I’d entered Shitty Ritchie’s mind. Never would I have guessed that I’d end up here. Remembering Gram saying that sometimes weird things happened for a reason was helpful. Hopefully, we would learn something reasonable very soon.
Shitty Ritchie and I were floating on air in the vast nothingness. There were no walls or floor to speak of. It was a familiar place to me. My little friend looked around in amazement.
Tom Hanks was nowhere to be found.
Crap.
“Ohhhhh,” Shitty Ritchie said. “I’m surprised that I don’t have furniture in my mind. I wish I had furniture.”
As soon as he said it, a full-sized couch and two over-stuffed arm chairs appeared in a flash of silver crystals. I had no clue how he’d done that.
“Wonderful!” he screamed. “I wish there was a big screen TV and some cookies.”
Again, as quickly as he’d wished, the wish came true.
Double crap. If Shitty Ritchie wished for a freaking amusement park next, we’d be screwed. I’d never find Tom Hanks in an amusement part. That was… if he was even here.
“Dude,” I hissed at Shitty Ritchie, squatting down and whispering in his ear. On the slight chance that Tom Hanks could hear me, I kept my voice hushed. “Don’t wish for anything else. It seems that what you wish for shows up.”
His little eyes grew huge. He bounced up and down and then ran in circles so fast I got dizzy. “Can I PLEASE wish for one more thing? PLEASE?” he begged.
I closed my eyes. This was going to be a problem. “Tell me what it is without using the word wish in the sentence.”
He squealed and then leaned in close. “A big dong,” he whispered.
The impulse to step on him and squash him was intense. Electrocuting him also sounded good. We were trying to save lives and he was obsessed with his junk. There were several ways to handle the new and unsavory wrinkle. Violence being one, or letting him have his way. This had never come up before in the past dives I’d done, but I’d never gone into a mind as strange and warped as Shitty Ritchie’s.
I had no clue if he wished for a big dong in his mind if he’d have the same big dong in real life. Did it matter? No, but I didn’t want to be responsible for that.
Shitty Ritchie pled his case further. “It’s not like I’m taking it from a Fonzie,” he insisted frantically. “I would imagine it’s just some free-floating dong that no one needs just like the furniture, TV and cookies that showed up.”
The fact that his logic was kind of sound was alarming. Glancing around, I scanned the area for Tom Hanks. He was MIA. Shitty Ritchie was sure he was here. I quickly hatched a plan. It had pros and some big cons, but it might work…
“Listen to me, Shitty Ritchie,” I said. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“A dong deal?” he asked.
I blew out a long, loud breath through clenched teeth. “Sure. A dong deal.”
He giggled. “Lay it on me, Daisy!”
“Here’s the deal. You can wish for bigger junk, but then you have to wish for something I choose.”
“Boobs?” he asked.
“On my god. No, not boobs. Agree to the deal or no dong.”
He only had to consider it for two seconds. That was how much he wanted to increase his assets. “Deal!” he shouted.
“Do it and be quick,” I insisted, keeping my eyes wide open for the reason I came here in the first place. Fake Tom Hanks was still a no show. “And don’t make it so large that you can’t walk.”
“Good advice,” Shitty Ritchie said with a thumbs up. “I wish for a weenie that’s bigger than what I have but not so big that it drags on the floor when I’m in my birthday suit!”
“Kill me now,” I muttered as silver crystals rained down from above.
His shriek of delight when he peeked into his pants almost made me laugh.
“Would you like to see it?” he asked, pointing at his crotch.
