She nudges you and winks at you all night and you don’t get a bit of sleep. No sex, either.
I wish I hadn’t had that last piece of red velvet cake.
Your wife turns into Eric Idle. He/she then rapes you repeatedly.
I still wish I hadn’t had that last piece of red velvet cake.
You didn’t. But you will now, and another, and another, another. . .
I wish my old truck would start.
It does, along with a car bomb. Burn on you.
I wish my bicycle never suffered punctures.
Someone stole your tires. Problem solved!
I wish everyone loved me but left me alone when I wanted.
You found a wonderful partner. They love you madly and represent your absolute ideal in every way. You cannot get enough of their company, their wit, even their personal scent all make you feel perfectly content in every way. They totally respectful of your emotional space, and so they leave you alone whenever you want to be left alone. Unfortunately, they also leave you alone when you don’t want to be left alone. In fact, after your first meeting, you never see them ever again.
I wish that someone would prepare, deliver and provide all appropriate utensils for a delicious, highly-portable (non-cursed, properly heated, not plague ridden, not maggot infested, not overly salted) breakfast for me every morning.
You get toast.
I wish someone would give me a Pop-Tart.
It’s OK if the Pop-Tart is stale, slathered in rancid butter and burned to a crisp, right?
I wish my red pen never ran out of ink.
Too bad it’s the pen you do your accounting with.
I wish I had a pencil eraser.
You do, but then all pencils everywhere simultaneously disappeared into an alternate universe. The World Pencil League would like a word with you.
I wish there really were a World Pencil League.
There is, and you are it’s treasurer, the only known person with access to it’s funds. And there’s $100,000 missing. And the members are largely factory owners and . . .er . . . union manager types. . .
I wish Celtling could throw a punch like Evander Holyfield.
Done. Now he throws a punch exactly like Evander Holyfield. His opponents figure out his fighting style by watching old Holyfield tapes, and Celtling gets pummeled every night.
I wish for fame and fortune as a boxer.
Congratulations. Your manager is Don King.
I wish that I had a challenging and rewarding job whose tasks fit my skills, that paid me a well-above-average salary for a US professional, and that had good job security.
…
You are now working as a boy toy in a maximum security prison.
I wish it would snow just enough to look pretty outside.
You are now a permanent resident of a nice little house…inside a snow globe which is periodically shook by a 90 year old widow.
I wish that snakes, toads, and other vermin would issue from the mouth of a GOP Presidential candidate any time that they lie and/or bear false witness (against each other or Pres. Obama, I don’t care).
Snake spitting Ron Paul seen as ‘totally awesome’ by young voters, wins election in a landslide as they actually get off their asses and into the polling booths.
If wish every order I made online, forever, had free, fast shipping.
You order a new bowling ball. It arrives seconds later at over 10,000 mph, destroying your house. You are not charged for the shipping.
I wish I had a dime.
It’s at the bottom of an outhouse.
I wish bacon had all of the flavor, but no calories.