One Cheeseburger, Hold the Hitler

The other night we were polishing our lamp (NOT a euphemism) when suddenly, out of a huge and aromatic plume of smoke, there appeared an extremely well-dressed man.  Classy looking.  Like Cary Grant might look if he wore clothes.  We knew where this was heading.

"Greetings, Solipsist!  We come to grant you three wishes!"

"Oh, great!"

"You don't seem happy."

"Why should we be?  These things never turn out well."

"Oh, pish posh!"

"'Pish posh'?  Really?  Look, if 'The Twilight Zone' has taught us anything, it's that, when it comes to making wishes, no matter how careful you are, you always end up Hitler."  (Actually, now that we think about it, maybe that's how Hitler got started.)

"What's the deal with you genies anyway," we continued.  "You know, we were just minding our own business--cleaning YOUR house, by the way--and you come along with your 'three wishes' offer.  We get it, OK.  Your point is that people should be satisfied with what they have, and that a desire for more--especially when unearned through effort--is unseemly and warrants punishment.  But we weren't LOOKING for wishes.  We were just polishing our lamp."

"Hm!  Is THAT what they're calling it these days?"

"Hey!  Not a euphemism, buddy!"

"So, Solipsist, are you saying you don't want your wishes?"

"Hell, yeah, we want our wishes.  What do we look like?"  So we thought about if for a few minutes.  "OK, we think what gets people into trouble is they wish for something grand.  Maybe the trick is just to keep one's wishes simple."  We looked at the genie.

"Mm.  Could be."

"OK.  Um. . . OK, here we go!  We wish for a juicy bacon cheeseburger.  And we don't want to be Hitler!  And we don't want the burger to be Hitler.  Or WOS!  You can't make WOS into Hitler!"

"Is that your first wish?"

"Uh. . .  let's see. . . bacon cheeseburger, no Hitler. . . .Yeah!"

"A la Peanut Butter Sandwiches!!!!"

And there it was, in our hands, a big, juicy bacon cheeseburger. . . .that tasted approximately like 14th-century Europe.

"AAAAAAUUUUUUUUGH!  What did you do to us?"

"Well you didn't't say anything about the taste. . . "

"Make it go away!  Make it go away.  Make.  It.  Go.  Away!"

"Is that your second wish?"

"Whatever!"

"A la Peanut Butter Sandwiches!!!!"

And with that, the awfulness was gone.  The genie was smirking.  We got the point.  Nothing good was ever going to come from wishing.

"Third wish, Solipsist?"

"Oh, no!  You know what, never mind.  We don't want to turn into Hitler or accidentally blow up Sweden or swallow a bug. . . .Y'know what our third wish is?  We wish we had never met YOU!"

And before "sandwiches" had finished echoing in the room, the genire was gone, and all was as it had been before.  Ultimately, we learned a valuable lesson and ended up not much worse for wear.  Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to go shave this moustache before anybody sees it.