A band of drunken clones of me, having recently celebrated some wish demolition, show up at your house with large scissors (well, more like hedge clippers) offering to cut your hair. Wisely, you turn them down, wishing to keep your ears and scalp intact, but when you close the door and turn around you see that I am there. "
Your wish is granted, sir,"
I say and quickly go after your hair with an elegant pair of golden scissors and a deft, easy grace. From thin air, I produce gels, combs, dyes, and other implements of hair manipulation and eventually produce a wonderful rainbow mohawk. Then with a nod of satisfaction, I decide to show off my work, and with a wave of my hands, we appear in the middle of a large crowd. You are somewhat annoyed at my choice of audience to show my work off to, though, as it turns out to be a neo-Nazi convention, who hold up your lifestyle choice as one of the many evils of the world, and beat you up as an example of their hatred of all things different. You manage to escape with your life, though, making this one of my less deadly efforts.
I wish I had gotten more sleep last night. Not too much, mind you - just the right amount of sleep for proper rest without interfering with my work schedule.
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