You throw your head back and with a mighty battle cry, you bash it into the mini-jukebox as hard as you can in a desperate attempt to make all of the pain go away, all of the noise, the Kajagoogoo, Falcor's senseless yammering, that weird whistling noise your left nostril has made ever since that time you shoved a beet up there for a dollar--all of it, even though you know that if you succeed you'll just have to start the story over and go through all that again but pick a different option next time, when you realize with some surprise that you seem to have succeeded. The jukebox is broken, cracked in half down the front, and Falcor just stares in open-mouthed awe as soup trickles, nay, pours--nay, Tropical Storm Chicken Noodle floods forth from his hairy chin in gushing rivers, sweeping up errant crumbs, bits of salt and that little ladybug running for dear life along with it, finally congealing in a gooey, moist pile on the opposite side of the table.

"I'm sorry about that," you apologize reflexively, "but it was all just--"Suddenly! You hear a noise coming from the jukebox, but it's not music! Nay, it is a scraping noise coming from within, and soon see the front of the box starting to wobble, as if something is trying to get out.

Raising a salt shaker defensively, you prepare to slam it down on whatever hellish horror emerges from within, but before you can even react, you see a tiny feathered 80s hairdo pop out of the front, followed by another, and another, until there are five teeny little figures standing on the table before you.

"Oh for fuck's sake," you mutter as you recognize British pop sensation Kajagoogoo. "How on earth did this go from bad to worse?"

Lead singer Limahl approaches you, and in a squeaky voice says "You have rescued us, fair stranger! After crossing a gypsy in a high-stakes game of Go Fish, we were cursed to dwell within that jukebox, playing whatever songs were requested of us! Surely the world has long wondered whatever became of Kajagoogoo!"

"Not really--" you begin, but Limahl ignores you, continuing: "Well, NO MORE! The world has just gotten fun again, because we're back, baby! We're back! Although we do seem a bit shorter..."

Falcor seems all-too-interested in this whole business, and you roll your eyes as he asks "If you're Kajagoogoo, and you were truly performing live every time someone played a song, how did you manage to sound just like all those other bands?"

"Did you even hear them playing any other songs?" you ask, annoyed, but you're ignored once again.

"We're just that good, baby. Just that good," Limahl responds with a wink, "shooting" Falcor with his finger gun. "But seriously, thanks for playing our song. That's like the first time we've ever gotten to play our own material, come to think of it..." he muses, scratching his chin.

"Well, no matter! Down to business! Since you rescued us from the jukebox, you get a wish. That's part of the gypsy curse. I know, I know, that doesn't make any sense, but don't ask me, I'm not the one who made the damned thing up. And you don't get no three wishes neither. We're not a fucking genie", he says, wagging his finger at you. "We're Kajagoogoo!" he exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling.

"So what'll it be, champ?" Limahl asks. "Time's a-wastin'! We've got adoring fans to go sleep with!"

You wish for:

• Immediate transportation directly to your late uncle's mansion.
  
  
• Your own private Kajagoogoo concert at your next birthday party.
  
  
• Your uncle to come back to life, because you miss him so.
  
  
• A million--no, a billion dollars!