Thursday, July 19, 2012

If Wishes Were Fishes


If Wishes Were Fishes


floated there as Derek arranged the fat stacks of money into a makeshift throne. Stepping back to appraise his work, he turned to the djinni and laughed triumphantly.
“That's what I'm talking about right there!” Derek shouted, leaping into the seat and scattering hundred dollar bills all over the basement floor. Looking over at where Greta and Helga lounged in the corner, he imperiously snapped his fingers and gestured at his lap. The two buxom girls giggled and ran over, blonde hair and boobs bouncing almost hypnotically as they went.
“Fantastic,” the djinni said, bored. Wiping an unseen speck of dirt from his sapphire-tinted shoulder, he sighed and looked over at the smug skinhead. “So now that you have a hundred million dollars and a 'pair of fine, German bitches', what will it be next? Eternal youth, fame, more 'girth where it’s worth' perhaps?”
“Yeah, man,” Derek said, distracted by Greta's tongue in his ear. What the djinni said last seemed to worm its way into his brain eventually and he jumped a bit, glaring at the floating Arabian spirit. “Hey! I'm just fine...down there.”
Derek slumped back into his cash throne and sulked a bit. What would he do with his last wish?
“I sure as hell don't want fame,” he said sullenly. “Too many people know me already. They're all going to turn into a bunch of begging bitches once they see all this dough. And I sure as fuck don't want to live forever in this cesspit of a world.”
The djinni laid back in this cloud and rested his head on his hand as Derek paced the room. He hated it when humans came to their senses on the last wish. He really should have given him a pair of German Shepherds on that second wish, but he figured this little bastard was a prime candidate for the old immortality wish. The djinni loved nothing more than arranging for immortals to get trapped underground right after that wish was made.
“You know, people don't know what it’s like,” Derek complained. He stood in front of his mirror and put his hand over the swastika he had tattooed over his right pectoral muscle. “To be a part of something. To believe in something greater than yourself. Something that once made the whole world tremble. And then have that thing get eradicated by a bunch of inferiors.
“My people are a joke now. A punchline. Something you call someone when they don’t agree with you. I gotta ask myself the question, man”
“What question would that be?” the djinni asked, looking up from his nails.
“WWHD, man,” Derek said with reverence, pointing to the poster of Hitler that hung on the wall behind him. “WWHD...”
“Oh! I remember that little fellow,” the djinni said, brightening a bit. “I can tell you precisely what he wished for. He started right out with fame. 'The most famous man in the world' he said. I think he meant painter, but I only care about what is actually said. Then he went for the larger peni...”
“I know what he would do,” Derek exclaimed, not listening to the djinni. “I know exactly what he would do. All right, djinni, I'm ready.”
Derek walked back over to his throne and sat down. Greta and Helga dutifully grasped a leg each and looked longingly up at him. The djinni floated, still bored.
“I wish,” Derek began, smirking, “that everyone who gets accused of being a Nazi, gets turned into one.”
The djinni's eyebrows perked up and he steepled his fingers just under his mouth as he thought about the wish for a moment. Slowly, a malicious grin began to spread across his face.
“That....that's a pretty good one.”

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