Daily Sketch

Jeremy had thought himself terribly clever when he had told the genie "I wish for literally an infinite number of wishes." This turned out to be a big, big mistake.

Jeremy was an art major in college. He hadn't made it past the math with all the different shapes. He didn't know that the numbers start to get a little freaky when you head out to infinity.

Not only that, but genies have a compulsion to grant their wishes as quickly as possible, so an infinite number of wishes just becomes this black hole demanding more and more wishes without ever letting up the pressure.

This might have driven the genie insane (although Jeremy believed the wish granter had been living in la la land long before his ill conceived wish had gotten a hold of him) but for two things. First, the genie understood the math a lot better than Jeremy. He had the means and the motivation to prove correct the many worlds theory that in an infinite universe there exists a multiverse where, for example, Jeremy started to give some of his extra wishes away to random people on the street. And second, Jeremy's infinite wish had allowed the genie the freedom to pursue his passion project: punishing those who misused the word literally.

"You know, DJ," Jeremy said, "If you can just grant anyone's wishes whenever you want thanks to the infinite multi blah blah blah, aren't you just free to, you know, ditch me?"

"Oh, I couldn't leave you, Jeremy, I haven't finished granting all of your wishes."

"But you said it was liter- uhh- basically impossible to grant an infinite number of wishes."

"It is with that kind of attitude!"

Jeremy sighed and looked out the train window. They'd had this conversation four hundred and sixty-seven times. Jeremy knew this because he had once told DJ that he could literally explain it a thousand times and he wouldn't understand. Of course DJ was keeping track now. This was back before Jeremy had gotten a lot more careful with saying a particular word. 

"You know you're talking to yourself," said a small-ish, rather bored-looking girl.

"No I'm not," Jeremy said. "Now go away."

Jeremy didn't like talking to children. It was always so much more upsetting when the genie got his hands on them.

"Oh yeah? Then who are you talking to?"

"A vindictive, bloody-minded genie who exists only to torture me."

"I don't see any genie."

"Lucky you."

"I wish I could see a genie. I'm literally -"

"Don't say it!"

"Say what?"

"The L word." Jeremy pulled the emergency stop cord. He couldn't deal with this today. Not a little girl.

"What, literally?"

"I said don't say it."

"I was just going to say I was literally bored out of my mind."

Jeremy flinched. A two by four was now literally sticking out of the girl's forehead. She ran screaming back to her mother while Jeremy did his best to look like he'd never even heard of lumber, or wood, or even trees. 

The doors popped open and Jeremy hopped out before anyone could start asking questions.

"She said bored, b-o-r-e-d, not b-o-a-r-d."

"We don't know that for sure. Besides, you were the one who kept complaining when I'd drill people's brains out. This is a lot more elegant."

"She's a kid, DJ. You just murdered a kid."

"I did not murder anything. I'm just following your orders. Besides, she's got to learn sometime."

"Learn? Learn! She's got a board through the middle of her brain. She's not going to learn anything."

"Calm down. Remember, I'm a magic genie. I moved all of the important bits around. Kids' brains are remarkably plastic. Besides, a little lathe work and she'll look like a unicorn."

Jeremy stomped up the stairs. They say an infinite number of monkeys typing on typewriters will eventually write the complete works of Shakespeare. Well, Jeremy had an infinite number of monkey's paws and he was most of the way through the complete works of Stephen King.

Not long after Jeremy had made the worst mistake of his life he was waiting in line for a sandwich at Quiznos. The lady in front of him was terrorizing the minimum wage sandwich artist and she said, "Hurry up, I'm literally starving." She then collapsed to the ground, skin pulled tight over bones with her belly distended.

Then there was the time he'd gotten a date with a minor celebrity and he hadn't even used a wish for it. They'd just hit it off at a club, but then at one point she said she wished she could literally ditch her bodyguards. Their bodies were found in a ditch some twelve hours later.

"Hey You, Guy!" 

Next thing Jeremy knew he was being shoved into an alley by a couple of rough dudes with unplaceable Eastern European accents. 

"You mess up sister's guy, guy. What you say to that?"

"What?"

"I say… Give Tom gun," he gestured at one of his goons.

Jeremy knew these guys. They were some small-time gang that happened to be very fond of the word literally and had a very colorful vocabulary which often proved a lethal combination if Jeremy and the magical literal police were in earshot. 

"You made water shoot out of eyes like that, like that water can dogs pee on. The yellow, you know, for the fires. He is so so dehydrated now. In hospital. With tubes."

"I'm sorry about that, but-"

"Oh. You sorry. Guy is sorry, guys. No problem. I show you sorry. I show you sorry when I literally shoot you with my Tom Gun.

Here we go, thought Jeremy. He braced himself for the stream of hot lead. What he got instead was a very angry if quite confused ball of claws and fur and hisses. Two more cats hit him.

"What the heck, guy! What did you do to my Tom Gun?"

Jeremy wrestled off the cat from his face just in time to see the guy with the gun shoot a cat at one of his lackeys. He dropped the gun and ran off.

Jeremy dabbed at a cut on his lip. "A Tom gun? Where did these cats even come from?"

"Euthanasia tables, mostly."

"Why do you tell me these things?"