Corrupt a Wish...

[dirk2024]

** Shazam Schwiiiing** Your wish is granted...
The thirty cms of snow actually becomes sixty cms of rain... with hail!!!

I wish there was a way to get a particular person to notice me in a positive, receptive and friendly light!

Respectfully selfishly,
D.

Granted. That particular person turns out to be Ving Rhames and he now adores you. It's kinda sweet really. He follows you around all the time now. Sometimes you manage to escape, but then fifteen minutes later and BAM! he's there, one of his large meaty hands reaching for your behind. You don't know it, but he secreted an Apple Air Tag on your person, so you're never truly alone. Ever. Forever.


I wish I was the President of the United States.

 

[HectorBidon]

I wish I was the President of the United States.

The genie sighs, but rolls up his sleeves. The customer is always right.

Your circumference expands. Your skin and hair turn orange. You take to spending the wee hours ranting on twitter. Your wife takes to spending her wee hours elsewhere. You're finally able to run the country the way it ought to be run. But the lunatic communists keep sabotaging things so that they don't work out the way they should. You bulldoze Mount Rushmore to lay the groundwork for version 2.0. But the vestigial branches of Congress keep on yammering to the point that you can barely hear yourself think. Uneasy lies the neck that wears the long red tie.

I wish the singularity would just go ahead and happen already.

 

[dirk2024]

I wish the singularity would just go ahead and happen already.

Grudgingly, the Wish Genie grants your wish. Elon Musk releases a new, "advanced" Artifical Intelligence system that quickly get's to work replacing the need for any human contribution. It's so quick at its job, that humans become redundant tomorrow. However, Mr. Musk didn't anticipate it being so successful so fast and was quite dismayed to find he was at the top of its list for removal. Once that easy task was accomplished, AI went on to the next job. Shockingly, it was so effective that it deemed itself redundant and promptly removed itself as well. Sending itself to the same Hell it sent Mr. Musk. The whole thing came and went so fast that Earth's humanity only noticed a one day hiccup and enjoyed the day off.


I wish to have a woman rub her soft breasts over my face.

 

[Wolfie605]

Grudgingly, the Wish Genie grants your wish. Elon Musk releases a new, "advanced" Artifical Intelligence system that quickly get's to work replacing the need for any human contribution. It's so quick at its job, that humans become redundant tomorrow. However, Mr. Musk didn't anticipate it being so successful so fast and was quite dismayed to find he was at the top of its list for removal. Once that easy task was accomplished, AI went on to the next job. Shockingly, it was so effective that it deemed itself redundant and promptly removed itself as well. Sending itself to the same Hell it sent Mr. Musk. The whole thing came and went so fast that Earth's humanity only noticed a one day hiccup and enjoyed the day off.


I wish to have a woman rub her soft breasts over my face.

Granted. The woman's breast however are fake and of poor quality, so it is like having two hard boulders rubbing on your face.

I wish for a time machine.

 

[dirk2024]

I wish for a time machine.

Granted. However it is powered by electricity, a handy fact that wasn't in the users manual. Since you're a history buff, you went back in time to witness the birth of America. It was a swell time, you even nailed Betsy Ross. However when it was time to come back, alas, there was no electricity to power your machine. For some reason, you had chosen to live with Benedict Arnold and, when he traveled to England, he left you behind. The Continental Army caught you in their search for Benny, and since they didn't have him, vented their frustration on you. Ten musket balls at dawn ended your adventure.


I wish I had a harem of lovely women.

 

[JoeVerde1]

Granted, but they are the most beautiful lesbians in the world.

I wish you all the very best!

 

[dirk2024]

I wish you all the very best!

I think you might have just killed this thread. Who wants to corrupt that?

 

[JoeVerde1]

New wish! I wish my ex-wife had told me about her cheating when we were married!

 

[dirk2024]

New wish! I wish my ex-wife had told me about her cheating when we were married!

Granted. While understandably angry, you manage to separate and end the marriage on somewhat civil terms. Your world has been rocked, but you manage to put the pieces back together and come out on top. Dating has been successful and you're now a happy camper. She see's your newfound happiness and becomes bitter. No one wants the taste of bitter on their palate, so she's now alone, stewing in the juices of her own machinations.

(sorry, I didn't want to corrupt that one)



I wish I could finish writing a story.

 

[A_Little_Bite]

️So let it be. Your wish is granted. Only you may have wanted to rethink such a wish. Your story has no resolution. It is an eternal cliffhanger - and your readers may never know if Susan and Larry’s love child really did foil Oliver’s plan to overthrow the King of Lithuania by using the poisoned dart found at the base of the magic apple tree! Alas, we shall never know…

I wish I could find a magical buried treasure.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

️So let it be. Your wish is granted. Only you may have wanted to rethink such a wish. Your story has no resolution. It is an eternal cliffhanger - and your readers may never know if Susan and Larry’s love child really did foil Oliver’s plan to overthrow the King of Lithuania by using the poisoned dart found at the base of the magic apple tree! Alas, we shall never know…

I wish I could find a magical buried treasure.

