Dream Killing Game

Onhell said:
Instead of packing your own lunch like a normal person you decided to be "that guy" who starts stealing lunches from the break room. It all starts innocently enough taking Javi's burrito and getting some enjoyment watching him tear up at the sight of his missing nourishment. You secretly laugh to yourself while stuffing you fat thieving face with poor Javi's burrito. Soon it escalates to taking Samantha's Caesar Salads and Bartholomew's home made meatballs. Do you care his wife added her secret ingredient, love? Of course you do! That's why you gunned for it in the first place, not as delicious as the tears of your enemies, but a close second.

It was all fun and misery until you crossed that line, you went too far. You took Trent's ice cream cake for dessert after abolishing Chelsea's Mac 'n' Cheese. Trent is one PTSD trigger away from gunning down the whole office, but thanks to your blatant disregard for other people's food he has decided to make it his mission to hunt you down. And by mission I literally mean mission. This man did two Afghan tours, three in Iraq and then went back to Afghanistan as a tourist just for shits and giggles... yeah... hardcore. Quietly he works in his basement listening to Anthrax as he mixes all sort of biochemicals he, um, "saved up," from his active duty, you know, for emergencies such as these.

The following Monday he walks out of the break room practically yelling, "Oh boy! Can't wait for lunch time as I procured to most scandilicious ice cream cake this side of the solar system!" You, being the thieving moron that you are, take the bait and gun for his cake 15 minutes before break. The timing was perfect, as the rest of the office goes to break you begin to feel a little funny. And by "a little funny," I mean eminent death. Your insides begin to burn and you double over in pain. The rest of the office rushes to you as you scream, "holy donkey dick! MY ASS!" While at first they are concerned it slowly dawns on them you have been stealing their lunches all along and instead give you a quiet, cult-like stare with a matching smile. "PLEASE, help me! MY ASS! MY FUCKING URETHRA! OH MY GODS, THE OLD AND THE NEW! THE BURNING!" No one calls 911 as they are mystified with your obsession in focusing on your ass and penis when your eyes are literally melting off your face... along with your face. Soon after your very entertainig death the janitor mops you up with the same puke sand they use in high schools, Trent is given a raise, a promotion and a medal. This brings back good memories of his days in the service which bolsters his self-esteem and those thoughts of suicide that crept into his dreams before you stole his ice cream cake are gone.

I hope you take solace in the fact you have saved Trent, you thieving bastard... just make your own lunches!

I wish my dogs could talk.
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Forget about Lynch. Contact Neil Gaiman.
 
Magnus said:
Forget about Lynch. Contact Neil Gaiman.
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I've never read Gaiman, but he keeps coming up in recommendations.... guess I should check him out. Not gonna lie, this felt good, had been a while since I killed a dream lol.

Iron Brody said:
I wish I had Adrian Smith's green Jackson from the BOS tour.
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Because the Universe is far away and everyone is pleading for bigger penises and boobs, it mishears your straightforward request. Instead of getting Adrian Smith's, the guitarist, "green jackson," from the BOS tour, you get Adrian Smith's, the model, green jacket he sported for the launch of the new BOSS fragrance: Overcompensation, for Men.

I wish I had A/C to deal with this heat! BLAAARRRGGGHHH
 
Onhell said:
I wish I had A/C to deal with this heat! BLAAARRRGGGHHH
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You get an aircon unit capable of chilling your house to the temperature of an industrial-grade refrigerator. However, its voracious energy consumption causes your power bill to increase tenfold, sending you broke and eventually forcing you to live on the street, wherin you turn the colour of a well-cooked lobster under the relentless sun.

I wish I had an Aston Martin
 
You get your self driving car, but just as you get used to it and start to feel safe inside, even doze off from time to time, the driving system malfunctions by accidentaly downloading the map of Livermore Falls, ME, instead, driving you into a filling station and when the crash wakes you up the car is already impossible to escape and all you can do is just to watch the flames spread and smell the burning hair and plastics as you slowly overheat and your brain turns off.

I wish I could speak Irish.
 
