GRANTED!
You are now six years old, and it’ll be FOREVER until you’re allowed to do ANYTHING!
I wish I knew how to get rid of all this old junk.
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You sail them out into Kowloon Bay and scuttle them. The Chinese government takes a very dim view of this and promptly imprisons you for the next 30 years.
I wish I had some decent whisky in the place
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Sold! You benevolent Genie, you.
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Granted. A bottle of fine whisky appears in the air, and before you can react, falls and smashes on the ground.
I wish for a nice pair of well-fitting, comfortable boots.
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Here they are. With their supple calfskin uppers and winsome Dora the Explorer pattern, your tootsies are now the envy of every six-year-old girl in 2002. Their comfort (and waterproofing) is so complete that you wear them for days on end, never noticing the onset of jungle rot until your last toes finally break off, pitching you forward unexpectedly onto the stairs and alarming the Countess, who had just asked where she might find a similar pair of boots for a hated niece. Ouch.
I wish for an entertaining 24-hour-long Freaky Friday experience with a certain specific special someone.
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Granted. You have also been transported to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania on Groundhog day. To escape your personal hell Freaky Friday/Groundhog Day mashup you must re examine your life and priorities which will be extra hard now that you’re a teenager reinventing him/her self everyday.
I wish for peace on earth.
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All righty then, just give me a moment…
Okay, there ya go: granted!
I wish for goodwill toward men. And women. I did specify women too.
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Granted! Now all men and women work for Goodwill. The world’s economy comes to a shattering halt; starvation begins to set in as all people engage in a pointless swirling cycle of trading old shirts, broken vacuum cleaners, and holiday decorations no-one ever thought charming.
I wish I could finish things I start.
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Granted. You’ll never type a more final period than the one you just did to finish that sentence. Go on home! You’re finished.
I wish I could start something new.
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Granted. You are now Patient Zero for an entirely new virus which will become a major pandemic.
I wish for a good night’s sleep.
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Granted… and congratulations! You seem to be the latest victim of donalditis, my brand new, extremely comfortable, and lethal-within-ten-hours strain of “sleeping sickness.” Sweet dreams!
I wish my daughter hadn’t left her iPad out in the rain.
