Your wish is granted...

Granted. For whatever reason, it's name is Cutie Poopie Face and you can only speak to and about it in baby speak.

I wish for the best dumplings in the world.

Granted. My aunt Hedwig makes them! They are made with butter and top grade flour, stuffed with 3 kinds of cheese and sausage, slathered in butter and sour cream. How are they served? Why over butter browned mashed potatoes with ... are you ready for this? Sausage gravy. I myself, stopped eating them years ago but they are delicious so eat them up and sit back. You don't want to bounce around too much after eating them-- makes your heart kind of fluttery--buttery fluttery.. Besides, iIf you sit very still you can hear your coronary coming down the track.

I wish I had eaten less of Aunt Hedwig's vareniki dumplings and more whole grains and fish.

Granted. We head back in time together to that exact moment when your fork full of meat dumplings hovers in hesitation above the plate before you. And I, being a Genie who defies the physics of entropy and the arrow of time, will slip into your subconscious and whisper “Don’t do it” into your ear. Whether you will or won’t will determine your existence in this universe or some other.

I wish for a brighter, saner day when we all understand we’re in this sliver of a Universe together, that our reputation will proceed us, and that we strived to make it a golden example of how to live, evolve, and prosper in harmony.

That is totally unfair. How can I possibly pervert that wish in any way shape or form - though I'm intrigued with this 'physics of entropy and the arrow of time'. Grumble ... grumble. Genie is not happy. *Stores excess evil energy* Next wishee is going to get a double dose. Grumble.


Granted.


I wish for the ability to move the stars in the sky to form messages - and hopefully not mess with the delicate balance of the planets, causing a cataclysmic event that leads to the end of all existence as we know it.

Just a little ask - I did grant that last wish.

Granted...only you get kidnapped by a consortium of multi-national advertising agencies and forced to do their bidding, and now we're stuck with enormous cosmic ads for Bud Lite and Viagra and Depends stretching across the night sky.

I wish I knew why pistachio shells used to be dyed red (fortunately no one seems to do that anymore...I'm just curious.)

Granted. Before the current harvesting methods where the hulls are dried and removed before they have a chance to stain the underlying nut, the nuts used to have stains that were harmless but appeared unappetizing, so the red dye was to hide the stains and make the nuts look pretty.

I wish I was more coordinated.

Granted. It now sounds like a cement mixer. In his hidey-hole under the bed, your dog is planning its demise--as soon as you unplug it and render it helpless, that is. Meanwhile, you feel compelled to sift through the dirt bag every five minutes to see what potentially valuable object you've vacuumed up that could be rattling around in there creating that awful racket.

I wish my pets could speak English so they could tell me what they're thinking.

Dang - you two are like mega-genies.

Granted. Your pets inform the whole neighnorhood of everything that happens in your house, including your secret beanie propeller cap collection.
I wish I could take a cruise on the Delta Queen.

Granted. The Genie has done his best to figure out which Delta Queen you mean--there are many vessels with that name--and has decided to place you on a bamboo craft called the 三角洲女王 (courtesy of Google translate), sailing down the Yangtze in the midst of a monsoon. Since there is no captain, you are on your own.

I wish they would name a galaxy after me.

They do. Unfortunately, the Nymtoc Galaxy is where space invaders are from. They destroy us all, then give galaxies their own names.

I wish that I could install api-ms-win-crt-runtime-l1-1-0.dll without having to download any other Windows-related junk.

Granted--by the Windows Genie, who doesn't recognize any of the Windows line-up as junk and delightedly installs fifty thousand Windows "treasures" instead. You lucky nerd, you.

I wish Emma Thompson was my next door neighbor coffee buddy.

Granted. Emma Thompson has now been turned into a simulacrum of your next door neighbor. She now looks, sounds and smells like your next door neighbor, and has all of your next door neighbor's memories instead of her own. Of course, she has no idea what she's doing in Emma Thompson's house and is quickly arrested for breaking and entering. She's also a suspect in Emma Thompson's related disappearance.


I wish I could dance like Fred Astaire and sing like Elvis Presley and play the piano like Tchaikovsky.

That's two wishes too many and I follow the rulez - not like some of these other crazy critters. So you will be punished. You can dance like Estaire but for some reason only late at night. Right before you hit deep sleep, your feet start moving uncontrollably, trying to reproduce one of Estaire's great dance numbers. For your punishment, the tiny beings from the planet where Elvis is from, have taken residence inside of your body. All of your organs have been replaced to make room for 30 or 40 of these guys. Your higher brain functions are still intact , but you no longer have the ability to move your limbs.

I wish for a high-speed dream machine - that can give me a full night's sleep in a matter of minutes.

You do realize that you also have wished for two things, right? I'll go with it, though. You sleep in minutes, but all your dreams are in hyper-fast forward, like a VHS tape going too fast. Your dreams are now useless for creative function.

I wish that I would stop being so lazy and actually do my work.

Granted. However, not all dreams are pleasant. Your (extremely long) waking hours are filled with PTSD from you rampant nightmares.

I wish I was thirty years younger but still knew what I know now.

Granted. You know you are going to reach for that cup. You know it is going to fall. You reach. It falls. And so goes the next thirty years of your life, as you relive every moment just as it happened before.

I wish everyone agreed with me.

I wasn't able to get everyone to agree with you but I hired a bunch of these guys to follow you around. I hope you can fit them all in your bed.




I wish I had the ability to shift any day to another part of the year.
Maybe I could push Tax Day til right after Christmas.

Are you insane? Making tax season the same as Christmas shopping season? Do you just hate everyone? What about poor accountants? This genie has an accounting degree, and she throws all of her college textbooks at your head as punishment for even thinking about that. She then removes one, opens it up to a page, and shows you that you can in fact arrange your business to have a different tax year end. Before you can respond that this isn't actually what you wished for, she throws the book in your face.

I wish I could magically punish people for doing things I don't like.

Granted. You might not remember this, but yesterday we all lived in a utopia. However, everyone does stuff Nerdilydone doesn't like, so the world now knows pain and suffering. (Oddly enough, turns out even Nerdilydone does stuff Nerdiloydone doesn't like. Go figure.) I went ahead and retro added all the punishment in, hence why you remember a world history of pain and tragedy.

I wish I had some french fries to eat right now.

So punishing isn't enough - you want to magically punish them as well. Hmmm. I'm not sure what that means but I'll do my best. Granted. Your magical punishment is to cause the recipient of said punishment to grow a brand new organ. Though, it's unclear what the organ's function is supposed to be, these organs have some annoying behaviors. Organs that like to sing in the dead of night. Organs that play organs. Organs that sneak off with its owners keys and go for joy rides. Using the serial number on the organ, a number of your 'friends' have tracked you down. I think they're planning some kind of meet and greet. Nothing to be worried about.


I wish I didn't have to wish until my next post.

Granted. You have a huge heap of greasy french fries, smothered in chili and cheese, that smells as delicious as it looks. As you reach for one, you realize that it's some new fangled holograph. Sorry. You didn't specify that you wanted to eat them.


I wish my mood could generate music that would play in a specially designed headset which serves as a counterbalance to whatever I'm feeling at the moment.

Granted. Unfortunately, you were feeling particularly happy for a moment there--until your counterbalancing headphones kicked in.

I wish love conquered all.

Granted. Your love has destroyed everything. Congratulations.

I wish death wasn't real.