You were a cop, and a damn good one at that, but you committed the ultimate sin and testified against one of your own. Now, you must pay the price and be doomed to late-night cable syndication.
This holiday season is, as always, a time of terrible stress for you and the rest of the well-formed, eight-foot-tall pine trees.
You would be a lot more comfortable with your home life if you knew why seven-time Winston Cup champion Richard Petty was always hanging around the place.
You’ll have the kind of week that makes you wish your parents had followed through on their military-school threats, but for different, sexier reasons.
You’ll have a thrilling adventure whose recounting will be greatly enjoyed by those willing to sit through your seizures to get to the sign language.
You’re beginning to wonder exactly who is in charge of quality control for all those treasure maps.
You will get a good deal on a major appliance purchase, but that’s about it.
An otherwise enjoyable week is shot to hell when you have several phone conversations with people from L.A.
You will be the toast of forensic investigators from coast to coast for your ability to really spread the ol’ fluids around the murder scene.
It’s impossible for you to get more tail than a dogcatcher–partially because of your poor hygiene, but mainly because you’re a dogcatcher.
You’ve never been one to take offense at accusations of arrogance, especially since they’re all bullshit anyway.
You will abandon your search for the wisdom of the East when it turns out to be devoid of cool kung-fu moves.
