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Abbynormal92243

Corrupted Wish Game

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They are quiet and do their job properly. Unfortunately, the stress of doing both causes a new occupational hazard - Stress-induced spontaneous combustion. The more they have to clean up their colleagues, the more they go boom until finally the streets are full of uncollected rubbish and barbecued waste operatives. The rats take over and we all die. The End.

 

I wish ice cream grew on trees.

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It does - as a parasitic organism. The world's trees are progressively overtaken by invincible ice-cream. Humans struggle to control the problem and manage to produce a chemical agent that deals with vanilla and raspberry ripple, but a particularly vicious strain of rum 'n' raisin proves unstoppable. All photosynthesis breaks down and the Earth's oxygen supply is gradually used up and replaced by carbon dioxide. All animal life perishes, including the rats. The End, Part II.

 

I wish I had the power to control people's thoughts.

 

Edit - struck me in retrospect this was a bit vague. In other words make them do whatever I want.

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You do have the power to control people's thoughts. Unfortunately, this new high-powered use of your now overtaxed brain means that you are unable to control your own thoughts. Which kind of cancels it out, really. Eventually, the hordes of humanity waiting for your instruction die of boredom or inactivity - the knock-on of which is that mankind becomes extinct and dinosaurs eventually flourish once more. (The End Pt III/The Beginning Pt I)

 

I wish for peace throughout the land.

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Are you angling to be the next Miss United Kingdom, Deino?

 

I would reply that with the outbreak of peace the world settles into harmonious co-existence, with an end to all wars and conflict. Weapons are consigned to history and soon not even a pea-shooter or water pistol remains on the planet. Unfortunately, that is the exact moment that an alien species chooses to invade the Earth, which falls into their servitude without a single shot being fired.

 

I would suggest that, except it would be a shameless lift from The Simpsons, which has its own story based on the corrupted wish concept, 'The Monkey's Paw', and features exactly that wish.

 

So, instead...

 

Peace can only fall across the land with the ending of humanity's competitive streak. Genetic aberrations working into the food chain from GM crops bring about this alteration in mankind and everyone loses their instinctive desire to do well and succeed. Complete apathy sweeps the world as everyone loses interest in doing anything that represents a challenge. By the time people no longer even wish to complete Su Doku puzzles the scale of the crisis is clear. Businesses fold, economies crash and humanity regresses to the stone age. At which point aliens come along and...nah, nah, nah.

 

I wish I unfailingly knew the right thing to say in any situation.

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(QUEEN?!...)

 

They do. Word gradually spreads about what a great game this is and the membership of BGO swells exponentially. Wishes are updated virtually by the second until the information superhighway freezes and becomes the equivalent of a sheep-filled country lane. The internet is progressively abandoned and Bill incarcerated for creating an online menace that ruins Western civilisation. On the plus side, people start reading again!

 

I wish stall holders, sign writers, street newspaper sellers - indeed, everyone knew how to use an apostrophe.

 

(P.S. I couldn't agree more, BrumB. This is the most interesting of the chain games but hardly anyone takes part.) :(

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Taking common usage as the norm, everyone does know how to use an apostrophe - its sole use is to annoy, antagonise and angrify everyone who recalls the good old days, when an apostrophe knew its place and so did all that u'se it.

 

I wish pub entertainers would realise that not everyone wants to hear their own arrangements of 'standards' like Moon River - many of us prefer the original.

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Granted - Pub singers entertainers no longer sing their own standards and merely mime along to a tape of the original. This starts a chain of events and top of the pops reverts to artists miming songs to avoid mistakes, some bands realise that they don't sound as good live and all start to mime at concerts. There is uproar from fans when they realise they have paid £40 to hear and album they could have played at home. No one buys tickets for concerts or festivals anymore as they don't believe that they will hear the bands sing like.

(The upside of this is that I might actually be able to get a ticket for Glastonbury 2007! - by that time people might have started playing live again)

 

I wish that petrol was cheaper.

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It is! The big oil corporations suddenly realise that money is not important and start pumping oil for free. Everyone uses cars, pollution escalates so much that no one can breathe unaided and the greenhouse effect escalates at a fatal rate. I'll leave this one open-ended: we all either boil or choke to death - your choice.

 

I wish it was possible to go round places of interest without being hemmed in by thousands of tourists.

 

 

p.s. I have to admit this is my favourite thre'ad. (hee hee)

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p.s. I have to admit this is my favourite thre'ad. (hee hee)

Spread the good word, luc'y!

 

Unfortunately, you contract a highly unpleasant tropical disease whilst on holiday. This causes your face to break out in dripping, pustulent boils whilst you sweat profusely a foul-smelling oily secretion of unbelievable potency. You are not bothered by other tourists even remotely; indeed, even the mosquitos steer well clear. Regrettably, you are also refused re-entry by your hotel, restaurants won't serve you, nor can you purchase food in shops as they all ban you as a public health hazard. Eventually you take to the hills and live as a recluse, finally becoming a tourist attraction in your own right - a special viewing platform is constructed half a mile away from your hovel with special high-powered binoculars and industrial strength Glade Plug-Ins.

 

I wish I could write a best-selling novel.

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You can. Unfortunately your novel actually started out as research notes from a night spend trying to debunk the mystery surrounding the most haunted house in Bognor. Your (slightly charred) notes were found next to your smoking corpse the next day published posthumously. Still, at least you got that bestseller....

