A chance remark at a bar will result in a pack of angry, middle-aged drunks insisting, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, that punk is not dead.
What you thought was a folksy comment turns out to be the plain truth when wet, slushy snow and heavy winds combine to make for rough sledding.
Optimism will once again be your downfall when, during a trip to Ohio, you assume that the angry natives will be awed into submission by your lighter.
Mars rising with the moon in syzygy says nothing about your future. It means “Screw you, fatty.”
People will finally admit that you fulfilled your potential when you pass out in bed and your crack pipe sets off a massive goat-porn fire.
Next time, when passing a note intended to find out if someone likes you, you’ll know to provide more than one box to check.
It’s always the last person you’d expect that ends up being a murderer, marrying your sibling, or getting elected president.
It won’t be failure to adapt that kills you, but the ability to pause live television.
You’ll fend off a lot of polite inquiries from Asians before you realize that your new Chinese tattoo actually reads “Ask Me About My Grandchildren.”
Your love for the unexpected joy of “snow days” will not translate directly into a love for next week’s hellish rains of fire and blood.
The stars can warn you not to argue with clergymen over predestination this week, though they are ultimately helpless to stop you.
If you enjoyed last week, then relax. As usual, this week won’t be a whole lot different from the previous one.