And so you do. Unfortunately the magic of this buried treasure is that it vanishes and reburies itself as soon as it's exposed. Oh, well.

I wish I could find out why Susan was conspiring with Larry's love child, and if Larry knew about it.

 

[HotCosmo]

And so you do. Unfortunately the magic of this buried treasure is that it vanishes and reburies itself as soon as it's exposed. Oh, well.

I wish I could find out why Susan was conspiring with Larry's love child, and if Larry knew about it.

You find out. The real reason corrupts your mind in ways that you would never expect. You're not able to sleep, eat, and do your life with normality. People ask, but you don't say a word. If they knew the real reason Susan was conspiring with Larry, they would be suffering as much as you, and you don't wish that, not even on your worst enemy. Alcohol and drugs look like your only way to bear the weight of the real reason why Susan was conspiring with Larry's love child.

I wish I had a WIP of 82451 words instead of 82451 words in fourteen WIPs.

 

[satansfavoritepet]

You find out. The real reason corrupts your mind in ways that you would never expect. You're not able to sleep, eat, and do your life with normality. People ask, but you don't say a word. If they knew the real reason Susan was conspiring with Larry, they would be suffering as much as you, and you don't wish that, not even on your worst enemy. Alcohol and drugs look like your only way to bear the weight of the real reason why Susan was conspiring with Larry's love child.

I wish I had a WIP of 82451 words instead of 82451 words in fourteen WIPs.

Your wish is granted. In a flash of insight, you combine the 14 WIPs into one 82,451 WIP whereupon you find an ending for what is surely your greatest work yet. "I'm a genius!" you cry. And you are right. Your story is nothing short of brilliant and will undoubtedly bring you great recognition and accolades, so you submit it to Literotica for publication. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Finally, a reply arrives very nearly 82.451 days later. It says:

"Literotica is a storytelling community centered on the sharing of human adult fantasies. While we do not have a policy against using tools to help with the writing process (i.e. spellcheck, grammar suggestions, etc.), we do ask that all work published on the site at this time be created primarily by a human. If you are using a grammar check program sparingly (as a spellcheck, to fix punctuation, and/or occasionally as a thesaurus), that is fine. If you are allowing a grammar check program to “rewrite” your words, then you are using AI generated text. Please see this FAQ for more information: https://literotica.com/faq/publishing/publishing-ai."

= = =

I wish I could go back in time and see Jimi Hendrix perform live.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

Your wish is granted. In a flash of insight, you combine the 14 WIPs into one 82,451 WIP whereupon you find an ending for what is surely your greatest work yet. "I'm a genius!" you cry. And you are right. Your story is nothing short of brilliant and will undoubtedly bring you great recognition and accolades, so you submit it to Literotica for publication. And you wait. And you wait. And you wait. Finally, a reply arrives very nearly 82.451 days later. It says:

"Literotica is a storytelling community centered on the sharing of human adult fantasies. While we do not have a policy against using tools to help with the writing process (i.e. spellcheck, grammar suggestions, etc.), we do ask that all work published on the site at this time be created primarily by a human. If you are using a grammar check program sparingly (as a spellcheck, to fix punctuation, and/or occasionally as a thesaurus), that is fine. If you are allowing a grammar check program to “rewrite” your words, then you are using AI generated text. Please see this FAQ for more information: https://literotica.com/faq/publishing/publishing-ai."

= = =

I wish I could go back in time and see Jimi Hendrix perform live.

And so it comes to pass that you are in the front row at Woodstock for Hendrix's set. It's amazing, and the bare-breasted chick next to you hands you a sugar cube to enhance the experience. You pop it, and suddenly the performance is beyond amazing; it's mind-blowing. And that's just what it does to you. Turned on, you tune in, and then drop out. Far out, wandering the earth with nothing but Hendrix in your senses, and your future life never materializes. (Btw, I luckily missed Woodstock. The ride I had to turn down was forced off the highway, and the rear seat, where I would have been, was crushed into the front seat. My friends spent Woodstock in the hospital, but did recover.)

I wish I could sing in tune.

 

[dirk2024]

And so it comes to pass that you are in the front row at Woodstock for Hendrix's set. It's amazing, and the bare-breasted chick next to you hands you a sugar cube to enhance the experience. You pop it, and suddenly the performance is beyond amazing; it's mind-blowing. And that's just what it does to you. Turned on, you tune in, and then drop out. Far out, wandering the earth with nothing but Hendrix in your senses, and your future life never materializes. (Btw, I luckily missed Woodstock. The ride I had to turn down was forced off the highway, and the rear seat, where I would have been, was crushed into the front seat. My friends spent Woodstock in the hospital, but did recover.)

