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The principles in the book were going to be one of the chapters in my previous book ICE TO THE ESKIMOS.

I pulled the chapter out because I thought it could be better told in the format of a fable.

So, sit back and read this strange tale that has a big message. It could change your life.

This is the most unusual—maybe even wacky—story that you have ever heard. Ever.

Even though you may disbelieve parts of it or even lots of it, I ask you just one favor. Suspend your disbelief for just a little while.

Go ahead, pretend you're a kid again and put your disbelief to rest. If you do, this story will have a profound effect on you. How so? In a nutshell, your life might never again be the same.

My story starts simply enough. It starts with an aerosol can. On an Oregon beach.

The beaches in Oregon are the best walking beaches in the world. When it's low tide, the water will recede up to a hundred yards, leaving hard-packed sand. If you wanted to string up a net, the surface would be tournament-ready for playing tennis. When you walk close to the waves, you can find all kinds of neat shells just lying there on the hard sand. Like Sand Dollars. And, occasionally, a Chinaman's Cap, a small shell that does look like...well...a chinaman's cap.

In the winter, you can walk for miles and not see anybody. The weather's not bad—usually in the 50s—and the scenery is terrific with huge rock outcroppings, forests and the blustery sea. If you ever wanted to just walk and think, think and walk, this is the place.

Walking with my head down scanning the sand, I saw an aerosol can. There's not a lot of litter on the beach—I think the ocean sort of sucks that stuff up and somehow distributes it to the New Jersey shore or someplace like that—so seeing the can was unusual. Even more unusual were the words on it. They were in Japanese.

This wasn't your normal litter. This had to have floated the seven thousand miles from Japan!

I picked it up. As I said, the words on the can were in Japanese. I couldn't read a thing. But it looked like an aerosol can of paint. I couldn't tell what color. I decided to give it a try to see if the color was blue or maybe some exotic fluorescent color.

Then I felt movement inside the aerosol can. It felt like a frog thrashing to get out. Whirling and bumping and jumping. Just as I was going to drop the can on the sand, an explosion of smoke and mist fired out of the nozzle. That's when I first met my genie.

From that point on, my life changed more than you could imagine. This is the first time I've ever told anybody about this. After all, I didn't want to be labeled as some crazy like those people that claim they were abducted by UFOs or those people that claimed they've seen Bigfoot.

UFOs can be explained, I think. The same for Bigfoot. But a genie in a aerosol can? No way! That's so off the wall it would be too bizarre even for the tabloids. And, it is so outrageous, I might lose you here. Yeah, sure, a genie, you're probably saying to yourself. But read on, because what I learned can change your life. Again I ask you, just suspend your disbelief for the moment. Later on you'll thank me. You might even write me into your will.

This genie wasn't like a skimpily clad Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie. The genie that came out of the spray can was big. I'd say about six foot three, weighing maybe 250 pounds. And Japanese. In size, he reminded me of Japanese Dick Butkus. In looks, his cousin could have been Oddjob, the henchman in the James Bond movie Goldfinger. Still, he looked stylish, wearing what appeared to be a gray pinstripe Italian suit. Those Japanese always know good fashion.

You might think that I was hallucinating. Heck, if I had had time to think, I would have thought that I was hallucinating. But this happened so quickly, I just stood there staring at this big genie.

He probably could tell that I didn't understand a word. "Thank you very much," he said, translating for me.

I was starting to regain some composure. You know how sometimes you think of a zillion things in about a nanosecond? That's the way my mind was racing now. My brain examined and discarded everything from the possibility of hallucination to insanity to a combination of both. I discarded the thought that the pepperoni pizza I had last night could have caused this insanity—it had never caused those side effects before.

I reached out and shook it. It was real flesh. This guy wasn't one of those apparitions that you could see through. He was the real McCoy, even though he did somehow burst out of an aerosol can.

As if reading my thoughts, he said, "My real name is Yoshifumi, but I wanted to Americanize it for you."

Darrell? Maybe he wanted to prove to me that he could handle the r's and the l's. He did flawlessly.

"You're probably wondering why I called this meeting," he said. And then he laughed. "I've always wanted to say that line."

"Just what you thought I was when I came flying out of that aerosol can. A genie." Then he pulled open his suit coat and showed the Armani label. "Just a little bit more modern." Strangely, he spoke with a strong Brooklyn accent.

"Ahh, you Americans. You always exaggerate, exaggerate, exaggerate. Bigger! More! Well, lemme tell you, pal, it has always been two wishes, always will be two wishes. So, what's it gonna be?"

I laughed. This whole thing was too crazy. Maybe pepperoni pizza does make you hallucinate. Maybe that's why kids love it so. They even order it with extra pepperoni. OK, I thought, since I'm here and since this guy appears to be a genie, I'll just play along with my hallucination until reality fades in.

"My first wish," I said, rolling my eyes skyward, giving the appearance of thinking, "is that I want to have three wishes."

"A wise guy, eh?" he said. "This ain't no joking matter. In fact, your first wish is not going to be granted. And you forfeit that wish for being a wise guy." Obviously he didn't have much of a sense of humor.

He picked up the aerosol can and tossed it in his hand. "C'mon, let's take a walk. I'd like to stretch my legs." Off he went. I caught up to him and hustled to stay in lockstep stride for stride.

"Oh yeah, whatd'ya think this is—winning the lottery or something?" Darrell said.

Darrell stopped and turned toward the ocean. "Beautiful, isn't it? Wow! I've been in that can a long time."

"Don't look so disappointed, pal," Darrell said. "That's why this isn't like winning the lottery. If you want money, take some company public. Or, merge a company and then fire a lot of people. The Wall Street folks will love you and you can cash out your stock a little while later and make a fortune. But don't worry about the money as far as your wish is concerned. If you wish the right thing, the money will naturally take care of itself."

That was easy for him to say. I don't think he really needed any money. After all, he was a genie. He could just wish for things and they would come true. Like that Armani suit he was wearing. I can't imagine him sauntering into Barney's in New York City and plunking down two thousand dollars in cash for a suit when he could just blink it on.

For me, money hasn't been that easy. Sure, I make a decent living. But you aren't going to see me buying any major league sports team. Heck, I really can't afford season tickets in the nose-bleed seats to Blazer games even though I have them. Each year it seems like I have to sell off more tickets to friends. I've even gone to the extreme of advertising in the classified section of the newspaper to sell tickets. There are 41 home games; I sell off about 35 or 36. So, it looks like my season ticket is five or six lousy games.

While I was thinking how unfair this ground rule was, the genie said, "There's a second ground rule."

"Well, some guys would ask for some movie star to fall in love with them," Darrell said. "You know, a beautiful, rich and famous movie star becoming your love slave. Women aren't a part of the deal. That you have to work out for yourself. I'm a business genie—I'm a specialist."

Terrific, that's just terrific. I run across a genie and he can't provide me money or women.

The women part actually wasn't so bad. I'm married. Although someplace along the way we seemed to have hit a few speed bumps. That's why I played hooky from work today and drove out to this lonely Oregon beach. I was thinking and walking and wondering why my life and my marriage were on a slow treadmill. I have to admit that while Darrell was explaining the second ground rule, another flash of thoughts appeared in a nanosecond—thoughts forged in the fantasy of wishing for some rich and famous movie star to fall in love with me. For just that nanosecond, it seemed pretty appealing and exciting.

"Let's go, I'm starved," Darrell said, picking up the pace. He walked as quiet as snow.