Though you will soon find yourself sharing an exciting cross-country road trip with Jerry Reed and a lop-eared basset hound, it’s not what you think.
You will achieve a certain kind of notoriety when you get rich selling the world’s most tasteless exercise program.
You will be shaken to your very core by the revelation that not everything in the universe is exactly the same size.
This will not be a time of great changes for Cancer, but it will be a time of above-average sandwiches.
Though you don’t expect much from the holiday season, you’ll still be let down.
You will feel like an ass when you believe a story that was obviously fiction and intended to be entertaining.
A sense of confusion comes over you when, after an acquaintance tells you to “keep up the good work,” you cannot recall ever doing any such work.
Don’t listen to the people who tell you you should have that fist-sized tumor removed from your esophagus. They’re just jealous.
You are a melding of light and shadow, sunset and dawn, a multitude of wonders fused in mortal flesh. And a great big flabby lump of flesh it is, too.
The tiniest bite of a fresh-baked madeline will bring a sudden flood of memories of other times you ate cookies.
Though you may decide a Dorothy Hamill hairdo looks terrible on you, that’s no reason to take it out on Ms. Hamill.
Your holiday experience will have much in common with Inuit creation myths, especially the snowy parts.