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Granted, she put it in the dishwasher.
I wish for more wishes.
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Granted. But now all you are capable of is wishing; and wishes are all you will receive. You are incapable of knowing fulfillment.
I wish I hadn’t eaten all the leftovers.
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Granted. There is now something moldy and slimy inhabiting a Tupperware container in back of the fridge. If you don’t make eye contact, you should be able to cohabitate peacefully.
I wish that there was more love in the world.
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Poof! Your wish is granted. Love increases tenfold however none of it is directed at you. You die sad and alone and eat most of your meals directly out of the can.
I wish that I didn’t have to follow through with my wife’s idea for my New Year’s resolution.
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At 11:52 Dec 31st, 2016 you are pronounced dead when a large ice sculpture falls on you.
I wish I could actually get in shape this next year.
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Presto! A bloated bulbous mass is, by definition, a shape.
I wish I didn’t steal that joke from Cathy.
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You now only speak in the words and wisdom of Garfield.
I wish @beschizza would open the damn safe.
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Your wish is…ah, damn.
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Granted! Only n0w y̵̲ơ̻͍̼̹u̡̠͍̝̜̯̠̜ ̡͉̙̤f̖̜i̶̘̭̼̺̳̪nd̯̭̦̱ t̨͉̗̃͑̑̅͂͑͑̌̚͢h̺͈̙͙͑̚a̴̡̭̹̤̱̦̭͕̬̬ͬ̎̓̀̀̚t͉͍͎͕̪͖̿͌̀̑̿́̅ ̠̠͖̞̦͆́́ͬ͆ͫṭ̢̝̰̈́̔̈́̐͋͘h̨̝̫͛ͨ͆͑͟ë̢̳͇͈̩̫̤ͯͭͬͬ̎͑͒ ͚͚̳͙́͐̔̀͋̋͡c̨̮̮͆̓ͭͧ̀͢ͅo̶ͫ͏͕͎̬mͫ͑͑ͩͤ̃ͣ͏̸͎͎̮i̢͙̮͍͍͇͉̝̻ͥ͒̂̾̎̃̌͐͞ñ̲͈̜͎̬̹͚̺̓͗g̰͙̦̗̤̘̼̼̉̆̒̃ ̮͎͈̲̜͕̀ͩ͂ͦͤt̢̰̠̯͕̓͛ͬͦ̐ͬͫ͘ͅḩ̎ͧ͏̫̣̼̭̻̗̯ä̦̫̰̦̹́t̔̏̈́͒̈́͌̈͏̵̩̗̤̹̥̜͈͝ ̬̜̍w̹̬͎͔̬̟̣̟͗͊ͨ͜a̩̯̯̬̣ͧ̐̓s̬̩͈̬̮̈́̓̎̇̊̀ͦ ̧̩͗̀ͥ͌ͭ͋̓ͧ͘f̷̺̳̬̜̹̐ͧ̋ͨ̔̃ͯͅo̸̺̞̬͎̔̔̀rͩ̇ͫ҉̛͖͙̫̭̀ẽ̱͕̼͚̊̾̌ͥ̋̀t̪̲̹ͯ̿ͧ̌̒̏͌̂̆o̬̟̖͎̮ͩ͒͗̒̒̏ͧ͡l̨̘̹͉͉̭͓͉̖̮ͬ̀d̨͕͔̠͂̈́ͬ͒ͯ͐͛͟ h̷̷̛̭̖̥̱̬͇̘̩̠̤͔̰̥̩̥̭̹̋ͪ͐̋̀͊̃̕͠ͅá̅̉̏̆ͮ͒̇ͦͤͧ̌ͮͯ̉ͨ̑̄̽̀͟͢͞͏̠̜͓̯̤̼͕̤̫̙̺s̢̠̝̻̯̟͍̰̩̰̭̯̱̰͇̼̺̭̜͎̐̾͆ͥ̏͜ ̵̡͍̟̝̹̫͈̱̼̳̯̠̯̯̘̪̓̄͆̋̈́ͮ̾ͨ͐͗̐͒ͯͪ́́ͅͅc̵̷̡̨͙̳̹͛͋̎ͯ̈̍̈́̄̒̿̉͂̿̒ͬ̾̈́̍̈ͅo̷̎͂̽̈̄̎ͦͯͪ̈́̎̈́̽͘҉̢͓͚̻̲̱̦̘̻̱̩̲͔͝ͅm̶̪̦̫͇͔̗̩͚͊ͫͧ̐̈́̎͛̈́͒̀͘͢e̴̛̻̟̝̯̬̱̥͔̞̮͔̲̤̗̱͖̹̙̼ͫ̎ͭ̅̉̈̓̾̅͗̇ͣͨ̔̎ͧ͢ ̢̨̳̭̮̲̬̫͈̖̤̰̖̇̓ͪ͛́́͞t̵̡͙̮̤̰̟̫͖̜͎͙͈̭̖̻͓̱̽ͮ̑̉̉́̕͠ͅȍ̴̴̧̩̱͙͖̰̃̔̃͛ͦ̂͗͛͋͂̾ͤ̇̑́̋ͮͮ͢ͅ ̨͑̅̿̉̇̑̍ͪ̀͆ͥͫ͌̔͠͝͏̴̼̝̩͓p̀̿ͯ̃ͮ͐ͨ̅̏̈́͆ͫ̍͏̻͓̯̣͎̬͡a̿̉̄̆ͨͭͯ̉̆̈ͬ͒̌̎ͧ̄͞͏̶̸͚̝̫̗̬͖̙͕̺̖͍̝͖̜͖͠ͅš̷̸̭͈̥͓͙ͭͤ̄̒̚͘͠͡s̶̴̝̥̟̩̤̙͎̭̻͚͈͗͊̈́̈́̒̅̚͟.̴̡̻̻̰̘̫̯̬́ͧ͆̅͂̊̂͐ͤͨ̄́̀ ̷̟̳͈̠̪̘̒͊̋͂͌̾́̔̒̍͜ͅH̨͕̼̠̣̦͚̫̫̯͕̩̖̟̖͆͗͂̅̏̍͋ͤ̓ͤ͐̅̈́͑͑͌̀́ͅͅḜ̶̼̹̞͖̭̻̯͊̿͗̉̐̾ͮ̓̅̈́ͩ̆ͣͥͥ̚͟͜ ̰̪̰̥͓̘̝̺̬̞̳ͥͦͬ́ͧͪͪ̚͟͠Į̛͈̭̲̳̼͙̯̘̝̻̼̼̖̙̺̳̰͇̭ͬ́̓ͯ͆̏̈ͩ̂S̷̪͕̮͚̬̲͉̞̎͒̓̿͂̌̓̆̇̔ͬ̏̀̓̅͛͋̋̀͟ ̥̪̲̟̻̞̗͕ͮͭ̋̎̈́̅̅̓͐͒́͢͜͡ͅH̨̩̱͖̰̲̺̼͇͙̞ͪ͋ͨ̂͒ͧͧͮ̿̇͆̑̐̋ͅE̛̗̫̟͖̙̰͇̝̯̬̠̩̙͖̘̗̠̲ͯ̈́̿̓͂ͤͣ͂͋̽ͯ̋̅͂͢R̭͕̗̞͎͈̰̙̅̍ͤ̇ͤ̒͋ͦ͆͛̿̀́͡E̝̲̟̞̙ͨ̂ͥ͗̀̏͐̈ͨ̓̈́ͬ̽̈ͦ̽͗̀͝!̵̷̷̠̹͎̠̘͇͙̪̫͓͓̃͗ͮ͐ͮͥ͐̉ͤ̓͐͆̔͋ͪ̂ͥ̒̕͜ͅ
I wish my eyes would stop bleeding. If I had eyes.
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