Doing 2 Chicks at the Same Time

"Jesus Christ!" Tony yelled as he was shrouded in smoke, the exotic, tarnished metal lamp falling at his feet in the sand of the beach.

He had found the lamp in the sand where someone had been digging. He saw the dull glint while walking, had pulled it out, and had rubbed some sand off to see the obscure writing that the sand covered.

After a moment, he heard, "No, just a genie."

The smoke hung thickly, making it impossible to see.

"What?"

"I said, 'I'm not Jesus Christ. I'm just a genie.'"

There was silence.

"You know, like in that silly sitcom television show and in that even sillier cartoon movie? Really! I mean, bring on the stereotypes, why don't you?"

"Oh."

More silence. Then, the smoke began to clear, revealing the beach on a gray, overcast, late summer morning. As the smoke drifted inland, Tony could see an ethereal, manlike figure of average height standing before him. The figure had a dark complexion but did not look like he was African. Maybe Middle Eastern. He had a moustache and a pointed beard. A poofy turban crowned his head. He wore clothes that were pajama-like and had slippers with elfin, rolled toes. If someone had said, "Picture an atrocious burlesque version of a carnival sooth-sayer genie," the vision standing before Tony would be exactly what he would have come up with.

Tony immediately began thinking that some of his friends were doing some kind of elaborate prank on him. He looked behind himself for likely hiding places for a camera truck because he was otherwise far from the boardwalk and halfway down the sand to the ocean, which was at low tide.

But then Tony realized that he did not have any friends who would play that kind of trick because he did not really have any friends at all anymore. Not after he had spiraled down into anger and had lashed out at them.

Yes, Tony's was a typical story. Boy meets girl, boy woos girl, boy marries girl, and boy then discovers that the girl likes to get strange cock on the side, outside the sacred confines of the marital relationship. Then, girl screws boy in the divorce while she moves in with her lover. And all their friends knew about the whole relationship, but no one bothered to tell him.

As he considered that, Tony slowly looked around. It took him a moment to understand, but all motion had stopped other than his own and that of the genie. Tony might have been inclined to think that actors were poised at their marks like in the movie, The Truman Show, were it not for the fact that his eyes slowly took in the dog frozen in mid-air where it had leapt up in an attempt to bite a seagull, which was also frozen in mid-air as it twisted to escape.

Tony slowly turned around to look at the genie. Beyond the genie, he could see that the ocean had stopped moving. There was no sound of waves.

The genie shrugged.

"It's easier to talk, if all the background clutter is quieted down."

"So, you really are a genie," Tony said and immediately felt stupid for saying it.

"Duh," replied the genie, which did not help.

Tony stared for a moment and had to ask, "Do you really look like that?"

The genie looked down at his clothing and looked back up to regard Tony, a bit embarrassed.

"No. We're spirits. Clothing is meaningless to us. We appear this way to you to make things easier to understand. It's like how everyone in that Matrix movie sees things before Neo becomes The One. Your puny little mortal minds can't take much that's not familiar. Some compromises are necessary."

Tony wondered if he was supposed to feel insulted. As it turned out, he did not.

"It just looks like you're straight out of that I Dream of Jeannie show."

"Yeah, the templates are limited."

Tony paused for a moment.

"Mind you, Barbara Eden was hot in that show," Tony said, "even if they never showed her belly button. I saw re-runs of that program when I was younger, and I was in absolute love with her. And she was something like 35 or 40 when they made those. The 25-year-old version of her had to be even sexier."

"Eh," said the genie. "I've seen better. I've been around since the Trojan War. You know? The one with Helen, whose face launched a thousand ships? Although, to set the record straight, it was her ass. By all that is holy, that was an ass. The face, very nice, but certainly not 1,000-ship-worthy. The tits, so-so. But that butt... Mamma mia."

The genie shrugged.

"I'll grant you that I wouldn't kick a 25-year-old Barbara Eden out of my tent on a cold desert night either. Assuming I had a body, of course."

Tony and the genie contemplated that scenario companionably for a moment.

"You seem to know a lot about movies and television for someone who is stuck in a brass lamp."

"Bronze."

"What?"

"You people really don't read. Brass is an alloy of copper and zinc. Bronze is usually an alloy of copper and tin, although you can mix it with other metals like aluminum, manganese, nickel or zinc. Human history has not had a 'Brass Age,' except maybe when swing music was popular. On the other hand, it has had a Bronze Age."

"What, have you got encyclopedias in that lamp there?"

"No. This is personal knowledge. The Trojan War? Remember? We just talked about it. Bronze Age. Although there was a History Channel thing about it the other day."

"We're back to the TV and movies question I asked."

"Oh, well, there's not a lot to do in the lamp. I've got basic cable, of course. I'd go nuts otherwise. The 700 Club makes me laugh. I did have an HBO subscription for a while, but I wished it away by mistake when I got pissed off at how Game of Thrones ended."

