flipflopflipflop
Scribble, your sister stops calling herself a vegetarian and lesbian. She now proudly (and every chance she gets) proclaims herself to be the reincarnation of a fire-eating Zoroastrian nun, and burns down your house while trying to demonstrate.
I wish this doggone snowstorm would quit dumping that white crap on my town!
floooop
that doggone snowstorm has quit dumping that white crap on your town. It started to crap white dump on your town instead. Enjoy the smell.
I wish people who complained about the bad weather would stop complaining, go to a travel agency, book a holiday somewhere warm, take a plain and go there.
correction, plane and not plain.
pooof
wish granted. everyone, and I mean everyone, goes to a travel agency, books a holiday somewhere warm, takes a plain plane g and goes there. but of course, this results in a breakdown of economy and worldwide turmoil. wall street is empty. places like the death valley, the sahara and alice springs are overcrowded, while NY, Aspen and most of Central Europe have turned into ghost towns.
sorry, forgot my wish:
I wish for a brewery, so I can turn the whole world into alcoholics… nah, better not, that’s to easy. I wish for all information from my daily newspaper to be directly uploaded
into my brain and kept there safely forever.
fwipfwipfwipGLOOOOSSSSHHHH
El Cookie, your wish is granted. All information is now directly uploaded from your daily newspaper into your brain and kept there safely forever.
Forever, in your case, however, is not more than a year, two months, seven days, three hours, 49 minutes, and 3.6 seconds. That’s when your brain finally overloads from the mass of data flowing in and not exiting, and erupts in a foaming geyser that shoots out your ears, nostrils and nouth. It also tries to exit via your eye sockets but succeeds only in giving you Bette Davis eyes.
I wish my cat Serena would come out of hiding.
tinkletinkletinkle
Serena does, indeed, come out of hiding. However, she has now become feral. She jumps out and slices your jugular open. You bleed to death within minutes.
I wish to get all the books I want for Christmas, neatly arranged in stable bookcases that won’t fall on me.
EEEESSSHHHHHH dwalin – that’s closer to reality than I care to contemplate. :eek:
I’ll let someone else ruin your wish, since I wish it too.
kaboom
dwalin,and EddieTeddyFreddy both get their wish. You both have all the books you ever wanted nicely organized on bookshelves that will never fall.
Too bad your new library is in the Kremlin in the USSR. And all of them are written in Russian. Oh and you guessed it— you can’t read Russian. Treats to ya.
I wish someone else would shovel my walk, of snow for me 
stormchaser, your walk is now shoveled clear of snow. That’s your walk at home, of course, in the Midwest.
You, however, happen to find yourself called unavoidably, and quite suddenly, to Massachusetts. So suddenly that you don’t have time to pack a snow shovel or sand in your car. When you emerge from the two-day conference you’ve been forced to attend this weekend, you discover that two feet of snow has fallen in those 48 hours, and that (a) you can’t remember where exactly in the 100-car parking lot you parked; (b) the conference center has been unable to reach its plowing service, and informs you that you’ll have to dig yourself out; © the wind-driven snow has drifted up to six feet high over the vehicles; and (d) the only implements you can find to dig with are a rolled-up newspaper and a plastic spoon.
Have fun!
Steppin’ up to the plate…
(ETF defaulted)
I wish I could figure out something imaginitive and yummy to cook for dinner tonight.
Shame on you, ETF! See if I every curl your tongue again!
sizzle
It’s Imaginitive! It’s Yummy! It’s Cookable! It’s for Dinner! The taste that made Chicago famous - it’s Hamster Stew.
Here comes Cecil, with the Teeming Millions close behind. Boy, are you in trouble.
I wish Rocky would talk with a psychoanalyst about this thing he has for nuts.
[legal notice: pervert is hereby enjoined and estopped from finding the word “anal” in “psychoanalyst”]
Well, BJMoose, congratulations! Rocky’s found a new psychoanalyst who’s helped him to understand the traumas in his early life that have led him to his obsession with nuts. After intensive therapy, Rocky is no longer tormented with intolerable cravings for nuts.
