave us wishing we were doing anything–separating laundry, washing your uncle’s feet, etc.–other than playing this stupid, poorly designed game.

Which brings me to stage 4-11.

Stage 4-11 features almost all of the things that I dislike most in Donkey Kong. It has f***ing conveyer belts. It has f***ing ladders that extend and retract at random moments. And, worst of all, it has those f***ing weird, floating mushrooms, which reduce me to the size of a thumb for several seconds should I come into contact with one. Yes, it is a perfect storm of all the things I despise, namely because navigating all of these things requires luck rather than skill. Also: I’m calling for a moratorium on the use of the phrase “perfect storm” to describe anything vaguely terrible. A group of fishermen went out on a boat and died, Sebastian Junger wrote a book about it, now we use the term to describe things like a trying level of Donkey Kong, or the one time that Twitter and Facebook went down at the same time, or an unfortunate combination of food items that made us gassy.

Anyway, here we go.

The stage has a pretty fun-loving opening. I’m standing next to a giant frog. High above me is Pauline’s dumb hat. I climb aboard the frog, he leaps high into the air, and I gracefully claim the hat. That’s the end of the fun for today, folks. In fact, the rest of this level is a kind of fun graveyard. This is where fun goes to die.

Above me are several platforms and conveyer belts that are all connected by extending-retracting ladders which extend-retract of their own volition. And there are a couple of oversized ladybugs running in mad counterclockwise routes around a few of the platforms. Again, all of this would be tolerable if not for the floating mushrooms which rain down from above like videogame napalm.

I can’t tell you the number of times I’d make a little progress, survive one, maybe two, sometimes three of the conveyer belt/extending ladders, only to find myself stuck on a retracting ladder with a floating mushroom bearing down on me. Once I’m shrunken down to the size of a Hollywood actor, my physical presence on the conveyer belt changes–I don’t have the weight that I had before–and I get whisked off the belt. I land on the belt below. I get whisked off that belt, and so on.

Suddenly, I’m back down with the goddamn frog. Pro Tip: Cursing is inevitable today, kids, so let fly with all manner of curse words early and often while completing this level!

At the top of the level, of course, I discover the thrower of mushrooms (which sounds like the name of a lesser Lewis Carroll character): it’s the diaper wearing Donkey Kong Jr. Just a few short levels back I was thrilled to see his banana-loving face. Now I hate him and his mushroom-hurling ways as much as I’ve ever hated any videogame character.

The key is located on the right. I grab hit, only to realize that there is a switch and a 1-up and Pauline’s umbrella locked away in a sealed area directly below where I am. I pause for a moment, wondering if I should backtrack, if I should try to figure out a way into that area. I can’t just leave that stuff behind, I think.

I stand there, watching the seconds tick off the game’s clock. The hell with it, I finally decide. I head for the door. This level can kiss my ass.