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Granted your new carpet is purple. It then turns gold when your walk on it, glow and purrs simatianously .

Lastly it feeds on socks.

....

I wish i had 1 billion pounds in curency, valid legal pounds Sterling.

Granted. It's in coins, and appears ten meters above your head, all at once. Goodnight.

I wish for the carpet jhe described to spread to my entire house, because that sounds awesome.

Granted. Its awesome until it begins to shed. And no one will go near it's litter box.

I wish to take a journey to europe.

Granted! It's at full price, and you travel to Latvia.

I wish to be cyrogenically frozen until Fires of Cyraxus comes out, or February 11, 2021.

Granted. You get thawed out on the day of release. However complications of the freezing process turn you into a permanent quadriplegic and you have lost the sight in your left eye.
You also discover that the Fires of Cyraxus was postponed and rewritten and all the units are now worse than ever. Also the Tau where discontinued three weeks before its postponed release due to a lack of intrests from GW in favor of the new Space marine rules which allow Stormcast and Ultra Marines to form a single army so broken it becomes unbeatable at tournaments and everyone plays them just to get a cheap victory. You ponder which is worse.

I wish more dioramas existed that if Verviedi saw them he would wish for brain bleach.

Granted. I hunt you down and glare disapprovingly at you.

I wish for more mint ice cream. I ate my entire supply.

Granted... But the mint got replaced by brussel sprout flavour.

I wish I had a most excellent and legandery rug of legend.

Granted. It is incredibly soft, and glows, because is made entirely out of plutonium strands. Hope you enjoy your radiation poisoning.


I wish for the ability to read the minds of the FW design team, so I can know the rules for Fires of Cyraxus ahead of time.

Granted. You can read tier minds and like any human mind they are a maddening torrent of memories, fantasies, stray thoughts and emotions. You pick up bits and pieces in this multi faceted maelstrom with no direction. You pick up more on the realy wierd stuff they are into in tier private lives. Mind scarringly wierd stuff. Since you are unable to block them out, they unknowingly haunt you day and night with thier thoughts. Thoughts about horredous Dioramas they have build and are planning to build at home!

I wish for this ride to never end! HAHAHAHA!!

Granted. It never ends and never stops and there you are wanting to go to the loo.

I wish for some good shrimp for dinner.

Granted! They are excellent. They are also laced with cyanide.

I wish that I wasn't tired all day.

Granted. You are tired all night.

I wish to see Europe.

Granted! But its only from the air as you fly over on your way to scenic Kyrgyzstan.

I wish AOS would have kept more of the WHFB special characters in the new game.

Granted. They get rewritten rules that make them unusable in any situation. They also get new models that look terrible compared to thier old sculpts and they are only available in an overpriced box set.

I wish for more Wargames exclusive cars.

Granted. They are made of horribly carcinogenic resin that sublimates at room temperature.

I wish that the speed of light was higher.

Granted, but nobody really notices seeing as its already pretty darn fast.

I wish my painting skills, particularly drybrushing and edge highlighting, improved slightly. Just a little.

Granted. Unfortunately, you break your wrist, and lose some skill to skill rust.

I wish for a fully self-sufficient secret underground bunker, to live in.

Granted. First you have to clear it of nazi zombies, undead Himmler, stalin, a dragon, 3 goauld system lords, darth Vader, abaddon, dark eldar, some urakai and a single man named bob who serves the residents coffee and tea.

Bob is alright.

....

I wish I had a spiffing moustache and beard.

Granted. You will however loose all other hair on your body. This includes the hairs up your nose and in your ear canal. The last ones render you deaf.

I wish to be as much a criminal mastermind as professor moriarty.

Granted. You are fictional.

I wish to win the lottery.

Granted. You win $5.

I wish for people to stop flying Confederate flags.

Granted. Everyone stops flying confederate flags, but only in Estonia.


I wish more people had an accurate knowledge of world history.

Granted. You now know the entire history of world acurately..

As told by a red neck with one leg, a crone with a drinking problem, and a fisherman who tells tales that make zero sense and only knows fish metaphors.

I wish I had more time to paint.

Granted. You are forever confined to a purgatory resembling you workroom with an unlimited paint supply of all colors imaginable and brushes that never wear out. You are granted immortality within this purgatory so you can paint miniatures for all eternity. More specificaly only a single miniature is provided to you. That of an old single boring snap fit three-part Space marine.

I wish I understood my fellow men and women better.

Granted. You understand all, seeing the darkest depths of human potential, and the eldritch horror of the true form of the human soul. Your mind is blasted away like sand under a waterfall, and you are consumed by Yog-Sothoth. The body is never found, the only remnant of your existence is a black silhouette permanently burned into the walls and floor of your house.

I wish for a sane, pleasant 8th edition.

Granted! The problem is that while your understanding of humanity is better, it still sucks and operates at an almost inanimate object level. - for korbenn, but ninja'd by V!
Granted! No, I'm just kidding! 8th edition has no chance... - for V, who ninja'd me!

I wish Steve Bannon would find a short pier and take a nice, long walk on it...while wearing a lead vest and ankle weights, covered in chum.

Granted. He steps off the pier, and continues walking on water. The entire world falls to the Cult of Bannon overnight, and regresses to 1563 socially.

I wish for the training to operate the F-22-esque starfighters from the new CoD, and one of those starfighters in a silo behind my house, prepared to launch.

Granted. Since this is real life and not the fiction Call of Duty game universe you die in a horrible, but spectacular explosive crash. Turns out the game developers are not Aeronautical engineers and it design was fundamentaly flawed. Even if it did fly properly you would still be shut down by the US airforce since this is still a post 9-11 world.

I wish for a big book of cool concept art of fictional military weapons and vehicles.

Granted. A Forgeworld Imperial Armour book arrives in the mail.
Mysteriously, a large sum of money is missing from your PayPal account.
Never drink and shop on the Internet.



I wish to remodel my house.

Granted! Your house is now completely re-"modelled" with leftover WH40K/AOS bits and supported entirely by a framework of plastic sprues. Construction is actually sound but neighborhood kids, who frequent your local GW, find out about your home improvement efforts and begin clipping off bits at night for their own models...this does not end well as the ensuing structural collapse leaves you pinned in your bed with 247 Bloodletter swords and other assorted pointy bits skewering your person.

I wish this wasn't the last day of this year's Adepticon!