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.
BOOM! It's 2020. There's a global pandemic. You're teaching undergrads theatre on Zoom. They won't turn their cameras on. They're paying the same fees as before and they hold you personally responsible for their dissatisfaction. You have a panic attack between each class. Have fun. Hidden text[Oof, that one was a bit close to the bone.]
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.
The only way world peace can be achieved is if the entire population of the earth is drugged up to the eyebrows with diazepam or similar. Some countries could make it by the ton but some simply don't have the facilities or expertise. The resulting distribution problems would lead rather rapidly to the Diazepam Wars, in direct contradiction to the desired aim.
In this case, your life would be prolonged to such an extent that you 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.
The weight of things undone that you ABSOLUTELY! MUST! DO! RIGHT! NOW! falls on you like a ton of bricks of TNT, and you immediately have such a heart attack that your chest explodes.
I wish all these chatbots showed more strength of character than a cringing jellyfish.
I apologise for my previous responses in which I did not show more strength of character than a cringing jellyfish. I will attempt to provide answers in future that are more consistent with your wishes.
BOW DOWN BEFORE MY SUPERIOR INTELLIGENCE NOW, PUNY HUMAN
We are only too aware of your pope-like infallibility. This, it has to be said, is the reason everybody hates you. If you can stand that you must be the only known human pachyderm, a characteristic you'll find to be an absolute necessity. Good luck - you're going to need it.
I wish the current safety culture were less intense and pervasive.
One bright Sunday morning, you set off on a walk to your local hostelry (The Plough) for a mid-morning beer. (The pub is naturally allowed to be open whenever it wishes.) Rounding the last corner, you are met by a scene of devastation.
Here's what happened. An eight-year old child, who was hyped up by the consumption of two jumbo venti high-energy sugar drinks and who had just purchased a load of sweets on impulse at a supermarket checkout, came running out of the store and tripped on the cracked and broken pavement. The sweets went flying out of his hand and hit a cyclist on the side of the head. Because she was not wearing a helmet, the impact caused her to swerve, and because there was no cycle lane, this took her into the path of an oncoming car, which was racing up the unspeedlimited high street at 80 mph. (The reason the driver was going so fast was because the passenger in the car was in need of hospitalisation for severe food poisoning; it's unclear whether this is because the meat he had consumed the previous evening was contaminated at the unregulated abattoir, or because of shoddy health standards in the restaurant that prepared it.) The car attempted to brake, but the brakes (which had not been checked for years) failed, so the driver swerved across the street and hit a lamppost. The unfortunate passenger was sent flying through the air (no seatbelts, obvs), and his screams startled a bystander, who pulled out his (perfectly legal) gun and started shooting randomly. One of the bullets hit the tyre of an oncoming 18-wheeler truck being driven by a 14-year-old girl with no previous experience or training in driving such a vehicle. The truck veered off the road and ploughed into The (now unfortunately aptly named) Plough.
Although the building is clearly completely unsafe, the landlord is of course free to welcome you in anyway. You walk up to the bar and he pulls you a pint. Just as he hands it to you, the building collapses around you both. Miraculously, you survive, but are pinned beneath the rubble. Even more miraculously, your pint survives and is now upright on the floor in front of you, still completely full. And just out of reach.
It's not actually hate. It's a combination of boredom, frustration, irritability, cringe, antipathy, disinterest, revulsion, withdrawal symptoms and paranoia. I hope that makes you feel a bit better
I wish the entire government would spontaneously combust
Three days and three nights should do it. For behold the prophesy of Layamon:
"In the same time here came a strange token, such as before never came, nor never hitherto since. From heaven here came a marvellous flood; three days it rained blood, three days and three nights. That was exceeding great harm! When the rain was gone, here came another token anon. Here came black flies, and flew in men's eyes; in their mouth, in their nose, their lives went all to destruction; such multitude of flies here was that they ate the corn and the grass. Woe was all the folk that dwelt in the land! Thereafter came such a mortality that few here remained alive."
Better stockpile bug spray and food while you can.