No, now he has a more healthy appetite – meat! Yes, Rocky’s found his inner carnivore, and he’s planning to invite j_sum1 over tonight for a yummy steak roast. I hear you’re going to be the, ah, guest of honor at the feast.
I wish the two feet of snow we got this weekend would melt before the next storm arrives.
ALA ENEMA SANDWICHES!
I officially fail to notice anal, nuts, thing, comes, Rocky, and three others I can’t type.
Rocky begins therapy to deal with his “thing” for “nuts”. He goes 2 times a week at first. After 3 weeks, though, he begins to go 5 times a week. Soon he is going every weekday, twice on wednesdays, and calling the therapist 3 or 4 times on the weekends. After a year, the therapist does not have any other patients. She moves in with him and begins to “council” him full time. Finally, his wife gets suspicious when the therapist begins to “council” Rocky most nights as well. Eventually an investigation shows that the therapist has “caught” the “thing” for nuts. By the time it is exposed, they have become the leaders of a “nuts” cult which boasts world wide membership. He finally moves to the cult’s orchards in Guianna.
I wish I had a small mamillian pet. 
(for ETF since she was first)
slurppeee
The two feet of snow melts. But because it got the memo late, it does so just five minutes before the next system hits. Let’s see - 2’ snow = 2.4" water, which when quick-freezed = 2.731" of ice under the new snow. Hope you took your ice skates to work today.
For good measure, here’s the 4-5 inches of snow we’re supposed to get here tomorrow.
So here’s wishing pervert gets his small mamillian pet and true happiness.
[methinks I espy the approach of a gerbil-stuffing joke]
… Clunk Click Every Trip …
Ah, if only you’l asked for a small mammalian pet all would have been well. Mamillians though are a form of land living jellyfish, the shape of a human mammary gland. The small one you now own is only 2inches diameter and of a distressing orange color. It follows you arround, and likes two sit on your forehead when you sleep. Though not poisonous it does smell of cooked cabbage.
I wish to try out the new flogger I bought on Sunday, on a doper if possible.
You go right ahead with your shiny new flogger, Bippy. You discover there’s an undreamt-of number of masochists among the SDMB members. Soon you’re oiverwhelmed with volunteers to be flogged. You’re starting to get creeped out, in fact, by certain parties’ eagerness for punishment. What finally sends you screaming into the night is the Doper who starts dropping hints about cannibalism.
But I’m feeling very generous today, Bippy, so I’m going to give you a bonus: You no longer type “to”, “too” and “two” all as “two”. Thus, you no longer type things like: “likes two sit on your forehead”. Instead, your new foible with those homonyms is to type “tu”.
I wish my fingernails would stop splitting.
Bippity, boppity, boo–
Congratulations. Your fingernails stop splitting. Unfortunately, your skull starts splitting instead. That leaves a nasty mess all over your clothing and the floor. It also makes it pretty difficult for you to concentrate.
I wish this crap fast-food bowl of Vientamese noodle-seafood soup I’m eating tasted like something more palatable than grease-soaked paper mache.
Welcome EddyTeddyFreddy tu the wonderful world of indestructable nails. Never again will your nails split, they just keep growing and not even a diamond hacksaw will cut through your developing tallons. They are long enough to scare your cats intu allowing you out of the kitchen, and even back intu your bedroom. Your toe nails are growing at a similar phenominal rate and are equally uncuttable.
I wish I didn’t ache so much.
All right, Bippy.
Bippity the Beardless, Boppity, Boo…
You no longer ache so much. In fact, you don’t ache at all. You don’t feel anything. Nothing. Your entire body has gone numb. And it stays that way. Forever. No more muscle soreness, no more headaches or swelling of joints, no more sudden OW! when you bang your shin against the coffee table in the middle of the night. But you also get no more tiny tremors of pleasure from stroking gossamer silk against your cheek, no more luscious dissolving of soft, soft, soft chocolate mousse against your palate, no more drowsy, milkfed sense of peace that comes from the warm sun on your back on a summer afternoon. You feel nothing. Nothing at all.