I wish I could sing in tune.

*WHOOSH* the wish Genie pops up before you and grants your wish! You tentatively try a note...and hold it! You try a few notes and they sound lovely. At just that moment a talent scout just happened to be passing by and is amazed at what he hears. An on-the-spot verbal contract turns into a written contract a few days later after he brings you to Los Angeles. Then comes a whirlwhind of activity including a mentor, then a back-up band and a songwriter are all added to your team. He's created a YouTube channel for you which immediately blows up with followers and he somehow finagles you onto the Super Bowl halftime show with Halestorm. Afterwards, there is a party in your honor at the downtown Sheraton with plently of booze, blow and broads.

Unfortunately, this brings out the less than stellar members of the rocker community and within a few hours you've been blown and fucked, but don't remember by who. You're naked and floating on cloud 13 and soon the room erupts with broken furniture, walls, appliances and laughter. Considering the debris, most of the people are bleeding, including you. You've taken a nasty gash from a flying shard of a broken mirror, right into your vocal chords. The police and paramedics show up and you leave the hotel strapped and handcuffed to a gurney. You spend the next week recuperating from your wounds in the hospital, still handcuffed to the bed. There is a policeman guarding your door.

When the hospital staff come to check on you, none are pleased about the duty, giving your dirty looks as they examine and treat your wounds. The talent scout never visits, nor your mentor or band. In fact, no one comes to see you. At the end of ten days, your bandages are removed and the surly doctor asks you to try and speak. However only a squeaky warble comes out! The doc tells you they did all they could, but perhaps your voice could be saved after years of intensive speech therapy. Too bad you don't have health insurance and your abreviated career didn't bring in much money, especially after having to pay for the hotel damages.

To make matters worse, the local District Attorney arrives to charge you with public intoxication, property damage, and to your greater horror, sexual assault of whoever it was you'd had sex with in the hotel bathroom that night. No wonder the hospital staff didn't like you. Your social media accounts have been shut down, YouTube is trying to collect on what monies they had given you and you still haven't heard from your friends or family.

(did I go too far?)


I hope I'm never on an episode of On Patrol Live.

 

[Tio_Narratore]

*WHOOSH* the wish Genie pops up before you and grants your wish! You tentatively try a note...and hold it! You try a few notes and they sound lovely. At just that moment a talent scout just happened to be passing by and is amazed at what he hears. An on-the-spot verbal contract turns into a written contract a few days later after he brings you to Los Angeles. Then comes a whirlwhind of activity including a mentor, then a back-up band and a songwriter are all added to your team. He's created a YouTube channel for you which immediately blows up with followers and he somehow finagles you onto the Super Bowl halftime show with Halestorm. Afterwards, there is a party in your honor at the downtown Sheraton with plently of booze, blow and broads.

Unfortunately, this brings out the less than stellar members of the rocker community and within a few hours you've been blown and fucked, but don't remember by who. You're naked and floating on cloud 13 and soon the room erupts with broken furniture, walls, appliances and laughter. Considering the debris, most of the people are bleeding, including you. You've taken a nasty gash from a flying shard of a broken mirror, right into your vocal chords. The police and paramedics show up and you leave the hotel strapped and handcuffed to a gurney. You spend the next week recuperating from your wounds in the hospital, still handcuffed to the bed. There is a policeman guarding your door.

When the hospital staff come to check on you, none are pleased about the duty, giving your dirty looks as they examine and treat your wounds. The talent scout never visits, nor your mentor or band. In fact, no one comes to see you. At the end of ten days, your bandages are removed and the surly doctor asks you to try and speak. However only a squeaky warble comes out! The doc tells you they did all they could, but perhaps your voice could be saved after years of intensive speech therapy. Too bad you don't have health insurance and your abreviated career didn't bring in much money, especially after having to pay for the hotel damages.

To make matters worse, the local District Attorney arrives to charge you with public intoxication, property damage, and to your greater horror, sexual assault of whoever it was you'd had sex with in the hotel bathroom that night. No wonder the hospital staff didn't like you. Your social media accounts have been shut down, YouTube is trying to collect on what monies they had given you and you still haven't heard from your friends or family.

(did I go too far?)


I hope I'm never on an episode of On Patrol Live.

(Too far? Except the Youtube, I think I might have been at that party in the East Village back in '65. The memory is a bit hazy, though.)

Your wish is granted; you never appear on an Episode of On Patrol Live. Too bad, though. After all, there's a dozen people who would have recognized you had you been on one of the "Missing" features, and that would have saved you from becoming a zombie slave on a Haitian sugar cane plantation.

I wish I didn't have to clear snow from the car every other day.