The day is here, launch night.

Your car door opens to the sound of thousands in a line outside of the store, heads adorned with Mario hats, Miyamoto wigs, and condoms for the mass jizz when the console officially launches.

You take your spot among the customers and try to act more patient and civil then they do. But you can't contain yourself. The Switch 2. The SWITCH 2. The next Nintendo system. It's finally here.

You imagine the day following with your brand spanking new system. You'll spend only minutes driving home, opening your door to the living room TV, wiping the clown makeup from your face, taking it out of the bag, and setting the package in front of you.

A part of you doesn't even want to open it. You want to savor this moment for as long as possible. You wish you could freeze time and stare at the godly beauty of the Nintendo Switch 2. Everything they said it would be, everything you wanted it to be, it was true.

BUUUUUUUZZZZ

Your fantasy is disrupted when the automatic doors to the store open, and the line of freaks pushes into it. You follow them, almost entranced but what you're about to witness.

There they are. An entire wall of Switch 2 systems line the back of the store, being passed out to buyers like the baby Jesus was from Mary to Joseph. Eventually you arrive at your destiny, the crossroads of time and space converge as you, yes you, are handed a Nintendo Switch 2. Your eyes water. The space between your legs enlarges. And your hear it. A voice. It sounds like an angel, and it's calling to you.

"Thank you, gamer, I'm so excited to play with you."

You're on the edge. You can't take anymore.

You whimper to the system. "When do we start?"

She replies, and time stops around you as you listen:

"Tommorow."

Blast off.