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Corrupt A Wish
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Bill Oakes
Bill Oakes

Sep-15-2006 02:30

This is a very simple and fun game. The first person makes a wish, and each following person finds some way to corrupt the wish and then makes a new wish. For example:

Person 1. I wish I had a dog

Person 2. You have a dog, but it dies the day after you get it

I wish I had a muffin

Person 3: You get a muffin, but you drop it and have to throw it away.

And so on.

Your firt wish to corrupt is this:

I wish I had a new car.

Replies

Peter O'Neil
Peter O'Neil
Old Shoe

Dec-24-2012 17:54

Happy mutt! Alas, Kitty (is it Miss or Mr.?) passes away. In fact, the lucky mutt joyfully is tasked with digging the grave. Oh Happy BowWow Day!!!!

I wish love was truly a many splendored thing, and nothing but splendid.

Breitkat
Breitkat
Pinball Amateur

Dec-25-2012 09:20

I would think it would be difficult to have a Mr. Missy, but then again, I'm not an expert on such things. :-.

(And I'll leave you to deal with the repercussions of killing the Queen. *Wince* ;-)

(This should be good. ;-)

;-D ;-D ;-D

B.

luc pfeiffer
luc pfeiffer
Red-Nosed

Jan-15-2013 08:40

Will no one avenge the death of poor fair Missy? Ok, i will but only because i can. You asked for a love of the ages, and boy have i got one for you. It plays a little with the fabric of time but i am sure the reader will forgive in pursuit of a good yarn.


It starts one fine spring day (ok it was snowing but who remembers after all this time). You were sitting on a bench in the park, watching life parade by. A sudden thwack (or technically thwumpf) of a rather large pocketbook hitting a rather scrawny pigeon drew your attention. As soon as you clapped eyes on her, you fell madly in love with the one true love of your life. 'Rats with wings', grumbled a very large yet plain woman. 'Get lost, ya @!@#$%^&* pigeons, quit following me.' Thwack. (Or maybe thwumpf)


Now few things can inspire mad, eyes-glazed-over passion like the robust sound of a pocketbook hitting a pigeon. You find that you just have to get up, run after her, ask her out, ask her to elope, ask her ANYTHING to make her say yes. (Yes, this is that boring predictable part we all want to race through to get to the good stuff; bear with me.)


Some months later, we find that things have progressed in your epic love story. True, she does refuse to marry you. But she does relent enough to be willing to take you with her to her to her place of employment, as a cook in one of the city's finer establishments. Ok, it's an insane asylum. But you do get to spend almost every waking moment of each day in the company of your one true love. And what a cook she is! The gastronomic wonder that she can turn a bowl of gruel into, it hardly bears mentioning.


At this point, the first whiff of a problem appears in your idyllic newlywed-like bliss. You see, her cooking, it um, runs right through you. (Yes, we mean this in the smelliest way possible.) As if the runs weren't enough of an impediment to blind love, they leave behind mind-bending cramps and a fever hot enough to heat the boiler on a locomotive.

luc pfeiffer
luc pfeiffer
Red-Nosed

Jan-15-2013 08:43

(Cont'd) Each and every time. Surely, your love would not try to poison you, would she? Time goes on and the thought insidiously begins to grow and fester in that hard-headed noggin of yours...


At last, words cannot describe your relief at the news that a hard-working health inspector imparts to you. Your lady-love is not trying to poison you, at least not with strychnine. You've gone and fallen head over heels in love with that salty dame herself, Typhoid Mary. As the men in white coats haul your lady-love off to prison, again, swearing up a storm, you call after her that you will always love her, no matter the distance between you, even if it kills you.


Seventy years down the line, we are pleased to inform you that it did kill you after all. How has been lost over time, but your relatives will stake their reputations that you were cremated together and repose for all eternity in the same receptacle. We could say that that was a result of the high esteem they have for their beloved uncle and his one true love. We could but the truth probably has more to do with their thriftiness than your esteem. We mention this because there is one last turn in this whole sordid affair that we now impart.


