You get a nice sunny 75 degree celcius day, and you and many other people die of heatstroke. Also, the road melts and welds itself to your truck tires.
I wish for something nice to happen that won’t make me regret this wish.
You lose the ability to regret, or even second guess yourself. You become a fabulously impulsive
sociopath, and it feels pretty nice.
I wish for world peace.
Peace descends over the world. Everyone is serene and happy. The industrialists take advantage of world peace to pillage everything. The world ecosystem goes to shit and everyone has to struggle like never before to survive. Life becomes, as they say, nasty, brutish and short.
I wish my neighbors would stop shooting off fireworks.
“Screw these Roman candles,” your neighbor mutters, hefting a stick of dynamite, “let’s light off something with balls.”
I wish ants would stop coming into my house.
The ants have been driven off by murder hornets. And they’ve learned how to open doors.
I wish I could be eight years old again.
You are eight years old again. Forever. Your friends and family get old and die, other people adopt you and they die. For centuries, millennia, you’re trapped in an 8-year-old body and mind, all alone until the heat death of the universe.
I wish every country respected human rights.
Every country passes a law saying they have to respect human rights, as set forth by China, anyone who disagrees is sent to the Uighur reeducation camps.
I wish I was a watermelon.
Everything’s fine, you sit in your watermelon patch, basking in the sun, growing bigger and more delicious looking than your patchmates, when suddenly Gallagher decides to revive his career.
I wish to allow up to twenty creatures that I can see to regain all Hit Points, and to end all Effects on them described in the Greater Restoration spell.
Through some incredible loophole in the guide, you perform this feat of mass healing. But the DM is pissed. He sends a tarrasque to smash you into oblivion.
I wish I had a sea slug aquarium.
On your birthday you are gifted with a wondrous aquarium filled with many radiant and beautiful sea slugs. You are beyond delighted. These marvelous creatures bring you several years of peace and contentment as you watch them in a meditative state of awe. In due time, as nature is want, an offspring is born and you name him Philip after the great ocean explorer Philipa P. Phillips as she is one of your heroes. In a few short months you notice something about Philip that sets him apart from the other sea slugs. His calculus equations are more artistic and elegant than the other slugs but you pay this no mind and continue to enjoy his existance.
A few years pass without occasion until one seemingly average morning. You turn on the tv and there on the news is Philip and he is holding the President of the United States border collie hostage with a knife to it’s throat. Next to the pair is a sign reading, “Nuke China or the hairy mutt is toast!”
The President screams, “Oh no you don’t dickweed! Not my Fluffykins! Not on my Birthday!” and she hits the big red button and nukes China. Most of the world cheers and chants, “Go Sally! Go Sally!” (The President’s first name is Sally.) “It’s your Birthday!”
And thus World War 3 begins. In a few short hours the majority of human civilization is turned to rubble and most of the land mass is so radiated with nuclear radiation that terrestrial life is near extinct except for mushrooms and chupacabras.
Philip however is seen as the savior of slug kind and becomes a living legend. To this day there are statues of him the world over. Tomorrow will mark the four thousand year anniversary of Philip the Great’s unification of all of ocean kind.
I wish my cats would learn to poop in and then flush the toilet.
Your cats have learned to poop in and then flush the toilet. But they enjoy it so much, they can’t stop doing it. Meanwhile, you’re locked out of the bathroom, and have to resort to using the litter box. And there’s no toilet paper there.
I wish we’ll have clear skies for the 2024 solar eclipse.
The skies are clear for the 2024 Solar Eclipse because the ozone layer is gone. Everybody has to wear HVAC suits and walk on desert ground, but at least they got a few seconds of relief from the overbearing sunlight during the stupid eclipse.
I wish for a flying carpet that I could ride safely and securely and at any speed.
You become a flying carpet ace. There is no better carpet flyer than you, so you take longer and more adventurous trips to far away places. Eventually you fly over a third-world country where a ragtag band of rebels has acquired surface to air missiles and they shoot you down, take you prisoner, and kill you.
