Corrupt a Wish Game II

Granted. You start granting wishes with only three words: 'Granted. You die'.
Glenburne gets so mad at you for spoiling all the wishes that he pokes you with a posioned sewing pen. But instead of killing you, the poison makes you more powerful than any other human. You take over TDL and then the world.

I wish that my couch wasn't so dusty.
 
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Granted. It's not dusty at all, because MF's minions force you to dust it nonstop. Eventually you become angry at this cruel treatment (they feed you solely on hummus) and attack the minions with your feather duster. However, they all have guns, and you are instantly shot dead. Then the couch becomes dusty, and MF executes all her minions for allowing it to become dusty. But, since MF is unwilling to dust the couch herself, it becomes even more dusty. MF goes into a deep depression and joins a convent. The world descends into anarchy, and all the couches are destroyed. Then MF snaps out of her depression, because, without couches, no couches can be dusty. She attempts to leave the convent, but the Mother Superior locks her in a penance cell for the rest of her life.

MissReepicheep, about the he....

I wish I was Robin Hood. (This has nothing to do with the above link!)
 
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Miss Freckles said:
i'm confused. my own wish was granted with a big world domination bonus, and reep's wish ended up being painful for me, not so much for her. something is rotten in the state of tdl...

anyhow. glenburne, the only way you can stop people calling you "he" is by putting a picture of rob pattinson in your siggy, with the subtitle "my future husband LOVE LOVE LOVE". just a suggestion.
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Gross, I hate it when people do that....

i wish i spoke more languages fluently.
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You do speak more languages fluently, but (coincidentally) you were taught to speak them by a Hollywood actress, who only teaches you to speak about trivial subjects. You don't know how to say "cheese" or "trash can," but you can list all the brands of make-up in fourteen different languages, including Swahili. So the only job you can get when you move to another country is a fashion consultant. Unfortunately, you may know how to talk about fashion in another language, but you don't know how to do it. After you dress the Queen of Belgium in a pair of lumberjack overalls, put a pot on her head, and send her out to wander Brussels, the Belgians are infuriated and attempt to throw you off a cliff--however, since there are no cliffs in Belgium worth speaking of, they submerge you in a vat of tapioca pudding instead.

I wish tests did not exist.
 
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Narborg said:
I wish for come chocolate.
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Because you wished for "come chocolate" instead of "some chocolate," the chocolate comes--so fast that it knocks you into the air and sends you flying forty feet. You land in a sinkhole and are never seen again. Meanwhile, the chocolate keeps coming. It goes to your home and takes over your bedroom, after which point your mother eats it all as payment for picking up your stuffed animals (before the chocolate came, you suddenly decided that you loved pink stuffed bunnies that sang the Barney Song nonstop).

I wish the cafeteria food was edible.
 
Glenburne said:
I wish the cafeteria food was edible.
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It goes against the grain to corrupt a wish as deeply natural and right as this one is. Granted. But since the cafeteria food is now extremely edible, the mice and roaches (who previously turned up their dainty noses) now take a decided interest in it. The staff, anxious to retain their positions, consult Upton Sinclair on how meat-packing plants dealt with such situations. Wisely applying what they read, the staff covers up this unfortunate development by pureeing the mice and roaches into breakfast sausage. Result: that element at least, of cafeteria food is no longer edible. However, you do not notice this because you do not eat breakfast sausage anyway. You are the sole survivor of the plague that ensues. Popular opinion says you must be a witch (the more rationally minded say you made technological advances in the science of deadly poisons), and you are condemned to life-long penal servitude. Luckily, you are rescued by cannibals and eaten.

I wish I knew how to be Prof. L's "teacher's pet."
 
Granted. You know how, but you have developed a rotten attitude, and you use your knowledge about what he likes to do everything he doesn't like. You send your minions to destroy his entire library by dipping each individual book in a vat of chocolate syrup. He calls you to confront you about the "see-rup" and, instead of apologizing, you correct his pronunciation of the word (which is, said appropriately, "surr-up"). Then he becomes furious--so furious he has a heart attack. He survives but sues you for everything you're worth. You lose everything you own, have to drop out of college, and can no longer pay your minions. They form an angry mob and chase you off a cliff at the edge of the world (the earth, amid all the confusion, became flat) and you spend the rest of your life sitting on the tail end of one of the elephants that is holding the world up. Since, after all, it's elephants all the way down.

