You smash the world marathon record by 10 minutes, but the record was for eating girant slugs culled from New York’s finest sewers (the previous record was only 47 seconds). You are reviled by everybody ‘cause you’re “that guy that ate all those slugs.” You become a proponent of slugs’ rights and are laughed out of every organization you try to make connections with.
Oh, and you can now spell every single character word correctly. Congratulations.
ETF, you ARE NOT distracted from anything! You pick up on EVERY subtle nuance of every thread and every post! The sheer magnitude of this drives you to insanity.
I wish I was Jimi Hendrix… back in the day…
You now have the combined Superpowerts of Matter-Eater Lad, Bouncing Boy, and Squirrel Girl. Aren’t we special?
I wish to be a Mad Scientist, complete with Frankenstein’s Monster, Atomic Mutation Beam, Jeckyl/Hyde Potion, and 1920’s Style Death Ray! BWA-HA-HA-HA! FOOLS! THEY MOCKED ME, BUT I’LL SHOW THEM ALL!
All hail Mad Scientist Supreme Bosda! Lord of the comic pages! Doomed to an eternity in the two-dimensional world of a comic book – until the 12-year-old who owns it discovers girls and throws it in the dumpster.
You’re filled with motivation… to finish a thousand projects you’ve been meaning to finish. But there’s not enough hours in the day… but you’ve got to get them done… but no time… MUST FINISH… tick, tick, tick… AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH! BOOM! Head explodes…
I wish I could quit smoking.
Your peas become whirled. So does the rest of your dinner. As well as your cabin. As well as the whole cruise ship you’re on, since it just entered a gigantic vortex. Enjoy the rest of your vacation at the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle.
I wish upon a star. Makes no difference who I are. When I wish upon a star, my dreeeeeeeams come truuuuuuue.
You are paid for not working. In fact, they pay you not to move a muscle, in wich two problem arises:
Your muscles turn to Jello and you find yourself as a puddle on the floor, Or
Since you need to eat and drink, and you cannot move a muscle, you die of malnourashment, dehydration sitting in your own shit and piss.
I wish i could find a brand new car, for only a dollar. Its owner believes it is haunted, therefore wants to get rid of it.
Knowed Out’s secret desire to be ‘Bippy the Beardless’ has sudenly changed me from ‘Uncle Harry Scrotum’ to ‘Bippy the Beardless’.
I wish that nobody will ever remember that I was ‘Uncle Harry Scrotum’ before 11-05-2003 11:51 AM. and just think that I was always ‘Bippy the Beardless’.
Nobody remembered that you were ‘Uncle Harry Scrotum’ before 11-05-2003 11:51 AM. until you went and reminded us all. Now we’re all pointing and giggling… hairy… BEARDLESS!!! Bwahahahaha
I wish Dolores Claiborne finds a cool new user name.