The constant barking must have taken it’s toll, something snapped in the small brain of this - not too well behaved to begin with - dog. He jumps the picket fence, flies in through a open window and is silent for a few minutes while he munches on your entrails.
I wish there were more hours in my day.
The days are now 28 hours long, but you’re now stuck on Antarctica and have to share that Trash-80 with a guy who eternally smells of pepperoni.
And then he loses a game of chess to that computer.
PS- @Donald_Petersen don’t jack my vintage artisanal 80s kurt russell images.
I wish I still loved my job.
Is… is that my imagination? Or is that Barbara Eden cleavage I glimpse there?
Granted. Since your employer installed Mood Organs®, you feel a little bounce in your step and over time you start to realize that while it may be soul-crushing, disturbing, and the epitome of terrible … you LOVE it. Also big brother for no discernible reason. In fact, you can’t not love your job. Even after a sweeping series of lateral moves, demotions, and pay cuts.
It’s infuriating. It’s also infuriatingly lovable. You can’t imagine being anywhere else.
I wish I was drinking beer. I can grant my own wish (and shortly will) but I would like to see the corruptions anyway.
Ha! at least you didn’t mention re-org. I count that as a win.
(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.
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.
