Homeostatic failings of the lesser glands.

Imagine, if you will, that you're rummaging around in the loft, and you happen across a small, but well preserved, gold bottle. It looks mildly interesting, so you pick it up and take it downstairs (abandoning the search for the old photo album or 7") - you show it to your family, they're unimpressed, you're obsessed. Later that night, under the shroud of darkness, you hasten into the garden, and gently start to fondle it, like an inanimate adulterous it reacts immediately, and out pops the man of wishes, or, as we know him, a genie.

"You've got one wish (he's unconventional this one). You have 10 seconds (busy bloke, slumber ruins plans, ya know)."

What would you ask for? Would you embody the 'Miss. World' ideals - wish for world peace? Or would you be an oleaginous fucktard and wish for everlasting happiness for your friends? Perhaps riches beyond your imagination?

If you ask for anything of those things, you're a fucking idiot. Don't you know anything about genii? Moron. None of y'all watch Aladdin? That's the staple of magical education; ain't no Hogwarts here - it's all down to Jazzy and Al. Anyway, I digress. It's not about what you would wish for, it's about what I would wish for. Sex? Money? Drugs? Huge orgies in the streets? Cure for AIDS? Naw, I'd like to be able to regulate my body temperature - that's what I'd like:

"O! Genie of the lamp, do me a lil' favour, guv'?"

"As you wish (lol)."

"I wish for a properly functioning thyroid."

"K. *Kazpow.*"

It's too fucking hot.