You run afoul of the school board this week when you refuse to answer its questions about the space-heaters installed in your children’s lungs.
The mystery of your parentage will be solved this week when General Motors recalls you and 20,000 of your brothers and sisters.
Everyone who laughed at your bizarre phobia will feel remorse this week when supermidget Billy Barty breaks into your house, kicks you repeatedly in the groin and steals your good silver.
A compromise will be necessary this week to reconcile your lifestyle with the world. Stop setting old ladies on fire.
You become the butt of all the office jokes this week when you forget to compensate for windage during your presidential assassination attempt.
An impromptu survey of the NHL’s 10 best goalies ranks you as the worst lay in all of the U.S. and Canada.
You are unceremoniously fired when the world’s ugliest pre-operative transvestites answer the personals ad you wrote for your boss.
The twin specters of confusion and bankruptcy haunt your life when Wilford Brimley confronts you with a prenuptial contract you do not remember signing.
Your football-widow status becomes permanent when the Kansas City Chiefs break into your house and murder your husband.
You will be sued for loss of livelihood when the riding mower you are operating goes out of control, tears through a circus freakshow tent, and separates the Siamese twins.
Despite repeated sacrifices to Venus, no loss of virginity is scheduled for you this week.
You will make the Guinness Book Of Records this week in the category of “Most Horribly Bungled Suicide Attempt.”
