Granted. The mirror is now a black hole.

I wish their servers served.

Granted, the servers now serve spoiled shark meat.

I wish racing thoughts were all about NASCAR.

Granted, Nascar cosmetics company expect your custom.

I wish the ends met the needs.

Granted, but you now need to meet your end.

I wish Jimbuna would keep his end up.

Granted, but that means you experience excrutiating pain and are unable to sit down for weeks.

I wish the end was nigh.

Granted. However, the Wishmeisters, digging deep into their dictionary of wish terminology, learn that nigh may also refer to the left side of a vehicle or horse. Since this makes no sense in the context of the wish this dream is rendered as gibberish and is therefore crushed, cancelled and left in a cesspool of spoiled shark meat to rot.

I wish the end was near.

Granted. NEAR is an acronym for Not Ever Arriving, Really.

I wish it was time to plant the tomatoes.

Granted, all the worlds tomatoes are planted in your front lounge.

I wish the underside was on the roof.

Granted. The underside of the toilet seat was on the roof of your mouth.

I wish I had something funnier than that.

Granted, you now find it hilarious but the rest of the world thinks it sad and pathetic.

I wish the entrance was the exit.

Granted, but the exit only exits to the entrance and you are trapped in an ever decreasing circle for the rest of eternity.

I wish stamps were self licking.

Granted, however you become magically transformed into a stamp and whilst self-licking your nether regions you are accidently mistaken for a Cat, taken to a vet and neutered.

I wish real life had controllable time acceleration and pause abilities.

Granted, but whilst you are on pause your controller's batteries run out of juice leaving you paused for ever.

I wish fabulous wealth upon the next dream crusher.

Granted. I invest that great fortune into a microbrewery and release a series of "Ol' Man TarJak's" ales, all of which become overnight sensations. Within months you are brought aboard as vice president and company spokesman, we both become filthy rich, and we buy a Collins class for the Subsim community (and a server farm for Uncle Neal).

Unfortunately, as we sail her to Houston, the incessant rattling of the periscope drives us both mad. In our crumbling psychological states we mistake a Chinese naval vessel for a giant surfing chicken, and we ram into it at flank speed. The 'chicken' sinks within minutes, thus triggering a gradual slide into World War III.

I wish that chicken well on its journey. Cowabunga, Surfing Chicken Dude! :rock:

Granted. That chicken remained well on its journey to the slaughterhouse.

I wish I would be served a delicious country style breakfast.