Genies are known for their trickery in which they will technically grant a wish but then there are consequences to that wish being granted. A classic example is that somebody will wish for a million dollars, but then we find out the million dollars is stolen from banks.
So, let's take a turn at being those tricky genies, in a way - because we have the internet and imagination (yeah, the wishes, consquences and conditions can get VERY SILLY)!
The beginning poster posts a wish. The person that posts under it grants the wish, but they put in the part that isn't wanted. That person then also puts their own wish and the game continues.
It might look something like this.
Pen:
I wish I had a million dollars.
Simons Mith:
Granted, but the million dollars is stolen from banks.
I wish I never had to pay another utility bill.
Rak:
Granted, but now you live on a boat with pirates.
I wish I had eyes in the back of my head.
And on it goes . . .
So, I'll start with my wish. I wish that I would never get too cold, no matter the temperature.
Your students now deeply, fully, and absolutely understand your gnawing sense that you have accomplished nothing of substance and never will, your growing realisation of your own mortality combined with your deep fear of death, your perpetual anxiety about your declining sexual function, your inchoate regrets about all your failed relationships—and the pitiful self-loathing that, like your tinnitus, travels with you at every moment and ensures that, despite all the above, you still suffer from imposter phenomenon.
They now despise you even more than they used to.
I wish I were dining at a Michelin three-star restaurant and drinking a superb bottle of vintage Burgundy.
You are welcomed by a maître d'. Though he says nothing explicitly he nevertheless, through grit of teeth, roll of eye and glance of sarcasm, demonstrates his deep, full and absolute understanding of your gnawing sense that you have accomplished nothing of substance and never will, your growing realisation of your own mortality combined with your deep fear of death, your perpetual anxiety about your declining sexual function, your inchoate regrets about all your failed relationships—and the pitiful self-loathing that, like your tinnitus, travels with you at every moment and ensures that, despite all the above, you still suffer from imposter phenomenon.
Though he serves you professionally, expertly and diligently, he despises you. The food and wine are like ash in your mouth. Bon appétit.