The blood of legends will soon run in your veins, thanks to your purchase of a home legendary-blood transfusion kit.
There’s nothing wrong with you that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure. Assuming, of course, that you don’t count the bone cancer.
For the last time: It simply isn’t true about Richard Gere. Please stop asking.
You’ve done endless reading on the subject and participated in hundreds of simulations, but you will still find yourself unprepared for actual sex.
Your long search for a viable alternative energy source may finally be over when you discover a potent, readily available white powder that goes up your nose.
A sign in your workplace boasts more than a thousand days without a lost-time accident, but that’s only because they don’t count your constant rebreaking of the same leg.
You’ll eventually be the one to get the girl, thanks to your patience and the fact that you don’t care that she’s dead.
The old ass-Xeroxing prank will go awry when your boss catches you in the act and makes you the ass-Xeroxing supervisor for the entire Northeast region.
You don’t regret choosing the Jermaine Stewart classic for your personal theme song, but you’re starting to think it would be nice to occasionally take your clothes off to have a good time.
After months of soul-searching, you’ll finally decide to write your memoirs, but it winds up taking less than three days.
Your family will react to your declaration that you don’t want a fancy, overblown funeral with relief and increased murder attempts.
Police will immediately rule you out as a suspect in the Case of the Impressive, Well-Spoken, Sexy Bandit.
