(in choose your own adventure style)

Granted. You’re working overhead at your new job, when suddenly your footing slips on the gantry - you fall but to your relief, you’re caught by the safety harness, until suddenly the metal railing it’s attached to sheers off and with it you plunge down into the 10,000 gallon vat of fermenting beer below you.

Dragged beneath the surface by the weight of the metal railing, you fumble fruitlessly in the dark tangy liquid, desperately trying to release the harness of the safety buckle around your waist. After a minute, the urge to breathe becomes unsuppressible, and you gulp the warm beer in your mouth and then into your lungs… your last thought in this world is the taste … Kaliber. You always hated alcohol free beer.

I wish I had a million dollars.


Granted. Unfortunately for you it’s a million Zimbabwe dollars, whose largest bill at the end was 100 trillion dollars.

But, the good news is that you can carry a million Zimbabwe dollars easily in your pocket.

I wish my watch band wasn’t broken.



I gave one of those to my dad one year as a birthday gift. He just looked at me funny. I swear the guy has no sense of humor!


Granted. The light-fingered thief who repaired it is enjoying his new punctuality.

I wish I’d found this game earlier.


Granted. But then you and I put all our free time into this thread, and we missed out on @Donald_Petersen’s Magnum Opus.

I wish the startup guy I’m talking to gives me an awesome opportunity to leave my soul crushing corporate doldrums.

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The startup guy you’re talking to goes gaga about having you at his awesome new company. Finally, he asks you to meet up for coffee. You meet him at Starbucks and after some lively conversation, he whips out a paper from his back pocket. With just seventeen of your signatures, you now own the company. He jumps up from the table, leaps into the air and clicks his heels together and runs out the door. In come 12 IRS agents, the BATF, the FBI, two Senators and someone from Interpol. They point their rifles at you. Yes, Senators with rifles. They are Republicans. “Are you the owner of Widgets, Incorporated?”

“Y, y, yes,” You stammer. “As of five seconds ago.”

“Come with us, sir,” they bark. “Cuff him.”

I wish I had something original to wish for on Corrupt-a-wish, but I don’t because I just blew my wad writing that corruption, so you’re gonna have to work with me on that.


Granted. Billions of unbaptized children worldwide for centuries to come will suffer in Limbo thanks to the reinstatement of the hardline doctrine of original sin by the catholic church.

I wish I was as funny as @Brainspore.


Granted. However, due to a legacy of teasing in middle school and an undiagnosed case of mild autism spectrum disorder, you are never quite sure whether people are laughing with you or at you.

I wish I didn’t still get chronic nosebleeds.


Granted. After your schnozz finally falls off your head, you’ll be obliged to refer to them as “skullbleeds.”

I am pleased to have finally received the promotion I’d been angling for for the past eight years, but I can’t help wishing I’d gotten it sooner.


Granted. You hear a *snap* as the Universe’s wavefunction spontaneously tunnels into an alternate reality where you were promoted after only a year in the job, well before you were qualified or experienced enough to earn the promotion on merit. “Guess Everett was right all along!” you muse.

You wonder … how did I get this promotion? Searching your new memories of the past eight years, you recall the series of career assassinations that you executed to ruthlessly remove those in the way above you; the blackmail, the betrayals you conducted with a smiling face. The team that grew underneath you was based on mistrust, and those who survived learnt well from your methods.

You never saw your own demise coming, you rue as you watch your cell-mate fashion another chess piece from a bar of soap; Indicted for fraud, framed by the ruthless subordinates you fashioned in your own sociopathic image.

I wish I had my own house.


Granted. Now, like every homeowner you spend enormous amounts of time and money trying desperately to keep its crumbling facade in some kind of reasonable shape while housing prices tumble around you ensuring that you remain underwater unable to ever move without incurring financial ruin.

I wish everything I just typed wasn’t so close to reality for so many people.


Granted, communism prevailed everywhere, enjoy the bread lines

I wish my dog stopped farting, its killing me.


Granted: You stop feeding your dog cheese and then one day it runs away from home. You search all of the local shelters to no avail, you canvas your neighborhood with missing dog flyers - but still find no sign of your canine companion. After 30 days of loneliness you finally resign yourself to never seeing your best buddy again… Now your broken heart is killing you!

Then one day your dog shows up again, mud covered and flea infested, and smelling like he’s been dining on Skunk tartare for the last 30 days, the flatulence is twice as bad as ever, but you still have your dog.

I wish that I had married a CPA.


Granted. Your married a CPA. However, even though your partner is a CPA, there weren’t any jobs available in the field. So now, your partner flips burgers at Mickey D’s.

I wish that winter would last forever.


Granted, albeit Brazilian winter (humid, temperature sitting around 40°C).

I wish the plumbing in this damned house wasn’t a disaster.

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Granted; your house will be demolished, and the new apartment complex which will be installed will have the plumbing meticulously installed by a more-than-competent professional. Unfortunately, you’re now out of a house. (It was taken by eminent domain under the guise of the betterment of the community.)

I wish that things were just the way that I wish they were.


An easy one to grant: you happen to wish things were just the way that they are. You lucky precognitive soul, you.

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Granted. You are now a fish. Specifically, this fish:

This is Mrs. Petersen:

also, this lady’s ad-hoc hypothesis turns out to be true

I wish I had job stability


Granted. Your job becomes the most wonderful experience of your life. Projects and goals seem to materialize and get whooshed away by your golden touch. You are promoted and receive accolade after accolade. Not just stable, but ascendant.

Meanwhile the rest of your life crashes down around you in a pile of burning rubble. You go to Starbucks, and three people spill coffee on you, accidentally. The IRS audits you 5 years in a row. You are pinned for a murder, because of a faulty read on a fingerprint, and have to spend a hundred thousand to exonerate yourself. Your best friend has you pet-sit while they are away, and all the animals die in freak accidents. You develop alopecia, and patches of skin dry up and turn varicose. Your tailbone dissolves and you find it hard to sit. Your left foot starts to grow again, unexpectedly, and you have to start buying two different pairs of shoes. Metal-eating termites infest your car. You wonder how that can be, but you realize your job is perfect and it’s just the corrupt-a-wish taking its effect. You think there is no end to the things that can go wrong in your life, but then the corrupted wish works its even stranger magic and stops corrupting things for a year.

You think everything is put back in place, while your job just keeps rolling along smooth as butter, and then one fine day you are walking in from the parking lot and a flying monkey shits a stinking squirt of red diarrhea on your head. You realize you thought you were done with the wish, but it rages on, even harder, upending your sense of reality. Weirder and weirder things keep happening. You turn into a woman, and then back to a man, and then a woman again. And then in-between and you are not sure. Your eyes decouple and you have to resort to an eye patch.

Finally, it’s the year 2051: you try to get back on the corrupt-a-wish thread, but the Internet is long gone, replaced by UbiquiNet, and the boingboing bbs is a distant faded memory somewhere deep in the wayback machine. You start a new company, trying to revive the old arts of the bbs, but nobody wants to play. You try to get on NewReddit and post to THAT corrupt-a-wish thread that’s been raging strong for 50 years, but every time you go there, your submission is rejected for unknown reasons. You crawl out into the desert with a thousand leeches attached to your back, and cry to the Lord, “Why? WHY!!! WHY DEAR LORD!!! WHY ME!!!” And the Lord thunders His reply, “Get back to work, asshole.”

I wish I had the same gusto for regular life as I do for typing up these long corruptions.