Some years ago, the unlikely combination of a large earthquake and Pirate Kitty resting on the highest shelf of a bookcase sent your coffee can flying out the window of a tenth-floor flat. You landed and had your lid come off on a table umbrella. You then slid off straight on to the plate of tiramisu that a pair of modern-day middle-aged star-crossed lovers had been sharing. The whole unappetizing mess was then put down the garbage disposal and you were left to whirr for some hours. We could say that you and your lady-love will be missed. But we won't; we miss Missy and hope that she feels herself sufficiently revenged. Next time, be nicer to the cat and we will have mercy on you, if only a little.

I wish that i could lose this cold... L

luc pfeiffer
luc pfeiffer
Red-Nosed

Jan-27-2013 11:42

Will no one kick this cold for me? Please? It's almost as bad as real life (and yes i do have one there). Anyone got a cuppa tea? L

Cordelia Falco
Cordelia Falco
Battered Shoe

Feb-7-2013 03:43

You lose the cold. It's a bit of a mystery as to how, but one day you wake up and your sinuses are clear. You leap out of bed, newly invigorated and throw yourself into the daily round.

Three days later there's a knock on the door. A policeman stands there looking severe. "I believe this is your property, sir? It was handed in at the station and reported lost." He gives you a cardboard box, and before you can say anything, moves off and start talking on his radio. Puzzled, you open the box. There sits your cold, grinning at you evilly.


I wish our shower was better at delivering hot water.

Lawliettine
Lawliettine
Trusted Informer

Feb-8-2013 23:57

Granted. Your shower delivers water at any desired temperature at any time of the day.

But due to complications your shower has actually been stealing hot water from your neighbours. The result? A large bunch of people outside your house/apartment, shivering & yelling at you.

I wish I had all the time in the world for recreation, without any adverse consequences on my grades.

Breitkat
Breitkat
Pinball Amateur

Feb-9-2013 00:15

One little *ZAP* from the Fairy Godmother's Wand of Errant Tidings, and Presto, Shazam!! You suddenly have LOADS of free time for all the recreating you want to do. Reading, partying, Sleuthing, dating, whatever, the sky's the limit. (Do I hear sky-diving, anyone?? ;-) And just like the good Godmother ordered, no 'adverse consequences' to your grades. Straight A's cross the board!! (Even for that Desert Surfboarding class you're currently flunking, big time. Hang somethin' or another, Dudette!! ;-)

One teeeeeensy little fly in the sex-wax, though....

All this time recreatin' and festivizin' has left you with little time for the basic necessities of life. Y'know, sleeping, eating. (Showering. ;-) As in zero, Dudette. So while you're a wild woman by day (and most of the night), you're a zombie when it comes to actually, well, bein' a zombie. Have fun, now, hear?? Don't do anything Godmother wouldn't do!! ;-D

I wish Missy would stop playin' spot-on-the-carpet with the other kitties in the house. (As in she's tryin' to make them a spot in the carpet. I can't afford the cleaning bills. Or the wear on my knees. Thanks. ;-)

Breit

Jack McIre
Jack McIre

Feb-9-2013 21:18

Missy stops playing spot-on-the-carpet but only because she got knocked up. You now expect 5-7 more cats staining the carpets.

I wish my roomates started acting their age.

Cordelia Falco
Cordelia Falco
Battered Shoe

Feb-10-2013 08:36

Your roommates are now acting their age. Unfortunately their ages are now two, fourteen and ninety-seven. You're not sure which is worse: the tantrums when it's time to get dressed, the fact the teenager hasn't washed for three weeks and has forgotten human speech, or the way the false teeth in a glass seem to leer at you from across the room. You've bruised your shins falling over the walking frame, there's a sock on the couch which seems to be developing life forms, and you've just discovered what appears to be mashed banana on your keyboard. Euch.


I wish I had a rain-repelling force field.

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