I was gonna bitch about Nintendo today. I’m relaunching my blog as a place for my geek, toy collecting, gaming, buying-weird-foods thoughts, and I was gonna start with some good old bitching. My target was going to be the biggest target, my best friend, my first love: Nintendo.
But then this morning, my Nintendo account was hacked. Some kid in the UK bought $200 worth of Fortnite in-game currency, something like 25,000 V-Bucks. I imagine their customized outfits and weapons were the most glorious in all of the game for an entire hour, before Nintendo shut that shit down and probably banned them. They refunded me within five minutes of calling. Good Nintendo.
The bitching was gonna be fire. I was going to lead in with some nostalgia about how Nintendo’s stuff used to be built like tanks. How the original NES controllers were made with some sort of heavy exterior composite armor. How the Nintendo store in New York has the Game Boy on display that survived a war and an explosion in the Middle East. Still works. Good Nintendo.
We had such a good run. It’s been thirty-some years, Nintendo, and I’ve never had a single thing break. Until. My Kid. But wait. It’s not my kid. It was you, Nintendo. My kid is a perfect angel — a simmering little ball of anger and wanting snacks and longing for life to be fair and just when it’s just fucking not — but also a perfect angel.
Okay, so I knew it was him the whole time. But still. A Game Boy survived a bomb. Why can’t the Pro Controller survive being dropped in frustration on the rug? The trigger button cracked like a tooth, the plastic chipped off like dry paint. It broke my heart.
I’m the kind of freak with protectors for all my consoles. The Wiimotes always wore their condoms. The joycons wear little cases and faceplates. There are screen protectors, skins, and barriers from fingerprints and imperfection. I wipe my shit down with microfiber cloths AND I’m fun at parties.
Okay, so I’m probably not fun at parties.
So I was going to bitch about my broken Pro Controller, looking like a busted Sunset Boulevard version of its former self, but hey, Nintendo refunded me $200 back within minutes. $200 is groceries for the week, or 1/5 of what it costs to replace a bad motor in your HVAC system, or unfathomable riches that you steal and get banned for in Fortnight. No matter how you fantasize about blowing through $200, the reality always sucks in what you actually spend it on, don’t it, kid?