Sharpening the nation’s steering wheels and promoting proper tire deflation will be your first priorities when you’re appointed to chair the Institute of Highway Danger.
The “before” and “after” photos of your diet plan are dramatic, but it’s the “during” photos that will fill the jury box with vomit.
Experts agree that getting enough sleep is important, but they look like the kind of cunning, crafty experts who would love to catch you unconscious.
By the time government troops are able to cut through the locks of your Love Zeppelin and “rescue” everyone inside, you’ll already be a folk hero.
No, no, no—you’re supposed to gently heat the garlic cloves until they caramelize, you moron, not turn them into a burnt paste.
You’ll get a chance to do it all again knowing what you know now, taking the fun out of about 15 Super Bowls.
You’re the prime suspect after witnesses overhear you say you’re “so hungry I could eat either a horse or the dismembered body of the vice-president of that bank on Garfield Street.”
Piracy is still a major problem in the Philippines, but that’s a pretty lousy reason to want to move there.
People will complain to you about the disruption of traffic, but it’s not your fault that love-struck buildings are following you everywhere.
You suspect it was a misprint when the newspaper claimed that drinking a glass of red wine once a minute is good for the heart, but what the hell.
Very few of your monetary problems will be over when you win the record-low lottery jackpot of $.0000017 million.
The pilot will make an emergency landing because of you, in spite of your repeated and emphatic insistence that you are not a suspicious object.
