Bejeweled 3 Hates You and Your Mom

Thesis: Bejeweled 3 has about as much faith in your decision-making skills as most fathers have in their daughter's claim that she won't get fucked at the drive-in movie she's going to with her boyfriend tomorrow night.

In your car.

Bejeweled and I go way back. Years, probably. I've been playing that 64-tiled love machine since it was free on the internet (yes, I know, it still is, but not the good version asshole), and I continue to play it with as much vigour as a child in a candy store, clutching his last $5 and holding out for what will inevitably be stale regret.
Maybe I'm not explaining well enough.
You see, in my apparent naivety, I like to think I'm fairly decent at thinking ahead. In this case, at the very least I try to plan my tile swaps two or three moves in advance, based on how jewels will look like they're going to fall. I try my best to set up nova gems and hypercubes, and oft it feels like I'm working against the system...Perhaps, however, it's the system that's working against me.
The hypercubes I plan out are always horizontal. They're most often in the middle, because that provides me with the highest probability that I'm going to be able to match that elusive middle gem. Normally I'll fiddle around just above the two pairs that are spaced, ever-so-daintily, one tile apart, in order to line up some sort of vertical match, bringing a group of three new gems raining down upon the rows above. When I get lucky enough, a hypercube is one move away.
Let me now explain how the world vies for my failure in these moments.

I'll even set the scene.

Imagine a standard 8x8 Bejeweled 3 board. Before you are two pairs of red square gems, lined horizontally with a space between each pair for another gem of the same type. Above that space is a group of three blue diamond gems, moved to stack vertically. Once they line up, three brand new gems topple forth, and one (by the gods themselves) is the one you're looking for. It's the second in the group of three, which means you must eliminate the first in order to be able to manoeuvre it into the proper position. Easy enough task, it just so happens that it's a pink triangle and it's one move away from elimination. Ecstatically, you notice that there seems to be no apparent downside to this decision, so you begin to swap it into position.
That's when you notice.
You can't do it.
You can't do it because Bejeweled 3 was created by kamikaze war pilots who survived and are subsequently bitter that they didn't die with honour. Turns out, one of the other two gems happens to line up with two that match it, setting off a chain reaction that drops down a couple other red gems, connecting one of the two pairs you've set up, destroying any chances you've had for happiness since that one time you accidentally copped a feel on a classmate in seventh grade.
Bejeweled 3 does this because it knows that however good your odds are, you'll never do a single thing right. You especially won't be able to fathom the two swaps necessary to make a hypercube in this instance. That's two too many, and Bejeweled 3 knows that everything you do is a mistake. Why bother allotting you some free will, when it could plan your entire life for you before you get a chance to explode from its hideous vortex womb?
Other times, it taunts you with the opportunity for a hypercube, and then causes another chain of hope-dashing events in the same breath, forcing you to watch as your hopes and dreams crumble, silenty laughing. Just loud enough for you to hear.
Don't bother trying to save them, either. Apparently Satan himself has been hard-coded into the game's binary. It'll see you, sitting there, and think, "The nerve of this bag of douches. What's he/she doing, not setting that hypercube in motion? He/she probably can't even see it. I'll fucking show it to you then." Then it makes a group of four, causing the fourth to explode right beside it, taking with it a meager three, maybe four gems of the same colour.

The world of a bitter, cynical place. War, pestilence, death, and that other one that nobody cares about. You know, where you're really hungry. At the epicentre of the chaos, on a throne of gore, sits Bejeweled 3. Plotting its next maniacal chess move. "Eventually," it says to itself, "you'll break. And when you do, I'll be waiting."

Bottom line? I can't get a god damn break, guys.