Your outspoken criticism of your superiors will lead to your transfer to a combat posting in the Middle East, something you didn’t know the manager of an auto-parts store had the authority to do.
Your lifelong love of all things zombie becomes a definite liability when former president Ronald Reagan mysteriously returns to life and is told that you wouldn’t mind if he stayed at your place.
You have the wisdom of Solomon, but the sensationalist jerks on the news insist on referring to you as that monster who chopped all those poor children in half.
The great white shark is brutally tenacious in pursuit of its prey, as you will discover after changing your name and moving to land-locked San Antonio.
If you’re reading this, Leo is dead. It’s been lying about the dark stranger all along. You’ll find the money hidden behind the Horsehead Nebula.
You’ll fall under the influence of a drug that makes you think you can fly, but to the dismay of the people beneath your window, it actually makes you invisible.
You’re someone who calls ’em like he sees ’em, which is a problem for a constantly hallucinating stutterer like yourself.
A combination of mistakes involving geography, bravado, and making promises while drunk will soon result in you going over Sioux Falls in a barrel.
A new international economic study indicates that tropical fruit and luxury automobiles have been overtaken by your overseas hate mail as America’s number-one import.
Your constant search for inner beauty leads to six months of pain when you pay an expert to tattoo the Last Supper on your heart, lungs, and renal system.
It’s been exhausting, but personally befriending everyone in the entire nation will pay off next Thursday when jury selection for your insurance-fraud case proves impossible.
You like to think you’re passing a lifetime’s worth of wisdom to a younger generation, but the rest of the world thinks of you as a kitchen-counter installer with a DSL connection.
