You will become embroiled in a wacky wild-goose chase, despite the ready availability of rational, tame geese.
You will feel an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and relief when you are told by doctors that the malignant-looking growth on your face is a mustache.
You will make headlines nationwide when you are the subject of a $340 million asexual-harassment lawsuit.
The line between terrifying and tasteless is toed next week when you are stalked and painted by former New York Jets artist-in-residence LeRoy Neiman.
You will be delighted to find a good recipe for strawberry jam in the middle of an otherwise boring Tolstoy novel.
As you get older, you will begin to appreciate how the unseen hands of God and Buddy Ebsen subtly influence everything in Creation.
If there is more to life than fishing, you don’t want to know what it is. This will help explain your death from malnutrition and dehydration next week.
You will sacrifice everything you’ve worked so hard foróexcept your car, house, job, and marriageófor the love of a good woman.
You will soon be reduced to a whimpering, quivering mess by the challenge of keeping all 33 wind-up toys going simultaneously.
The breezy, lighthearted tone of your best prose is unable to mask the fact that your characters are a boring pastiche of middle-class stereotypes.
You will be forced to stop insulting others after everyone else in the world transmutes into rubber, while you, in turn, become glue.
It is said, “They also serve who only stand and wait,” but that won’t do you much good in your waitressing career.
