Magic carpets and other nonsense

There are no magic carpets of course, or fairie godmothers, magic wands, or genies in bottles.  But for the sake of the eclectic 30 days of writing, let's pretend there are.  

The closest we'll ever get
 to a genie in a bottle.

Having a magic carpet might sound like a great thing.  You could, you know, fly everywhere and escape Jafar and maybe nail the voluptuous princess Jasmine, right?  Wrong.  An actual magic carpet would be too impractical to use.  There's no seats, no restraints to keep you from falling to your death on a bumpy ride, no roof or windscreen to keep the elements off you in weather, no heater or AC to keep you comfortable.

And what normal woman would let you pick her up on one?  The actual experience of riding it has got to be similar to riding on top of a train.  Off it's rails.  The only way to stay on would be to go pretty slow and relatively straight.  The first time people saw you they'd marvel how cool it was.  After that the novelty would wear off and the mocking would begin.  "You could walk faster, ya know!"

If you thought the grey-haired AARPer looks ridiculous in a porsche, imagine my 46 year old ass cruising at six or seven mph, hoping birds don't crap on my new suit.

So what have I really got?  An exotic but impractical limited-use novelty item.  Fortunately I also have an imagination and entrepreneurial streak as wide as my under-water mortgage.

This is what I'd do.  I'd cut that mofo up into hundreds of shoe-insert sized pieces and begin the bidding at ten grand apiece.  Screw Dr Shoal's, I'd have Dr Rocket's!  Then I'd sit back and watch the feeding frenzy of professional athletes, rap stars, military and CIA procurement agents make me the richest mofo since, well, Aladdin.

Then, if I wanted (and I'm not saying I do, but...) I could afford a wall to wall carpet made entirely of girls named Jasmine.  Now that would be a magical ride.