Some context:

Marcel is a single guy obsessed with astrology, dark science, and the paranormal. He’s lost his job and his friends because of it, but he doesn’t even realize it. One day, while making himself a snack in the kitchen, a genie suddenly appears out of his Nutella jar.

“Greetings, mortal. Ready for some wishes?” the genie said, licking his chocolate-covered thumb.

Marcel froze at the sight of the genie.

“No?” the genie said indifferently. “I was watching sports, so if you don’t need anything, I’ll just skedaddle,” he added, ready to retreat back into the jar.

“No! Wait! It’s just that I need some time to... Would you mind pinching me?” Marcel asked.

The genie gave him a dismissive look, “Is that your first wish?”

“Oh, no, no. Never mind, I’ll do it myself. I just wanted to make sure I’m awake.”

“Okay, I’ll grant you two wishes. But make it quick — I want to watch the playoffs.”

“Only two? Why only two?”

“Because of inflation.”

“Inflation?” Marcel looked puzzled.

“And travel expenses,” the genie added.

“What travel expenses? You just came out of my Nutella jar!”

“You don’t get it, do you? You think I don’t have bills to pay? We genies are self-employed, man!” he replied, shaking his head.

“Okay, okay... Just give me a second to think.”

Marcel found himself in a sea of confusion. The appearance of a real genie in his kitchen was too much to take in, even for a gullible guy like him.

The genie tapped his watch. “The clock is ticking!”

“I know, I know, just... Can I ask for anything?”

“Yes, anything. Even for pigs to fly. Although that would be silly,” the genie replied, rolling his eyes.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “Can you blow up the meteorite that’s about to hit Saturn?”

“Yep, I can do it with my eyes closed. You sure about this?”

Marcel nodded, looking at the genie like a child at his first birthday party.

“Okay, smashed meteorite it is!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Meteorite blown to smithereens, done!” the genie exclaimed, satisfied as he dusted off his hands.

“Now, let’s move on to wish number two. Anything else you want me to blow up? The moon? The North Pole? Your boss’s butt?” he said, swirling his finger in the Nutella jar.

“Would you?” Marcel asked.

“Hell, no! Who do you think I am, Liam Neeson?”

(To be continued)