In every story where a wish is granted – whether by some primary-coloured goon sticking out a lamp, a creepy piece of fairground entertainment, or a piece of cursed bushmeat – there’s always an ironical sting in the tale. You wish for health and it turns out you can’t die. You wish for a personal chef, but it turns out he only does offal. You wish everything you touch to turn to gold, then it’ll turn out there’s no way to turn it off – or it kicks in just as you go to the toilet, that kind of thing. You should, as the saying goes, be careful what you wish for.
I’m sorry I wished for New Tales From the Borderlands, everyone.