Damn the CIA, ACI, COIA, and everyone else claiming his company's potential initials. But most of all, damn that smug genie, with his monkey-paw necklace.
Now he stood here, alone...baking beneath three pink suns, dodging gooey blue "mudslides", consuming un-nameable fruitlike objects adorning prehistoric "trees". Unmanned vehicles pained his eardrums, and he suspected he'd *never* acclimate to their rotting, road-killed megafauna. And, all because of his stupid third wish!
Like everyone else, he'd desired money, and everlasting life...but, high on adrenaline, company woes on his mind, he'd sprung Wish Number Three: "I want to own a fantastic anachronism!"