You, at long last, meet the petite, pubescent, precocious Goth girl of your dreams on the internet. She thinks you’re funny and hot (how could she not? – you really poured on the wit and charm, and she’s kinda naïve for a precocious (the ironic part ) Goth) and arranges to fly to Pasadena for a weekend, where she’s booked a hotel room for your naughty interlude. You leave a note full of lies saying why you’ll be gone for several hours, drive to the hotel, and pick up your key to your anticipated fevered tryst, at the front desk. When you walk in the door where you hope your bespectacled Goth Girl is waiting, you find instead your pissed-off redheaded wife and your two children. All are in tears, but your wife at least is unsurprised to see you. She gets up from the chair and leading your little offspring out the door, she says you’ll hear from her attorney and keeps going on down the hall toward the elevator. Goth Girl witnesses all of this, walking back to the room from the drugstore where she picked up a fresh box of condoms and a case of lube (a married dad of two could hardly be expected to be in possession of such items); she’s crestfallen and tells you to take a hike.
When you get home you find your wife has changed the locks, and your few worldly possessions have been piled out on the craftsman-style porch. There’s a note on the door addressed to you with an estimate from her attorney at what she can expect you to pay in child support until the youngest reaches the age of 18. Until then, you’ll be living in your car. Your friends won’t take you in. They don’t have room, they have lives of there own and besides, they haven’t seen or heard from you since they attended your wedding. ‘Jesus, what happened, Donald!!! You two seemed so good together. That was the best wedding reception we’ve ever been to!! Christ, now we’re depressed. Maybe we should get divorces… our wives say you should leave, they’re afraid you may be a bad influence… sorry, man, if it was up to me… but hey, it was great seeing you again! Call me sometime, better make it my cell number rather than the home phone. Bye! Good luck!’
Granted, a clown throws a pie in the face of Shia LaBeouf. The clown unmasks, it’s a Shia LaBeouf clone. In fact, Shia LaBeoufs are everywhere, copying everything. Originality is dead.
I wish I could see a skateboarder on the street land a trick. Just once.
You can never unsee that gangly, awkward teen drop his pants from mid-hip to ankle in order to bone the crack-whore who lives behind the library dumpster.
Granted, enjoy your partial blindness. You now find it incredibly tricky to perform even basic tasks, people observe you shaking your head uncontrollably, you try to explain that your visual field is disrupted. You decide to take on radical surgery to fix this. It fails horribly and leaves you deaf and blind. All you have left now from YouTube are the enlightening YouTube comments. Unfortunately they still suck.
I wish people stopped blaming me for things I did not do.
Granted: now they only blame you for the things you DID do. Which are considerable, if you’re an average human being. Every person you come in contact with becomes Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, judging you with steely depth and precision. Good luck ever getting a reservation at your favorite restaurant again.
I wish I could spend a week at a monastery or other refuge operating under the vow of silence.
Granted. Scorsese determines that Leo is out and hires his much less-attractive terrible-actor brother Steve DiCaprio who convinces Marty to make Goodfellas II into a buddy comedy with Larry the Cable Guy. Scorsese is financially ruined and the Academy actually goes so far as to retroactively takes back his Oscars and awards them to other films. He is left a broken shell of a man forced into making commercials for Amway.
I hope you’re happy.
I wish Spike Lee would be able to just be happy at a Knicks game so he can sit down and relax.
See, @codinghorror, we really do need a banana-shaped “just look at it” button. There’s all kinds of stuff in here I just can’t bring myself to press a heart-shaped “like” button for!
You want someone to be happy at a Knicks game? I’m a genie, not a god, Jim.
cracks knuckles
Well, let’s see what I can do for you. I loan you the official Genie Time Machine, and you and Spike travel back in time to the 1969-70 season. You and Spike sit courtside all season, as the Snickerbockers rack up an 18 game winning streak on their way to the big dance. You are both in ecstasy as the Knicks take the title in game 7 against the Wilt Chamberlain / Jerry West Lakers. So ecstatic, you get absolutely blitzed on champagne with the team after the game.
Nursing a terrible bubbly-headache, you almost forget to make it back to the Genie Time Machine in time. Safely inside the timebox, you press the button to return to the present and notice - too late - that Spike isn’t with you.
Returning to the present timeline, you find the NBA as you knew it is no more. Seems Spike used his formidable knowledge of basketball history to pick all of the best players and coaches. Heck, he had to cut Magic Johnson just to free up room to pick up MJ. The Knicks were so dominant they turned into an alternate version of the Harlem Globetrotters. They were so good, so talented, so smart that they never lost. Other teams were a joke, so bad that the basketball audience began to believe the entire league was rigged and it became a bigger joke than professional wrestling. But through it all, Spike learned how to be happy and sit and relax.
Speaking of people I like despite the fact that they are Knicks fans, I wish I had the chance to have a nice conversational dinner of normal food with MCA.
After a huge argument @beschizza says to the Discourse team, its either a banana icon or the highway. Reluctantly, we add a banana icon.
We choose 🍌 the unicode point for banana to display the icon. Turns out most browsers have no font that support it, so it looks like a box. Regardless @beschizza keeps urging the team to add more buttons. We comply.
BBS discussion take a slightly weird turn, every post seems to only gather a handful of very short reactions. People prefer to use the new buttons to express sentiment as opposed to words.
At home people stop composing full sentences and start communicating using grunts.
The planet has devolved, and its all cause of that banana icon. Thank YOU.
which can be added by typing 