Delightful changes that will transform your life into a giddy playground may still be ahead for you, provided you can summon the gumption to get out of bed before 3 in the afternoon.
You always say The Man is holding you down, but you never mention the intense sexual rush it gives you.
Your torments will continue apace, but their intensity will slacken, as God is distracted lately by his hobby of striking random Boy Scouts with lightning.
Heart-rending TV ads will soon begin asking people to send donations in order to wipe you out once and for all.
You thought that your new lifestyle would be a nonstop party in the lap of luxury, but apparently Mr. Hefner has strict rules for his “permanent houseguests.”
Officials will say that, although your death was indeed a tragedy, it could have been prevented simply by paying closer attention to either the warning signs on the time machine or your senior-year history unit on the Crimean War.
You will indeed come back from your adventure in a pine box, but thanks to advances in medical technology, it’s a pine box outfitted with the life-support systems you now need to live.
You will be honored by the mayor of your city for your continued restraint in not expressing your feelings through poetry, song, interpretive dance, or ultra-large-scale fiber art.
In this cruel metaphysical polka of life, it sometimes seems like for every step forward, you take one step back, two hops to each side, and do a twirl.
Your relations with the natives continue to blossom, largely because your rather clever translator refuses to tell them precisely what it is you’re saying.
You will conveniently obtain employment in your city hospital’s burn ward just as your new invention, a revolutionary, faster and hotter gas grill, encounters its first major stumbling block.
The technical details are still being worked out, but executives promise that your first few hilarious and heartwarming years will soon be released as a deluxe DVD package.