I wish I had an elephant to invade my professor's office.
 
Granted, but then the elephant invades your lawyer's office and dumps your lawyer into a bucket of peanuts!

I wish the Colts were playing today instead of tomorrow.
 
My lawyer is my invisible friend. Which means he's invisible. Which means the elephant could not dunk him into a bucket of peanuts because the elephant could not see him to do it. My lawyer seriously considered suing you for that one....

Granted, but that's the last time they play, because a new president is elected who has an impressive amount of common sense. He abolishes professional sports: that is, you can no longer be legally paid for playing. Since hide-and-seek is more entertaining than professional sports anyway, hide-and-seek becomes the national sport. Freeze tag comes in as a close second. Sopespian is devastated, goes into a depression, and is eaten by a hungry, out-of-work football player. And the football player swallows the last laugh along with Sopespian.

I wish ice cream was healthy and still tasted good.
 
Granted. You never experience pain again, which is why you get so many injuries...from things like leaving your hand on the stove burner, repeatedly stubbing your toes, sitting on tacks without knowing it....

I wish radiation did not exist.
 
Granted. Because you love mold, you dream about waking up to a moldy room--black mold on the curtains, green mold on the ceiling, red mold on your bedspread, several varieties on your hairbrush. You dream that you get up to brush your hair. Mold sticks in it--little crumbs of mold all over. And you are happy.

I wish mold did not exist.
 
Granted. You're green with mold. (You knew that was coming.)

I wish I was done my history assignment.
 
Granted. It's banned, but we bring it in anyway. And you die from breathing all the mold.

I wish I had a hundred dollars.
 
Granted. But the lord Sopespian sends ten of his Telmarines to waylay you in a shadowy byway. They steal the $100 dollars, plus the 25 cents you had before, which leaves you worse off than ever.

I wish I could sing like Julie Andrews.
 
Granted. You also speak like Julie Andrews--with a distinct English accent. Your siblings all think that you're trying to show off by speaking that way. You try to explain that you can't help it, but they don't believe you. Your siblings form a mob and chase you out of the house. You think you are safe, but then the sibling-mob comes out of the house and chases you out of the county. You think you are safe then, but the sibling-mob comes again and chases you out of state. You think you are finally safe, until the sibling-mob chases you out of the country. You go to Mexico and turn into a cactus.

I wish I didn't have a sweet tooth.
 
Granted. But then all the healthy food in the world evaporates, and only the sugar foods remain. Since you no longer have a sweet tooth, you are not able to appreciate this "great leap forward," but in order to survive, you are obliged to partake of ice cream, brownies, and shortcake three times a day. And the effort nearly gags you.

I wish just once in my life I could see a monster under my bed, WITHOUT it biting, swallowing, or otherwise eating anyone.
 
Granted, you find the cutest (horrific word) sweetest monster you have ever seen making itself comfortable under your bed. It does not bite or maul, eviscerate or mutilate. It's perfect. Unfortunately, it gives off the most putrid of smells and so you are forever avoided by everyone you know and love, only kept company by your smelly friend.

I wish I was a better communicator of my innermost feelings.
 
Granted. You can no longer keep any of your feelings to yourself, for the clarity with which they shine forth without any effort on your part. You go to a friendly neighbor's house for dinner, and she goes all out with escargot, liver a la spiniche, menudo, and haggis. (Most of those are real and probably gross.) The communication of your innermost feelings hurts her feelings so badly, that she turns you into a chopped snail.

I wish my room wasn't such a mess.
 
Granted. It's so perfect that, when one of your brother's friends sees it, he decides that you would make the perfect wife (wife--defined as someone who feeds her husband and cleans enough to avoid him dying of bacterial infection). Unfortunately, the friend is a passionate devotee of Ralph Waldo Emerson, who he insists on quoting almost nonstop. You attempt to tell him you're not interested, but he is so determined to make you his wife that he follows you around for eternity, chanting, "I am the doubter and the doubt, I am the hymn the Brahmin sings." Eventually, you murder him, get caught doing it, and are hanged.

I wish VL didn't murder her brother's friend.
 
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