two genies walk into a bar. they look like father and son but are in fact twin brothers. the one who looked older had had a callous, uncaring master, whose wishes involved interference in the laws of nature and whose wish-fulfillment took its toll on his genie’s very essence. the other genie, the one in the thousand-dollar business suit, had for a master an investment banker who required only personal training and insider knowledge.
they had both been recently freed by a celestial equivalent of an ethics committee, who granted them amnesty from thralldom but also reduced their reality-shifting powers to a mere trickle. they were going to the bar to discuss what they ought to do.
“”what’ll it be, fellas?” the busty, intricately-tattooed bar lady asked them.
“do you know how to make a cloaked scarab?” inquired the genie who looked older.
“i don’t yet…” she said, but then scrunched her eyes, and a boingy sound straight out of I Dream of Jeannie accompanied the eye-scrunching, “but now i do. sorry, i don’t have all the ingredients. a Scorpion with a dash of worcestershire sauce would be close.”
“that, then,” said the “father.”
“make it two,” said the “son.”
in an hour they were half-drunk, professing their love for each other, weepy-eyed. the “younger” grabbed his brother by the back of his neck while looking deeply into his eyes. “share and share a like.” there was a flash and suddenly they were truly identical twins again, splitting the wealth and the age disparity, so that they both had salt-and-pepper hair and well-cut but off-the-rack suits.
“time for grand adventures,” said the bar lady. she pulled out a lamp from under the bar and rubbed it.
HER identical twin came out of the lamp, conserva.tivrly dressed and u tattooed.
sparks flew. the two pairs of twins paired up. the bar lady flipped the neon OPEN switch off, drew the blind, locked the door, and whistled. a rolled-up carpet in a corner went aloft, scooped them all up, and took them through the skylight to their Destiny
One with Clay, Image and Text 