Your new neighbors move in this week. And starting next Tuesday, they begin to use your parked car for target practice with their wrist rockets. Nope, not drunk, nor stoned. Just for the fun of seeing the dents growing on your car.
I wish I had a circadian rhythm, once again.
You have a circadian rhythm once more. Alas, it’s seriously messed up, and now your body always thinks it’s 4:13am. So you go through the rest of your life groggy and disoriented.
I wish Hillary and Barack would quickly and amicably resolve their differences so that the Democratic nominee wins by a landslide in November.
They do, and the Dem nominee cruises to a landslide victory. However, they have Anti-Coattails, which enables the Pubbies to win a Supra-Majority in Congress, which they ruthlessly use to marginalize the President and force their agenda down the throat of the American public.
Edit: I wish I could remember to make a wish.
You are gifted with the ability to remember to make a wish in every situation in which a wish is appropriate – threads such as this, wishing wells, shooting stars, birthday candle extinguishing rituals, etc. To ensure that this ability is never lost, several redundant backup structures are partitioned in your brain. Unfortunately, these partitions, now dedicated to wish-remembrance, overlay several important functions which previously occupied those spaces. You no longer have the ability to do algebra, taste most types of fruit, perform any complex opening gambit in chess, reset your wireless router, control your bowels, read vowels, or exercise discretion when you become sexually aroused. You are not fun at parties.
I wish that my finals were over and that I had made perfect scores on them, securing my spot as an honor graduate from this little University of mine.
Congratulations! You’re now an honor graduate of the University of Mine. Unfortunately, nobody recognizes it as a real school, so your degree is useless.
I wish all our cats would get along well.
Every cat in the world gets along well, and they all join together and take over the world.
I wish I could remember where I put that damn file.
You remember where you put the file! It’s in the sub-basement in the room with a “Beware of Jaguar” sign on the door. Laughing at the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy reference, you walk into the room to get the file, and are eaten by a jaguar.
I wish I had a car that got 250 miles to the gallon.
You have a car that gets 250 mpg of your blood. You are 251 miles from the edge of the desert.
I wish that citizens of the USA were civically and environmentally aware and invovled.
Done! Their newly-rekindled civics awareness leads them to the curious conclusion that only an outright U.S. military conquest of the planet will save humanity. The President, eager to reverse his low poll ratings, is only too happy to oblige.
I wish Cecil would interact more with those on the SDMB.
Who says I don’t? Uh … he doesn’t! Yeah, that’s it, who says he doesn’t? Not me. Nope, never. Pshaw! Um, Ed? Little help?
I wish I could find my favorite baseball cap.
Easily accomplished; it’s in your favorite dog!
I wish the build for the new servers was done.
It’s done! Too bad Creative Loathing just fired – I mean, downsized all the hardware people in the IT department. The SDMB servers will never be upgraded or otherwise maintained again.
I wish to know the maximal quantity of lumber in board-feet that a typical representative specimen of Marmota monax can throw a distance of 3m in a period of 1 hour, assuming that the lumber has been divided into pieces of an appropriate size enabling the M. monax to accomplish the task.
The powers that be have decided that the optimal way to give you this knowledge is to have the woodchuck chuck the wood at you. (assuming of course that they could chuck wood) Enjoy!
I wish for upper management in my office to have a favorable view of me.
They do. Let’s just say the view they like a whole lot involves infrared lighting, the smallest habitable room in your house and a videotape that has segments that always end with swirling water.
And it has nothing to do with promotions or pay increases.
I wish someone would really throw away the cars and the bars in the world.
Rapture by Blondie:
So when the Blondie is done there are no more cars or bars, but you’re in the man from Mars.
I wish for chocolate pudding to appear whenever I want it to appear.
Sorry, you didn’t specify where the pudding appears, so it ends up in the seat of your car, dumped on the head of your wife, on the surface of Mars, and in the breakfast bowl of Zarquiz the Puzzled, Third Triemperor of the Kulingan Star Empire.
I wish that Jack Nicklaus would come into possession of a bottle of the Fountain of Youth elixir, get de-aged back to age 30, and challenge Tiger Woods on the PGA Tour, since nobody else (other than random journeymen) seems interested.
He may be a thirty-year-old in body, but his birth certificate still makes him a sixty-something. Rather than do the hard work of challenging Tiger Woods, he’s decided to make an easier fortune playing on the Champions Tour.
I wish the Met-Life building would gently slide off its foundation and move into a cornfield in Ottumwa, Iowa.
Done. However, the records of all MetLife insurance policies were destroyed in the 1,000 mile slide, which also destroyed I-80.
I wish Ottumwa, Iowa would become the cultural and intellectual center of the world.
Done. Angry citizens of New York, London, Paris, Tokyo, Rome, Berlin and a dozen other cities jealously destroy it and plow the land under with salt.
I wish my food never had too much salt.
Well, the wish-granter, uncertain whether you wanted to be limited by what you found a proper tasting amount of salt, or by a healthy amount of salt, has chosen to act so that there will never be any salt in any of your foods. No matter how that affects the taste. Nor can you make up the lack yourself. Salt poured onto, or mixed in, food you intend to consume will simply quietly disappear. Within a week you start having dreams about being able to chew on a piece of salt cod.
I wish I could pilot a dirigible.