"I hear you on that."

They both thought for a moment about how there really, truly was no proper build-up for Daenerys going all Hannibal Lecter at King's Landing. And what was the deal with no lighting in those episodes at the beginning of the eighth season?

"Anyway," said the genie, breaking the silence, "you called me by rubbing that lamp. What can I do for you?"

OK, straight to the point, thought Tony.

"Does this mean that I get some wishes?"

"Yes. Sure. That's what the lumpen expects, so go for it."

"How many?"

"There's no limit."

"I thought you get three."

"No. There's no limit. It's just that no one ever makes it past three. You all fuck it up before the third one, leaving that number in people's minds."

"How?"

"You know what? You're the first one to bother asking. I tell everyone else, and they all say, 'No I won't.' And then they do."

"So?"

"'So' what?"

"How do we fuck up the wishes?"

"Oh, right. Well, basically, the universe is a sadistic asshole. No, sorry. That's not quite it. Let's say that the universe if very literal. It doesn't do nuance, subtext, or unspoken expectations. Even with wishes. So, it comes off as being an asshole."

"I don't get it."

"Look, say your fantasy is a sexual threesome involving yourself and two women, so you tell me your wish is that you want 'to do two chicks at the same time,' like that redneck guy in that movie with the guy with his red stapler. I say fine. I wave my hands, say the spell, and suddenly, you have two dicks, one on top of the other. I'm just the middleman. I don't control how it turns out. You get exactly what you asked for but not what you wanted. At that point, people usually wind up freaking out, or seal me back up in the lamp. Sometimes, if they are thinking rationally, they ask me to undo the spell. Then, they usually walk away. Until the next chump comes along. Present company excepted, of course."

Tony ignored the dig.

"Hypothetically and not actually wishing, what if I were to say that all I wanted was to be happy?"

'That's a good one. That comes up all the time. In that one, your brain gets fried, except for the pleasure centers and motor control sections. Basically, you sit around all day eating sweets and fatty foods, drinking alcohol, and masturbating."

"That's what I do now."

"Sure, but this is all that you'd ever be able to do, if you made a wish like that."

"Can I wish for someone to fall in love with me?"

"No. That's one the cartoon movie gets right. Best you can really get is for the other person to have low standards, but that's risky, as you can imagine. If you can't, that's a whole different problem. Someone else can wish for someone to fall in love with you, but usually that comes with the lover being obsessively devoted, which some folks have trouble dealing with."

Tony thought for a moment.

"And if I said I wanted a lot of money?"

"You get about 3 tons of coins dropped on your head. Probably pennies. Usually not in a currency that you use."

"It sounds like the problem is a lack of wishing precision."

"I never thought of it like that, but that's fair."

"Overly precise and assholes," Tony said. "The universe sounds like a bunch of lawyers."

The genie just looked at him.

"You're probably closer to the truth than any mortal I have ever met."

"Then, hypothetically again, if I wanted to wish that my ex-wife and her boyfriend, the guy she was cheating on me with the whole last year we were married, were suffering, I'd have to be very specific, right?"

"In a word, yes. And make sure you wish in a way that there is no potential blowback on you."

Tony thought for a moment.

"Right. OK. I wish that my former wife, Randi Mayer, formerly known as Randi Thomas, born on January 31, 1993 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and currently residing at 4353 Wisteria Lane, Fairview, California, ZIP Code 90210 be afflicted with painful boils all over her body, starting as soon as this conversation ends."

"That's a good one. That it?" asked the genie.

"Really? I can keep going?"

"Yup."

"OK," Tony said, quickly looking at his phone, which was somehow still working, even though nothing else around him and the genie had moved at all since they began talking.

"Bear with me for a second. Wait, why is my phone still working, if everything else is stopped?"

"It's 5G. The tech just keeps getting better. That's why the Deep State is going to use it to network vaccinated people to Facebook and Instagram."

"What'll they think of next? Anyway, here we go. I wish that my former wife, Randi Mayer, formerly known as Randi Thomas, born on January 31, 1993 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and currently residing at 4353 Wisteria Lane, Fairview, California, ZIP Code 90210 gain 30 avoirdupois pounds, which is equivalent to 0.45359237 kilograms, of body fat every day for a period of seven days, starting as soon as this conversation ends."

"Good. I like that one. That's in the queue. Any more? What about for her boyfriend?"

"Thanks. Good catch. I wish that Travis Ulrich, currently residing at 4353 Wisteria Lane, Fairview, California, ZIP Code 90210, have explosive diarrhea whenever his penis becomes erect, starting as soon as this conversation ends. Was that specific enough, do you think?"

"Very nice. It gets points for style, too. Anything else? After all, he's the guy that stole your girl."