 

I wish I knew how to cook Bourbon and Tangerine Chicken Wings

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After years of practising and a highly expensive cookery weekend with a top chef specialising in Bourbon and tangerine recipes, you finally crack it and feel confident you can create the perfect dish. Anxious to try it for family and friends you return home only to discover the unfolding crisis. Al Quaeda, in an attempt to demoralise America, has bombed all the bourbon distilleries and warehouses stocking the drink. The TangerineWatch beetle has decimated this year's crops and there is not a single orange fruit to be had. Asian Bird Flu then gets such a hold that the entire world's population of chickens is reduced to a small, quarantined 'ark' stock that will only be used for breeding purposes.

 

You try out Ribena and Granny Smith turkey twizzlers instead.

 

It does not go down well.

 

 

I wish I could speak any language fluently.

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You can - unfortunately you can't understand anyone when they try to reply in the same language. This gets you beaten to death with an ornamental spoon in Ulan Bator when the locals decide you're taking the mickey.

 

I wish I could finish my book.

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You do. The butler did it.

 

So outraged are you at the staggering cliche of this ending that you become completely disillusioned by all literature and vow never to read a book again, taking up instead a vendetta against the author, which sees you losing your job, home, family and friends, none of whom can cope with your all-consuming hatred and tendency to burn their books.

 

After several failed assassination attempts you finally track the author down and corner him/her in the community of Ulan Bator. Only too late do you discover this culture's veneration of the butler and consequently the holy status of the author in the community. Rising to his/her defence they disembowel you with an ornamental spoon - particularly painful due to its being bent out of shape after they bludgeoned some noble soul to death earlier that day.

 

I wish I had my own private island in the Caribbean, with swaying palms, golden beaches and a luxury villa.

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You do - or rather, you did. A hurricane tore through your property, shredding everything, and you escaped on a bamboo raft with three days' water supply, two coconuts and a battered saveloy you rescued under the impression it was Fritz, your dachshund. Since your island was so remote, you are at least seven days from the nearest land. Good Luck.

 

I wish banana was spelt differently.

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It is. After a bizarre and frankly ill thought-out marketing campaign it is re-named the phwaxyquardlephrage. Seeing the fruit's name is now even more unbearable for you. Market traders squeeze onto their placards: "phwaxyquardlephrage's - 5 '4' 50p", and during desserts you just don't enjoy your phwaxyquardlephrage split any more. You long for the good old days of the 'b' word and seeing the disaster your misguided wish has brought about you commit ironic suicide by gorging yourself on phwaxyquardlephrages.

 

I wish spiders, woodlice, moths, flies etc. (okay, insects for short!) never got into my home.

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Granted. You are now the proud owner of a house full of bats. You can't sit down for the guano on the sofa, you can't sleep at night for all the bats swooping round your head on insect patrol and you can't call pest control because bats and their nesting grounds are a protected by law. To add insult to injury, Bill Oddie and Terry Nutkins become permanent house guests and you are no longer able to leave the house as you get dive bombed by stinging insects seeking to avenge the deaths of their house-dwelling brethren.

 

I wish MOT's were free.

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No problem. In an effort to raise car safety the Government passes legislation forcing garages to perform the MOT for free. Unfortunately, without monetary incentive the mechanics - not known for their desire to minimise the money they take - tend to rush the job and cut corners, eager to get onto the profitable jobs where they can make up any price they like. Your car therefore rapidly becomes unsafe and on a particularly sharp corner the brakes fail and you fly over the edge of a cliff. Fortunately, the Minister responsible for this foolish legislation is walking his dog on the beach below and your car flattens him. Your death therefore manages to avoid being entirely fruitless.

 

The dog's fine.

 

I wish society suddenly realised what a vacuous, empty-headed waste of space the Beckhams are, so that Victoria and David ('VD' in their now infamous monogram) are never featured in a newspaper, magazine or on TV ever again.

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Granted. They are supplanted by the new Wonder Couple - Wayne & Colleen. Don't thing I need to say anymore.....

 

I wish bad things didn't happen to good people.

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Okay. Now good people happen to bad things. Whenever something bad happens, good people swarm to overcome it, thereby counteracting the effect. The world soon becomes consumed by saccharine and sunshine and in the absence of anything bad people can no longer appreciate what's good. We descend into a society where nothing is relative any more - there's no real good or bad, it's just so-so. Consequently there are no good people; no bad things. Just existence. With no misery and pain to engender faith God packs his bags and moves to another dimension, joined by the Devil because no one's in dire straights to make pacts with him anymore.

 

The universe is now as bland as a madeira cake and less interesting than watching paint dry on the grass growing in a Big Brother contestant's garden. Well done, Lucy. (Slow, echoing hand clap)

 

 

I wish everyone in BGO turned out to be a celebrity posting incognito.

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I wish everyone in BGO turned out to be a celebrity posting incognito.

How do you know we aren't? Incognito being what it is? ;)

 

I wish that 'Googling' was only used as a last resort and not a modus operandi. :(

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Before accessing Google people have to prove that they have exhausted all other reference tools. Reference sections in libraries flourish, crowded with people using all their spare time to research 'facts', poetry and fiction cease to be marketed and publishers turn their attention to reference books. A whole new industry is born - or is it?

 

I wish people would stop saying 'at the end of the day'.

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Granted. Due to freak and frankly impossible shifts in the earth's molten core and magnetic fields the rotation of the Earth ceases. One half of the planet is now in permanent darkness whilst the other has unending sunshine. 'Days' cease to exist and the hackneyed saying dies out almost immediately, being considered too grimly ironic. The Earth is plunged into chaos, making the current problems in America look like child's play. Irritation at the use of cliche strangely becomes a very minor issue indeed.

 

I wish I had X-ray vision.

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Granted. Though why you want to see everyone's insides in shades of grey kind of worries me. You make a fortune as an airport security guard until mauled to death by a vindictive out of work sniffer dog.

 

I wish car mechanics didn't charge the earth.

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