Corrupt-a-Wish

Granted. Slim, chiselled robot is sent from the future to stop canteven, but achieves nothing as he is pushed into a vat of molten metal after a long and dramatic chase before he can kill Canteven who then goes on and wishes for P to equal NP.

I wish a robot was sent back in time to prevent the Terminator franchise from extending further than the first two films.

Granted, however as a consequence of altering the timeline the Little Shop of Horrors franchise is extended considerably, far beyond the first two films. And beyond the musical the second movie was based on, and the... short-lived cartoon adaptation? An excerpt from the 7th movie:

INT. MUSHNIK'S FLORAL SHOPPE

Seymour is sitting against the wall, with his head
in his hands, sobbing. He is covered in blood. He
lifts his head.

            SEYMOUR VII
   Oh, man!  I can't believe I just
   accidentally purposefully killed
   70 people in front of everyone's
   eyes and used my celebrity
   status to shield me from
   consequence entirely!  I'm
   starting to think this plant
   malarkey is getting out of
   control!

Seymour buries his head back in his hands. Cut to
Audrey XXIII, a cyborg plant woman with a slim build
and an enormous chest. She walks over to Seymour VII
and puts her hands on his cheeks.

            AUDREY XXIII
   Feed me, Seymour.

Seymour stares, mouth agape, at Audrey XXIII.
Close-up on his eyes. His irises, pupils, and
glasses morph into the shape of cartoon hearts with
state-of-the-art CGI. He grins widely.

            SEYMOUR VII
    Well, goll-y! Sure thing,
    Twentythreey! And I'm not
    cheating on Audrey XXII because
    you're a plant!

Seymour grabs a gun, pepper spray and a taser out
of the cash register.

Also the robot sent back in time was a roomba with a knife strapped to it. It worked, somehow.
I wish another other robot was sent back in time to prevent the Little Shop of Horrors franchise from extending further than the first two films. And the musical, and the short-lived cartoon adaptation.

Granted; the time-travelling robot goes back to France in 1878 and kills Eadweard Muybridge - let's say, with a flamethrower - before he can make his first film, 'The Horse in Motion'. It then takes several jumps forward in time and kills Étienne-Jules Marey, Georges Demen˙, Albert Londe, Ottomar Anschütz, Émile Reynaud, Max and Emil Skladanowsky, William Kennedy Dickson (Edison is spared because all he ever did was market and claim credit for the ideas of more talented people), Wordsworth Donisthorpe, Louis Le Prince, William Friese-Greene, Auguste and Louis Lumičre, and ultimately everyone else involved in the invention of cinematography. It continues to jump through time and, each time someone comes close to inventing cinematography, it burns them to death with its flamethrower. Film and TV therefore never come into being.

This obviously has a huge impact on human history, such that you are never born, and are therefore never able to tell your robot to tone it down, man. But hey, the Little Shop of Horrors franchise never exists extends past a second film (or exists)!


I wish the book I just finished had a slightly more satisfying ending, without any reduction to the series' otherwise outstanding quality.

Granted. To give the ending of the book more emotional impact author decides to kill off one of your favourite characters and introduces new one which proves ever more popular with readers but not with you. The overall quality of the series remains more or less the same but it's not the same for you so you stop reading it and you always feel a bit bummed when others talk about how new character made the series even better.

I wish Nifflas had made more episodes for Saira.

Granted. It gets 3 episodes of a quirky Saturday morning cartoon featuring a bunch of stereotypical alien life and <- this guy as a wacky sidekick, and constant flashbacks to her time spent with other humans (one of the episodes is almost entirely a flashback). The animator of the series tries making a tie-in world for Saira, but it doesn't have any terminals because they don't know how to use MMF2.

I wish there was a gritty dystopian film adaptation of Knytt Stories that failed to appeal to any demographic and became a cult classic.

Granted. It literally starts a cult surrounding Knytt Stories and soon everything dealing with it, including the original game, is banned.

I wish I had a delicious sandwich to eat.

Granted. Because you didn't say what you like in sandwich it was prepared by someone who thinks nutella, pickles, sardines and beer cheese srinkled with cinnamon are divine combination.

I wish I had fresh apricots.

Granted... the apricots are "fresh" as in "RUDE" but are not receptive to behavioral classes, being apricots.

I wish I had a second keyboard with a bunch of special characters on it.

Granted! You have a second keyboard that has every special character you need. It doesn't work.

I wish I could wake up at reasonable times.

Granted, but only if you go to bed at 4PM and spend at least six hours lying awake feeling  bored.

I wish my ear wasn't itchy.

Granted. It's scratchy. Your ear is scratching you.

I wish there was a car which could fly in the sky.

Granted: there is a car that can fly in the sky. Just one. It costs 280 million USD and belongs to Dick Van Dyke (obviously).

I wish to have a tasty (by my standards) sandwich for my lunch tomorrow.

Granted. Please write up your standards and submit them to the ISO by midnight. Your draft will be rejected if it's not properly formatted and sufficiently elaborate.

I wish Knytt Stories in real life.

Granted. Entire universe is Knytt Stories now, so most of it is purple void and then there is small area with grey sky and some pipes. There is a girl in white dress standing on one of the pipes and when she touches the lower part of it, the universe ends.

I wish my left foot didn't hurt.

Granted; after several days of hurting, your foot gets better on its own.

I wish that my job was a bit less quiet at the moment, so that I would have enough to do to fill the day without it being a chore or stressful.