Chapter 1

Yeah, I'm a jerk. I always have been a jerk. And I was destined to remain a jerk for the rest of my life. Then I got lucky. This is the story of how that happened.

You need some background to understand how I got this way. I am a 16-year-old high school dropout-to-be named Josh Logan. I stand 6 feet-2 inches tall in my socks, when I have socks to wear and I weigh 185 pounds, none of it fat; if fact, I can't remember when I ever had any fat. My hair is long because my mom is rarely sober enough to cut it, and it is almost raven black. My eyes are brown, and my ears don't stick out.

We live on the outskirts of town in a hovel that nobody else wants, that's why we get it rent-free. We don't have electricity because that costs money, and we don't have heat because we live in central Florida where it rarely gets cold enough to make a difference. When it does get that cold, we head for the nearest public shelter, so we manage to get by.

Our food comes from food banks or is purchased with the money Mom gets turning tricks. She's starting to put on weight, so she has more trouble finding johns than she used to, but we do manage to get by.

OK, back to the main topic. I'm a jerk because I always have a chip on my shoulder. I just can't get it through my head that there are people who are willing to be nice to us and do us a favor. Shit, I admit it. I go out of my way to piss people off. The nicer they are to me, the shittier I am to them. I don't know why, that's just the way I am.

And my attitude is not limited to Whites. I am an equal opportunity insulter. I am just as pissy to Blacks and Hispanics as I am to everybody else. Needless to say, I have no, zero, nada, friends. After all, who wants to associate with a jerk?

I think I once almost had a girlfriend, but I was shitty to Sheila one too many times, and she dumped me. She even looks away any time we happen to meet in the school hallways. I know, it was my fault, but that doesn't seem to make any difference to me.

I'm a sophomore in school because of the "social" passing that the stupid school district is fond of. The thing is, I almost never go to classes except around lunch time so that I can get in on the free meals us "underprivileged students" qualify for. The food ain't all that good, but at least it is food, and the price is right.

Usually, right after lunch, I cut out. I have no intention of wasting my time with shit like algebra. What good is it, anyway? I usually head home, mostly to check up on Mom to see if she has brought a trick home. If she has, I don't hang around—I get sick of hearing her fake orgasms. My favorite place, such as it is, is the swampy area behind our house. I take my fishing pole (I forget where I liberated that from) and head out to where the prize catfish can be found. Often, I can catch three or four, and Mom fries them up for supper. My mom can really cook catfish, so this is something purely worth the effort.

I don't know why, but on this particular day, I tried a different route to the fishing hole. There's a trail I never took before, and I always meant to try it out, but I never got around to it. Anyway, I started following the trail. It ran for about 75 yards and just petered out. Now, that doesn't make sense! I know that the fishing hole is just over a little hill, so I don't see any need to turn around to retrace my steps. I figured that I would just bull my way through the bushes, watching out for snakes and poison ivy.

Well, I get about 10 feet into the brush and my ankle gets caught by a vine. No way to stop it, I fall flat on my face in the muck. Man, am I pissed! My clothes aren't all that clean, normally, but even I stop short at sporting dried mud all over my shirt and pants. Anyway, there I was, lying face down in the mud when something shiny catches my eye. It looks like a brass pot or urn, and it's covered with all kinds of engraving. Shit, maybe the thing is worth something, so I pick it up.

There I was, standing there covered with mud and holding my fishing pole in one hand and that stupid urn in the other. I looked down at my self and thought, "God damn, I wish this mud was somewhere else." The next thing I know, my clothes are spotlessly clean. "Shit, how did that happen?"

A voice inside my head answered, "I was merely following your orders, Master."

Man, you talk about something guaranteed to scare you shitless, that was it! Now, I may have shit for brains, but I do have a good memory, and the first thing that occurred to me was the story of Aladdin and his lamp. I asked, "Are you the genie from Aladdin's lamp?"

"I am, Master. How may I serve you?"

"Don't I get three wishes or something?"

"Well, Master, the story has gotten screwed up over the years. You are not limited to three wishes. You may have as many wishes as you want as long as you possess the urn."

"Is there any limit to the kind of wish that can be granted? Like, suppose I wanted to fly, could you do that?"

"Yes, Master, there are some limits to your wishes. I cannot violate the laws of thermodynamics except in special cases, and I cannot do things like destroy the solar system, but most things are possible. There are many ways I can make you fly, do you want to try out some of them, now?"

"No, not yet. I still got some questions. What's this thermody ... stuff you were talking about?" Suddenly, I had a complete grasp of all of the facets and ramifications of thermodynamics, including some things not yet discovered. "Genie, how did you do that? Can you teach me anything I want to know?"

"Yes, Master, I can. It simply involves the mechanics of arranging certain neural pathways within your brain. The human brain has so much capacity and redundance that your capacity for learning is virtually unlimited."

"OK, let's start out by you giving me the ability to know all of those fancy words you keep throwing at me ... Ah, now I understand. Thank you.

"Say, wait a minute, that was the first time I ever said "thank you." What happened?"

"In order to give you the full understanding of the words you asked for, I had to make some minor adjustments in your personality. Now, you will be more courteous and considerate of other people. If you want to go back to your old way of thinking, I will have to remove some of the understanding I have just given to you. Which would you prefer, Master?"

"Well, let me think about it. Won't being nice to people just encourage them to try to run over me? I won't stand for that."

"No, Master, you misunderstand the motives of other people. When given the chance, most people are helpful and courteous. The few that are not can be dealt with on an individual basis."

"OK, then, I'll give this new way a try, but stand by to convert me back if I need it. Now, my next question: how about money?"

"Yes, Master, I can provide you with all of the money you want. Just name a quantity, and you will have it."

"In that case, let's start small. I don't want to attract too much attention at this stage. How about $20?" I had hardly gotten the words out of my mouth when a $20 bill drifted to the ground in front of me. Now, that's what I call service!

"Genie, you said that I had to keep your urn in my possession. Does that mean that I have to carry it around with me all of the time?"

"No, Master, you may leave the urn any place you desire and still get the benefits. However, I suggest that you do not leave it some place where it can be stolen, because that would shift the ownership to the new person."

"OK, I got it. Now, can you beam me anyplace I want to go like they do on Star Trek?"

"Certainly, Master. Where would you like to go?"

"Please beam me to my room at home ... Son of a gun! I just said 'please' for the first time in my life. Thank you, Genie. Was the relocation really instantaneous? It sure felt like it."