You’re starting to realize why you live in a huge New York City apartment where the kitchen is part of a giant living room with a couch that faces a camera.
Upcoming events will give you insight into the origin of the phrases “hog-tied,” “beaten like a red-headed stepchild,” and, “Well, I’ll be dipped in shit.”
Your misguided, hippie efforts to tie-dye a cat will finally see success, but at an unspeakable cost.
Nothing can match the humiliation you will feel next week when one sailor after another appears on your doorstep claiming to be your biological father.
You just can’t shake the feeling that, homespun or not, that Bombeck lady sure knew what she was talking about.
You will combine a pair of novelty underpants and your considerable ventriloquism skills to give a certain special lady the worst first date of her life.
You’d quit your job telling kids about exposed power lines today if there were any other work options for a talking, hard-hat-wearing safety otter.
This week, you will prove the binomial theorem, posit a rule of gravitation, and develop a new theory of color, only to find that it’s all been done before.
It is a sign of the degradation of academia that your opinions are taken seriously onmany DeVry campuses.
You passionately believe that modern society fosters political, intellectual, and spiritual repression, which is just fine by you.
Thursday will find you talking to a walrus who urgently wishes to discuss cabbage, kings, nautical vessels, footwear, sealing wax, and possibly winged pigs.
Nothing will ever convince you that the Bon Jovi shit they play these days is real country music.