You can, but you forget all knowledge of languages, so without knowing any words all you can do is make weird Irish grunts and hisses and other strange stuff like that. This ends up annoying the people around you, and thus they decide to send you packing. To an asylum, to be specific, where you wait out your final days eating rotten food, reading stupid magazines about how to clip your toenails and 37 other dumbass things no one wants to read, and throwing oddly shaped balls against the wall. Ya poor al' coot.

I wish my throat would never hurt again.
 
Your throat ceases to hurt, but only because aliens have removed it in order to replace the damaged throat of their leader. They've provided you with a sophisticated artificial replacement that works well, for a time. It begins to randomly malfunction, causing you to be briefly unable to breath. This eventually drives you to madness and you invade the alien planet, where you wipe out their entire civilization. After this is over, you realize they would have gladly just replaced the artificial throat because they were a peaceful civilization. The galactic government sentences you to life in space prison for wiping out a planet, and you reside there until the artificial throat fails for the last time....

I wish I could visit the Moon.
 
Iron Brody said:
I wish I could visit the Moon.
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So after too many play throughs of Destiny and binging on Futurama, you decide that old axiom of, "It's never too late to follow your dreams," couldn't be more appropriate. You quit your lucrative lion tamer job, tell your fiancee to bugger of and buy several Space for Dummies books with their companion text, So You Decided to Quit Your Lion Tamer Job and Tell Your Fiancee to Bugger Off and Become an Astronaut, and your quest begins, or as Destiny would say... "Adventure."

After reading one and a half of the books you purchased you feel qualified to give NASA a call to be recruited. NASA doesn't give a shit that you have ZERO qualifications and recruit you anyway. "Hell we're sending people on a suicide mission to Mars, OF COURSE we'll send an idiot, er, a volunteer to the Moon!" You see, after their cancellation of the shuttle program and dwindling manned missions, they are what can be only described as desperate.

After a 20 minute pep-talk (can't seriously expect to call it "a training"), they suit you up and strap you to a rocket. "Is this safe?" You ask rightly concerned. "Dude, you know what's been to space? A Russian dog, a... RUSSIAN dog, if it could go up there so can you." That calms you down a little bit. As the countdown begins you begin to wonder what it would be like to see the Sea of Tranquility and the one of Serenity. That hole in the ground named after Copernicus and the frigid north named after Aristotle. Will it have a wall to keep the zombie dragon out? Will you be able to find the spacecraft where Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong hugged each other for warmth and ate the third guy no one ever remembers, not even his mother, cause she's dead, and so is he. Will Willzyx and Tom Cruise still be laying there?

So many questions and no answers, because as you were lost in reverie the rocket took off and since they strapped you on the outside of the rocket as soon as you broke into space a tiny rock the size of a marble traveling thousands of miles per hour hits your face-shield with the most subtle *tink.* That takes you out of your dream state as you watch it crack like an eggshell and shatter. I wish I could tell you your death was quick, but honestly, no one knows how one dies in space except that one guy that was eaten by Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong, but he technically did not die in the vacuum of space. So I theorize it was slow, agonizing and painful, because I am dead inside and your miserable death is only a reflection of my tainted soul. No Moon for you.

I wish my students weren't such dimwits
 
Your students are exceptionally smart and outshine you in everything they do, making you unable to teach them anything, which leads to your getting fired.
I wish I had good close friends.
 
Your good close friends are actually in on some elaborate joke with the rest of your peers, resulting in you getting a bucket of pigs blood dumped on you. As you do not have psychic powers, the trauma leads you to committing suicide.

I wish I knew what the hell was going on in this thread.

Got it. I wish I wasn't afraid of blood.
 
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You aren't afraid of blood, so you get hurt somehow and just don't care enough because the blood doesn't scare you anymore, which leads to severe blood loss and death risk.

I wish I was rich enough to not give two craps about anything for the rest of my life.
 
An idea comes to you, but the CrimeThink police harvest you first.

I wish humans would be able to breathe through their skin.
 
You can breathe through your skin. However, any clothing you wear suffocates you, forcing you to stay indoors or be arrested for indecent exposure.

I wish I was better at making conversation.
 
Your new ability allows you to make a new group of friends, but they get arrested for possession of huge amounts of drugs and you get put away for ten years

I wish I could play bass as good as John Myung
 
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