To Infinity and Beyond

If I know you (and I think I do), then you used to wake up early on Saturday morning, run downstairs, grab a heaping bowl of Cookie Crisp and roll your eyes at your sister's choice of chocolate-free-therefore-obviously-healthy cereal choice of Sugar Smacks.  You'd then pull your Underoos out of your butt and settle in to a hour or four of some combination that - depending on that year's tv lineup -  included (but was not limited to) the Smurfs, Shirt Tales, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Dungeons and Dragons, The Muppet Babies, Hulk Hogan's Rock-n-Wrestling!, The Littles, Pee Wee's Playhouse (and the list goes on and on) followed by a decently enjoyable ABC Weekend Special.

Anyways, a common motif in a typical Saturday morning show plotline was a genie or a magic alien or some grand poobah flying in and POOF! granting three wishes to our program's protagonist.  We've already established that I think you're like me.  So, I think that the two of us can agree that each and every time the plot rolled around to that played-out three wishes storyline, before our main character even thought about what his first wish would be, you and I were precursively (10-4.  I know.  Not a word.  Should be.) yelling at the screen, "ASK FOR MORE WISHES!  WISH FOR MORE!"  You had probably discovered if not quite understood the definition of "infinity," so you likely yelled something like this:  "INFINITY MORE WISHES!  YOU WANT INFINITY MORE, DUMMY!"

Well, just this morning I found myself wishing for a couple of things in my head, and then I began greedily wishing for more, and then I decided I should probably compile these so I can be prepared when my own Great Gazoo flies in to ask me what I want.  Infinity wishes are only worth something if you have something to wish for.  So, here goes.  The beginning of my list:

1)  I wish instead of having ten fingers, humans came equipped with eleven, except that the eleventh finger is a spoon.  This would be so handy.  You'd never have to pull a spoon out of the silverware drawer to eat your pudding again.  I would prefer that the spoon digit be another thumb-type deal, but, hey, I'm not going to be a diva about this whole thing.  Oh, I'm sorry.  Did I just catch you rolling your eyes?  What are you, Sarah Palin? (that, um, wasn't political commentary, mmkay.)  You think our spoon finger is gonna get in the way of things?  I thought of that.  It's retractable.  Yeah.  It'll fold back into our wrist.  Or something.  Anyway, it'll be awesome.  You're welcome in advance for the betterment in your anatomical ability.

And while we're speaking phalangically...

2)  I wish I could figure out Chinese handcuffs and not tear each and every freaking pair I ever owned.

3)  I wish I could still find Grandma's Fudge Chocolate Chip cookies somewhere on God's Earth. Not my Grandma - Frito Lay's Grandma (but, holy Applebees!, both my Grandma and my Nena respectively could and can make some kickass cookies, natch).  So, maybe my wish includes, like, and endless supply of them in my pantry.  Or even and endless supply of them in my local CVS.  I'll pay any dollar amount, even after the ginormous price increase these cookies from heaven have undergone in my day.  I live and breathe for these cookies.  (Oh.  In case you remember my non-chewing plight of aught eight, I'll update you:  I'm half a chewer now.  I still can't feel the left side o'me mouth, so my right set of teeth do all the work while the lefties sit over there, tongue numbly slapping against them willynilly, as those left teeth wax poetic about the good ole days when they got some play in my mouth.  And the softness of those incredibly palatable Grandma's Fudgies melt in my orifice so pleasantly they really provide little to no choking risk.  There ya go.  Consider yourself caught up on my oral history.)

4)  I wish a certain delicious news anchor stud about whom I am legally not permitted to speak but whose name may or may not rhyme with Molf Schlitzer was not so damn well versed in the legal intricacies of the restraining order.

5)  I wish the following commercial still graced my television and graced it hardcore.  Quite simply, it is the single-greatest advertisement that has ever aired in the history of the world.  I love it.  I'd court it for an extended period of time then hardcore romance it then marry it in a beautiful but subtle beachside ceremony attended by just our closest friends and family then create six gorgeous kids who never pushed chairs on top of their brothers with it if only I could.  I guess I can't, though.  But, I wish it still aired regularly on my tv:

6)  I wish people would stop being so damn prejudiced.  I have no patience for people who are all judgey judgey stereotypey assholey my blah is better than your blah.  Everywhere you turn there is so much racismsexismhomophobicelitismclassismsblowitoutyourassism.  I wish the world didn't contain ridiculous prejudices and stereotypes and assholes that hate blah because they think they're the blah. Anyway, I'm not completely naive enough to believe that if I wished it would all go away the world wouldn't just implode, the end.  So, I'm not gonna use a wish to wish all prejudice away since I don't want to be responsible for ending the world.  But, I am going to ask to eliminate one completely and totally ridiculous prejudice:  Red Lobster snottism.  It's such total crap.  Red Lobster is freaking awesome.  Find me one a-hole, one papface with the ability to ingest food who does not freaking love a Red Lobster cheddar biscuit and love it hard.  And you know what?  The lovely waitstaff at Red Lobster give you a whole friggin complimentary basket of 'em - along with a smile.  Dude?  It's Crabfest right now.  Garlic crab and shrimp pasta?  Obviously.  I'll take mine with a Lobsterita, please.  Like you wouldn't.  Right.  So, you know what?  Stop being an asshole and pretending Red Lobster isn't amazing.  I wish your ignorant stuck up Red Lobster prejudice would disappear.


7)  I wish I could remember a little more about that one night in 1998 with Philip Michael Thomas.

8)  I wish someone could tell me what the hell happened to the McDonald's gang.  Are they in McDonald's heaven?  Was there some mass cult suicide that I was never informed of in order to spare my feelings and keep my childhood memories pure as the most boring American Idol in the history of A.I. -  Jordan Look at Me I'm a Virgin La La La Sparks?  What in God's name happened to the McDonaldland playland where Ronald sat comfortably greeting you from his bench with a glimmer in his eye and a rubbery red smile?  What the hell happened to the  Mayor McCheese Roundabout and the Fry Guys Bouncers and the Chief Big Mac Climber, where kids like me sat on a cheeseburger seat, devoured a McNuggets happy meal, fries and a coke, and then freaking played?  And, my God - what I wouldn't give to attend just one more birthday party at McDonalds.  My friends, what happened to Birdie the Early Bird and Grimace and the Fry Guys and the Mayor of all things pure and all our other best friends from the Son of Donald?  I wish I knew.  I wish I knew.


9) I wish someone in my family remembered to change the water filter in my refrigerator even one time in the last six years.

10)  I wish for infinity more wishes.  You really thought I'd forget, didn't you?  Hardly.