I wish I could understand what my dog is trying to tell me.
Your dog is trying to tell you that he has been slowly draining your bank account. You’re broke, your dog now owns your house. Oh, and your dog knows what blocked arteries smell like, and you’ve got about 3 days before a massive heart attack. Oh, and he’s been looking up recipes for “Long Pig”.
I wish Pushing Daisies would come back on the air.
Pushing Daisies is renewed for another season much to everyone’s delight. The show is so good that it becomes the talk of the watercooler and ends up winning many awards. The show gets renewed for another two seasons and just keeps getting better and better. It gets renewed for another couple of seasons and starts winning all of the awards. The show becomes so good and is loved by everyone so much that everyone agrees all other TV is crap.
All other shows on all other networks and streaming thingies get canceled. Only Pushing Daisies is on for anyone to watch.
For a couple of decades everyone is happy with just Pushing Daises. Then the main actors get too old and die and the show gets canceled because no one thinks any other actor could fill the roles like the original actors.
The whole world is bummed out and bored to tears. People turn to alcohol and drugs to sooth their broken souls. Most people OD or commit suicide without their Pushing Daisies fix. Civilization ends and the few remaining humans wander aimlessly across the globe.
God, who had fallen asleep in it’s armchair because it ate too much ice cream, wakes up and sees that his favorite TV show called Those Silly Humans has gone to shit, gets up and waddles over and turns off his television set. As it heads outside to turn off the sprinklers in its back cosmos it decides to make a new TV show to watch for later when Satan comes over for tea.
I wish I cared that Jimmy cracked corn.
You care deeply that Jimmy cracked corn. So deeply, in fact, that you join Tom Lehrer’s Folk Singer Army and inspire millions of others to do the same. A few years later, Generalissimo Francisco Franco realizes that while America has all the good songs, he can, once again, win all the battles. While Franco attacks, Americans sing along with you and Pete Seeger, and we fall under fascist rule for decades.
I wish the Enterprise had returned to the Ceti Alpha system, realized that Khan was in trouble, and helped him to peacefully relocate to another, more stable planet.
With Khan happily settled on another planet, the events of Star Trek II never happen. James Kirk never meets his son nor regains command of the Enterprise. As one birthday blends imperceptibly into the next, he takes to gazing moodily out the window of his San Francisco apartment, drinking Romulan ale and gradually cutting off contact with those closest to him. Eventually, he emerges to join the short maiden voyage of the Enterprise-B and is drawn into the temporal nexus. Later, when Jean-Luc Picard meets him there and asks for his help, he refuses to leave, spending eternity stubbornly reliving his few, fleeting happy memories.
But Chekhov never gets one of those things in his ear, so there’s that.
I wish that Rian Johnson had gotten to direct Rise of Skywalker.
Rian Johnson directed Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. Mark Hamill refused to be in the movie due to disagreements with Rian. His role was re-cast and the script re-written so that Luke was only in two scenes, and difference in appearance was waved away. Fans were outraged and the movie flopped, causing both LucasFilms and Walt Disney to go bankrupt. Disney was bought by Elon Musk for $44 and gifted to Ron DeSantis.
I wish that nuclear fusion was perfected in the next year as an almost free source of unlimited energy.
Nuclear fusion is perfected and DOES result in an almost free supply of unlimited energy, but just as in the old days when it was promised that hydroelectric sources and fission reactors would make electricity “so cheap there wouldn’t even be a need to charge for it”, the power companies still find a way to make you pay exorbitant amounts for it.
I wish George Lazenby would have gotten a second shot at playing James Bond.
-“BB”-
Lazenby does indeed get another shot in the next Bond movie (Diamonds Are Forever) but in this version, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, aware that Bond will never cease chasing him to avenge Tracy’s death, makes sure that Bond is not just merely dead, but really most sincerely dead. The producers planned to end the franchise there, but money talks, and the 007 movies are rebooted in 1973 with Live and Let Die, starring Roger Moore as the new James Bond.
I wish electric vehicles had longer range.