In a hilarious twist of fate, Bob Hope will win a tidy sum from the Non-Celebrity Dead Pool when he correctly predicts the date of your untimely death.
You will invent a successful line of fuckable baking dough, sell it to a major corporation, and achieve fame and fortune as the Pillsbury Ho-Boy.
You will enjoy success this hunting season, tracking and killing three beautiful deer. Unfortunately, what you call “deer” are known to most people as “nurses.”
Your life will hinge on thinking of a nine-letter word meaning “parity.”
You will learn firsthand that it really is hard to say you’re sorry, especially when your mouth is stuffed with an angry sailor’s cock.
You will be lauded by critics this week for your daring shot-for-shot remake of your high-school yearbook.
A major life-change is in your future, but don’t worry: Many quadruple amputees lead lives as rich and fulfilling as those of triple amputees.
Everything you do this week will inspire murderous rage in a different resident of Baltimore.
The stars indicate that your rabid Doctor Who fanhood may somehow be related to the infestation of your flesh by hundreds of thousands of thirsty ticks.
Though nothing of interest will happen to you this week, that won’t stop you from boring your friends with a detailed recounting of every meaningless second.
You will set a world record this week for getting your head stuck between moving objects.
You are a healthy, attractive young person with an active social life and a good future in acting, but you harbor an unnatural lust for pudgy men with shaved heads. You might as well off yourself.
