Lamplighted

The genie appeared in a plume of ethereal smoke, as genies often do.

I wished for riches--and piles of money appeared, along with precious gems.

I wished for love--and a foxy harem winked into existence.

I wished for world peace. My phone bleeped with an alert blared: "World Peace Declared."

Then it hit me: "Hey, isn't there supposed to be an ironic downside when a genie grants your wishes? Like, all this will backfire? I'll wind up miserable and alone and ruined--or something?"

The djinn shrugged. "Maybe," he said, stentorian tones fading to wispy echoes as he vanished, along with his lamp: "Maybe not."

"Hey!" I cried. Then louder: "HEY!" in all caps.

One of my brand-new wives clucked her tongue. "Shall we screw likes minks, buy yachts, and explore the harmonious world?"

"Maybe later. Then again...."

I sighed, as a dull ache poked my temples and the genie's distant laughter drifted on the breeze.