What a wonderful piece of psychotic obsessive-compulsicana this thing was. A plate full of multicolored, increasingly rapid flashing lighted panels, complete with sing-song beeps, Simon captured many a 6-year-old afternoon of mine. Sure, I’d usually end a session of Simon playing by hurling the damn thing into a wall – it cheated, I swear – but like a good abused spouse, I’d always forgive it in the morning and come back for more the next day. Ah, Simon, you taught me how to both take and give abuse.
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