Today’s youth sickens you. You didn’t fight a secret war against the nuclear mole people at Earth’s core so they could wear baggy pants and swear.
If you put too much gasoline on the bandanna over your face, you’ll get sick. Not enough and you’ll be able to smell the corpses. Strike a balance.
Next time you find yourself in a hostage situation, take a hostage people care about.
You will be unable to cope with next Friday, mainly because our society does so little to prepare one for encounters with scary dragonflies.
Your much-publicized solo circumnavigation of the Earth hits a snag when you learn that “circumnavigation” means “to go all the way around.”
It will occur to you that no one in the phone book has a realistic-sounding name. Change them all, if possible.
Children are a way to achieve a kind of immortality, as recipients of their healthy young organs can extend life beyond its natural span.
The stars indicate, without actually saying it in as many words, that they really wish you’d be leaving pretty soon.
Your attempt to reach civilization by fashioning a crude raft will astound everyone else at the office.
The only peace for you will be the cold, dark peace of the grave. Fortunately, there are ways to enjoy this peace before actually dying.
Though it’s true you have a face that could stop a clock, you will soon meet someone who can throw a clock much harder than you’re used to.
You have not learned from the history of insignificant little people who work at insurance companies and are, therefore, doomed to repeat it.