"Good point. I wish that, every hour, starting as soon as this conversation ends, Travis Ulrich, currently residing at 4353 Wisteria Lane, Fairview, California, ZIP Code 90210, have an uncontrollable desire to sing Crazy Bitch, the song by the band Buckcherry, as loudly as he can, no matter where he is or what he is doing, and that he does, in fact, sing the song completely, wildly shaking his head during the places in the lyrics where the guitar solos go."

"I like it. That song it totally inappropriate. And that wish is totally going to ruin his REM sleep. He'll go totally psycho in a few weeks. Anything else?"

Tony thought for a moment.

"I presume," the genie asked, "that you want to be in a position to witness the results of your wishes, right? Otherwise, the payback is not nearly as much fun."

"Yeah, thanks."

The genie waited. After a moment, he said, "You have to say the words."

"Oh, right. 'I wish that I can witness the effects of the previously stated wishes without suffering any deleterious personal consequences therefrom.' That work?"

"That'll do. Anything else?"

"No. That'll do it."

"Really? Got to warn you. The universe does not like contentment. It seems to interpret that as smugness, which is like a challenge."

"OK. Jeez, if it's going to be like that, I'll think of something. OK. Got it. I'd like to be able to solve Wordle every day in under five minutes."

"Whoa! Go for the gusto, you wild man!"

"Is that enough to keep the universe off my back?"

"Probably. The threshold is low."

Tony thought some more.

"Can I wish something for you?"

"Me? No. It's not like that Disney movie where you can wish me free. I'm in the lamp because I'm being punished. I was a real dick in the old days. King Solomon sealed me in here on purpose."

"What if I wanted to wish for something that would make you happy?"

"You don't need to suck up. I've got to do this. It's my job."

"Sure, but it's like tipping a waiter."

"Be still my heart. Seriously, no. The stuff that makes me really happy involves hurting other people. Lots of other people. That's why I'm in here. Frankly, the closest I can come now is posting shit on QAnon forums, but that's a far cry from dragging a slave from a chariot."

Tony snapped his fingers and smiled.

"I think I've got it. What if I wished for you to have your HBO subscription back? And what if I wished for HBO to produce a whole new Season Eight of Game of Thrones, but one that's better and makes sense? And has twice as many episodes with proper lighting for the frost zombie attack episodes? And what if I throw in the Syfy Channel actually producing the whole The Expanse series? With even better special effects?"

The genie looked shocked, and then slowly began to smile.

"I think that all will work. You have to say it though."

Tony did.

The genie then said, "That was really thoughtful. I'm touched but in a non-sexual way. In fact, I'm going to give you a freebie...."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I don't want the universe dropping pennies on my head. I'm fine with my wishes."

"Relax," said the genie. "Freebies have to be nice. That's why they're rare. I know just what you want, and it does not involve your body having extra sexual organs. I guarantee complete satisfaction, or your money back," he said with a smile.

Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder, a puff of smoke, and the genie was gone. Besides that, the world started up again. The waves crashed on the shore. Tony could hear the seagull squawking in the background. He turned around to see the dog standing on the sand, looking disappointed as the gull flew away.

He walked a little along the beach, wondering where he could find a cheap psychiatrist. Maybe he had knocked his head in some way and needed an MRI. He felt his skull for bumps but did not find any.

His walk took him back to his rundown building.

Tony slowly trudged up to his cheap apartment. At least it had an ocean view, if you leaned really far over the balcony railing. He was about to unlock the door, when it flew open, and he was greeted by a Barbara Eden clone in the Jeannie costume, but ten years younger than on television. She embraced him.

"Hello, Master. I'm so ashamed. I got horny waiting for you, so I was masturbating. Please love me."

Before he could react, he heard from the apartment opposite his a male voice singing as loudly as was possible, "Hey! You're a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good, I'm on top of it!"

And then his ex-wife's voice, "God damn it! Will you shut the Hell up?! Fuck! My skin is itching like crazy with all these bumps, I feel bloated, and there's shit everywhere! Can't you fucking control yourself?!"

The singing continued: "You're so fine; it won't be a loss...!"

"HEY! Where the fuck are we?!" screamed his ex from the other apartment.

Tony looked back at young Barbara Eden, who just pulled him into a deep kiss. He let her do so.

Well, well, well, he thought. He was certainly going to complain about his new, noisy neighbors.

There was more yelling from the other apartment.

"Fuck me! Is that the morning sun over the ocean?! Are we in fucking New Jersey?! What the Hell happened to our condo in California?!"

And then, "OH, MY GOD! OUR FURNITURE IS ALL NAUGAHYDE!"

"Get the video! Fuck you so good!" Travis sang at the top of his lungs, as though his life depended on it.

At that moment, as young Barbara Eden sucked on his tongue, Tony decided that he was going to put off trying to get an MRI or seeing a psychiatrist. Even if he was hallucinating, it was still pretty good. And he was really looking forward to that re-booted Game of Thrones Season Eight.