They make the world series. You bet your entire estate, and lose it when the rangers lose miserably.

I wish for the person under me to grant me something pleasant without any ill/unpleasant/bad, etc) effects. (Beat that!)

 

Okay something pleasant. I transfigure you into a happy go lucky girl, with deep chocolate brown pools for eyes and firey red hair that glows in the firelight. You are mischeivous and terribly popular. You enjoy Harry Potter more than you ever thought possible. You are Ginevra Molly Weasley and you are very happy about that.

I wish people with protruding nosehair would realize that they need a trim. I mean seriously, try holding a conversation with someone with a nasal herbology experiment going on. It's disgusting.

 

My dad gets a trim...and kills you for making it happen.\

I wish that I became a better writer.

 

You become the Next Jk Rowling, but as you are writing, you develop Carpal Tunnel Syndrom so severe that you go into early retirment and never fully recover dieing a horrible death and never finishing your life's work.

I wish that slash fic writers all had an orgy, got AIDS, and then died wiping eachother out with their unnaturalness, and saving us decent folk from their perverted HP fannon.

 

Your wish is granted, unfortunately your little sister was a slash fic writer and died with them.


I wish that poptarts were bigger than life

 

Your wish is granted. You shrink down to one inch in size next to an open 12 pack of cinnamon brown sugar pop tarts. They are quite simply massive. Eventually the smell of your treasures attracts the ants. Arming yourself with a piece of a broken staple which you use like a spear. You fight battle after horrible battle against your insect nemesis. You carve armor out of their chitinous exoskeletons. You become a savage legend among the ants, a horrible monstorous legend told and retold to scare the little larvae. The death wails of the ants haunt your nightmares, but you sooth them away with the delicious taste of the brown sugary filling. You separate out the cinnamon which is a natural poison to them. (It really is. See you learn something useful in the strangest places.) With your armor, spear and shield made from thorax plating you become the one inch tall god you always wanted to be.

I wish my ear hair would stop growing and my regular hair would make a comeback.

Jim

 

It does but it grows at 2 metres per hour and you end up tripping over it all the time and eventually die when it grows down a drain in the middle of a street causeing you to get run over.

I wish i was able to interface with computers

 

Your wish is granted. You contract a virus and are now a ward of an institute for the mentally disabled, having gone insane from a constant inpour of spam mail and pop-ups.

I wish I could move in and out of television at will.

 

You can, but you get stuck in a re-run of Ally McBeal for the rest of eternity.

I wish I had my own orbital Battle Station.

 

You do but it is infected with replicators and is over-run, nothing you did was able to stop them and in the end you had to self destruct the whole station to save earth.

i wish i had a photographic memory

 

You do. You begin to wish you didn't when you walk in on your parents going at it BDSM style.

I wish people were more intellegent.

 

People are more intelligent. More intelligent than you, that is. Everyone. You kill yourself in shame for being the dumbest person on Earth.

I wish my neck wouldn't hurt.

 

Your dick is bitten off by ginny in your sleep you no longer care about your neck pain.

I wish for the seventh book to be all about Ginny. (Beat that)

 

It happens.

I wish my Chemistry teacher would stop trying to catch me typing here. (Here she comes!)

 

she does, because she has actually caught you.

I wish that Rowling would look at this site and find some good ideas for her next book

 

Rowling actually opens the thread for the crappest stories of history. She completes the seventh book, and writes a whole new series, all about ginslut, Male Slash, Dom, BDSM, pussy-harry and everything else crap in the world. You end up having to study each of these many, many books in great detail in order to write a fourteen page long essay all about the greatness that is ginslut. Then you die.

I wish for a gibson sg mind condition 1969 reissue that i can play amazingly well.

 

You get it but it breaks. (Creative I know.)

I wish for an Enzo Ferrari(sp?).

 

You get it but it breaks. (Creative, no? Alright: ) Just after jumping into the Ferrari to drive it round the block you loose control at the awesome speed of 30 mph, crashing into a group of school children, instantly killing all of them. You are arrested for underage driving and vehicular manslaughter and have to serve a five year term in a state prison.

I wish for bliss.

 

The orgasm ends and Bubba decides to go for another round.

I wish for something good that has no dumb side effects.

 

the word 'dumb' has changed it's dictionary definition into: great. So you get all the bad side-effects, and die an early deaths (with forks)

i wish i understood AP calculus for my test tommorow