“Master!”
“Great Leapin’ Honk! Where in the name of all that’s pretty did YOU come from?”
“You rubbed the lamp, Master.”
“Teach me to dust in here; I’ll never do THAT again. You’re some manner of genie, are you?”
“Sealed into the lamp by Solomon himself a thousand and a thousand years beyond that, I am….”
“That’ll do, thanks. And you’ve got wishes for me, I reckon?”
“Indeed, Master. Three wishes have I for you, in gratitude for freeing me from my ancient prison. Subject to certain rules and conditions.”
“There’s always fine print. So no wishing for more wishes, and like that, hey?”
“I CAN grant you more wishes, Master. But you can ask for only one extra wish per wish, so you gain nothing by THAT. In addition, I cannot grant any wish which is basically impossible. I cannot bring you the moon and hang it above your dining room table.”
“Gee whiskers and wildcats, how will I go on without that?”
“I cannot kill more than a hundred people per wish for you, Master, nor politicians in excess of three at a wish. I cannot do more than double your life expectancy, whatever that may be. I cannot promise you happiness ever after, or the eternal fidelity of some young maiden or….”
“Say, while you’re working your way through the warning labels, can I wish myself a test drive?”
“If you mean to make a wish now, Master, that is certainly allowed. Provided it is something I can….”
“I wish you’d get back in the dadburn lamp and stay there.”
“But Master, I….”
“Thank’ee. As if my life wasn’t complicated enough already.”
Blogsy Babbles 