Things have quit breaking into your house and go to work like they are supposed to.... you now have a lot of extra crap to haul with you to work everyday. Get a van.
Granted, you now have a magic wand but it's mostly used for Wii games and you ended up breaking it anyway after throwing it at the TV in frustration after consistently missing the swing on the golf game.
It's Saturday. Next week. You, according to everyone around you, had the *most* amazing, incredible, wild week of your life. Of which you remember nothing, though you do have a nice souvenir tattoo. And it is still Saturday.
Granted. A giant meteorite will strike your house at midnight tonight, wiping out everything within a twenty mile radius, including your school (which will be shut down by the way).
I wish I could do magic like Gandalf or Merlin (or Dumbledore).
You can do magic, but only when no one is aware of it, and when you try to convince people you really can do magic like Gandalf or Merlin or Dumbledore, you are taken away to a "restful place" in the country, where you will be looked after by kindly people.
I wish my kitchen drain wouldn't get clogged so often.
There you go, Nymtoc... no more clogs. Of course, the magic I cast is so a plumber will automatically show up every other day at a charge of $96 a fix. But it's not like you have to actually call him or anythng. Pretty cool, huh?
I wish this huge stack of papers would just file themselves away.
Granted: Your filing cabinet drawers magically fly open, and the papers jump into the alphabetized folders. Unfortunately the papers are sorted randomly.
You don't bother to check the Genie's accuracy, and go home. The next morning the errors are discovered, and your boss thinks you did it intentionally. Enjoy your last morning at work.
You no longer edit what you write. As a result, your writing is an inchoate mass of words that make little sense, even to you, and your writing efforts are doomed to failure.
I wish Santa would bring me a motorcycle for Christmas.
Granted. Unfortunately you will soon find out that your new Harley was, until Santa moved it to your place, the property of one Gareth "Hulk" Cassidy, enforcer for the local Hells Angel's chapter. Oh and by the way, he has lowjack.
Well... You WERE getting a huge bonus this Christmas, until that thing with the boss's daughter. Ahem, best not to talk about that, just be happy you have a job.
Well, that wish gives the genie a little problem, because, see, he really is a softie underneath all the snarkiness, and he would hate to deny anyone a white Christmas, so he's going to grant your wish--with one proviso. You will be shoveling snow until the end of March.
Granted. Your favourite restaurant is still open. You do know why it was shut down by the health department don't you? I'll give you a hint. That's not chicken.
I wish I had one of those huge LCD monitors with super-high contrast ratio and such.
Granted: You now have an LCD, Lowest Common Denominator, monitor. It only receives programs that are intellectually the simplest and most basic. On one of the two channels you can only watch Glen Beck, and on the other, Rachael Ray. I think you'd have to agree that the bubbly Ray, and the delusional Beck offer super-high contrast and such.
Granted. You have been framed for the murder of Giovanni Calbrese, the local Mob boss. The next time your doorbell rings it will be Guido "Blowtorch" Calbrese, coming for revenge. You can either stick around and find out why they call him Blowtorch or start running. I'd start running if I were you.
I'm actually so generous that I'm extending your wish time frame, this activity will keep you occupied for the rest of your life. However long that may be.
I wish all the Christmas decorating was already done.
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