Loser's Guide to Life
In the café I happened to be standing in the queue near a table occupied by a bearded man in a suit and a rather small, rustic individual who appeared to be a leipreachán or something.
—That's quite a story, said the man in the suit, I can only imagine your discomfort.
—It certainly was very embarrassing, and it's not the first time it's happened! Or the last! Hee hee hee! (We was drinkin, you know.)
—Yes indeed. Well. And so, we're here to talk about these wishes, in fact.
—Ah yes. Now that would be—
—Which, my client instructs me, you have undertaken to grant. I am further advised that there are three of them, and they are, as yet, unspecified. Is that your understanding? Good. So, my client will be seeking three payments of ten billion dollars each, which, we are prepared to argue, comes well within the terms that define a “wish”, and—I think you'll find in this letter, if I can just find it for you here—ah, here it is. A draft. You'll want to go over this carefully—a reasonable schedule for these payments. Now, of course, the only real issue is the disbursement of these moneys, over a period of time that would be agreeable to everyone, I think. We would be looking for...
That was one disgruntled-looking elf. Leipreachán. Fairy. Whatever.