Professor Von Welshing, famed occult investigator and sex crime victim, was recuperating from his visit to the Daddy Tank at Sybil Brand Institute, which he had undertaken at the behest of Ben Wa, the Inscrutable Oriental. He had aged visibly, and was walking with his knees together, so that his guts wouldn't fall out.

Von Welshing arrived in the Godless Nowhere in early Fall of 1921, a fucked year even in a decent land, which this wasn't. Lewd looters, pillaging and lusting after booty, ran amok in the streets, shooting or disemboweling everyone they didn't want to fuck, and some of those they did.

The Professor was understandably unhappy about this state of affairs, as his sojourn with the Daddies at SBI had been a severe trial, and he still had to wear a large sanitary napkin and sit on an inner tube. He was unsure whether he would, at this point, prefer to be fucked or disemboweled, or even whether or not there would be any practical difference.

Shuddering in mortal fear and horny terror, he came upon a bizarre bazaar. The operator, clad in a raccoon mask and crotchless wet suit, turned pale at the sight of him, handed him a phallus shaped lamp, muttering in some unknown tongue, and shoved him out of the door. He banged upon it, demanding an explanation, but the lights went out and all was silent.

He returned to his fleabag hotel room, and in the morning, after a night of restless sleep, punctuated by horrifying dreams he could not quite remember, he returned to the bazaar, only to find it gone. The place was occupied by a used beast of burden dealer, called: "Camel Lot".

Von Welshing, highly agitated, began frantically stroking the phallus shaped lamp. It began to shudder and started moaning and emitting occasional odd grunts. "Yesss, yesss, yesss. Velly good, Plofessor. Uh! Uh! Ridow more, prease. Uh! Uh!"

Von Welshing, who should have known better, ignored the lamp's curiously inappropriate diction, seduced, as it were, by visions of all the pussy, intoxicants, and luxury items he would obtain with the standard three wishes. "Uh! Uh! Ridow more. Ridow more. Uh! Uh! Uh!" Puffs of smoke began spurting out of the lamp and forming a cloudy shape. Von Welshing, beside himself with glee, began jumping up and down and kissing the lamp.

"Three wishes", he cooed, giving the lamp a particularly wet smack. "Three wishes. Three wishes." Von Welshing licked the side of the lamp as the cloud began to take shape and the room began to ring like an echo chamber. "Mink castles on the Riviera, pounds of twenties, Cleopatra, Temptress of the Nile, What first? What first?", he babbled, shamelessly kneeling and sucking the now flaccid lamp.

The room, now curiously vague and misty, continued to ring. The lamp had grown still and cold. The cloud had taken an all too familiar form that Von Welshing was in no particular hurry to look at very closely. "Three wishes? What about my three wishes? The Genie always gives three wishes." He spoke very softly now, his speech faltering, and looked down at the now still, mocking lamp.

"Long, honkie asshole. Long again. Soplize, Soplize. Honorable self am Ben Wa, the wrong arm of the raw, at your service. You get three wishes, Plofessor Runch Meat, but I, Ben Wa, the Inscrutable Oriental, am going to make them for you." The leering, fanged, Oriental Genie, or Djinn, had appeared clad in a short tunic and high heeled hip boots. "How you rike a ridow Djinn in tunic, honkie asshole? Long again, long again."


The Djinn cackled madly, doing a sort of little two step, and pulled open the tunic, exposing himself, and the all too familiar utility belt, which Von Welshing had had good reason to expect, having received a taste of the double cross vibrating midget pogo stick in his last encounter with Ben Wa: "Down for the Count."

"Ah, so, asshole. Mucho goodo. To glant your first wish, a ridow magic wand." He detached a tremendous dildo, and , reaching into a pouch on the side of his utility belt, began screwing on an assortment of unlikely attachments.

The Djinn was struggling to keep a straight face, a difficult task at best, when one has buck fangs. He kept emitting occasional chuckles as he tested out the wand. "Steamboat whistle, O.K." The dildo belched a small cloud of steam and shrieked loudly. "He, he,he. Foghorn, O.K." The dildo wailed mournfully. "Beeee-ooowe. Beeeee-ooowe."

Von Weishing had begun to have serious reservations about this procedure, and with good cause. He remained as the Djinn in Tunic had left him, on his hands and knees. He did not wonder what would be next, as he had absolutely no desire to know.

"Beeee-ooowe, Toot-toot! Beee-ooowe." He heard the Djinn's approaching footsteps, punctuated by cackles and steamboat whistles. Von Welshing howled mournfully in unison with the foghorn. "Leady for first wish, Plofessor? Leady for ridow wish fulfillment? Leady for deruxe magic wand with beaucoux attachments, my gleedy, ridow Plofessor?" Toot-toot! Toot-toot!

"Oh, no! Oh, no!", moaned the very apprehensive Professor, as the foghorn harmonized in some strange, Oriental harmonic interval. "First wish, coming up. Rook arive. Total satisfaction of your every need for forty four years", he grinned, jamming the immense davice up the highly disgruntled Professor."Toot-toot! Toot-toot! Beeee-ooowe." Professor Von welshing felt his physical dimensions changing even more than you would expect from this procedure, which he viewed with very grave misgivings and a hearty shriek.

"So wrong, Plofessor Cat Box. See you in 1965 with your next wish." He vanished in a puff of smoke, vaguely scented with Chow Mein and Aramis. "So wrong." Von Welshing, fully aware of his changed condition and his surroundings, noted that he seemed to be made out of styrofoam and was partly filled with perfumed, greenish sand.

He was appalled to be entered by the first of a seemingly endless line of dyspeptic cats, and began doing whatever it is cat boxes do to mark time. It promised to be a very long forty four years.

Von Welshing Learns To Tell Lite From Long