The wish was not so scary-dumb where Tommy ‘MD’ Lee felt personally threatened that his retirement options or his general well being was put in a parlous state by the sheer random fact that he was asked to grant this wish. The genie brass allowed it to be granted, but would still punish him in ways difficult for humans to understand or make sense of. I mean, it just sounds more than hypocritical or incomprehensible for the genie brass to act this way, but that’s how they rolled.
Feeling more and more on the despondent side of the ledger, Lee managed to lose control of his body in a profound way. It was not unlike a man or a woman feeding themselves with lachrymose thoughts just as they are at the apex of being in the dumps, then getting liquored up, then finding themselves underneath the bed of an ugly magician, only different. When a genie is an emotional pile of ass-lasagna, (just to put it as crudely as possible,) there is a real possibility of him/her being reduced to a rheumy jumble of vapor and being sucked back up to the bottle they were last domiciled. In this case we are talking about that bottle of malt liquor. This is exactly what happened. It happens more often then one might think if one actually thinks about such things ever.
Poor Tommy, flailing will o wisp getting hoovered back into the shitty lager. The bottle of Midnight Dragon welcomes him back. Small potato smelling balloons are blown up in berry blue hues and natural egg orange. The bottle, perhaps by its own accord, roles back into the crack of the Bum’s Alley. The crack does not close to its infinitesimally small stature.