1.Stage One: "Oh, I've heard about this. Maybe I'll check it out."
2.Stage Two: Cookie Clicker begins to interfere with regular responsibilities.
3.Stage Three: You tell a few friends. It spreads.
At this point you may realize that you might just play a little too much, but that it's not a huge problem.
4.Stage Four: You start seeing Golden Cookies in places you shouldn't be seeing Golden Cookies.
5.Stage Five: You buy expensive peripherals to click cookies at peak efficiency.
6.Stage Six: Child labor.
7.Stage Seven: You hack your machine to try to make the experience "more authentic."
8.Stage Eight: You begin to lose touch with your loved ones.
9.Stage Nine: You can't stop thinking about the game. Life begins to look a lot like this.
10.Stage Ten: This isn't a god-damned game anymore.
11.Stage Eleven: You sell a grandma, just to see how it feels. (It doesn't feel good.)
12.Stage Twelve: You begin to test the limits of Cookie Clicker. No one man should have all those cursors.
13.Stage Thirteen: You're working on a whole other level. You scoff at people still working with seven digits.
14.Stage Fourteen: You can't stop thinking about grandmas. They invade your dreams.
15.Stage Fifteen: ...And your nightmares.
At this point you may try to quit.
...But you know that it's impossible.
16.Stage Sixteen: You try to break your addiction by actually baking cookies. It doesn't help.
At this point you may begin to question what it all means. Why do we do the things we do? Why do we click the cookies we click? Why?
17.Stage Seventeen: You reset. It was inevitable. (But now at least you can start collecting those sweet heavenly chips.)
At this point you might feel like Mel here. You are free. You are carrying a flag. You are about to stab a horse. But there is still a war going on... a war you can't avoid.
18.Stage Eighteen: Just when you thought you were done, you start challenging yourself. 20 trillion cookies with no clicks and no cursors. Baller.
