It might not be a comfort, but if we lived in a parallel universe where bulldozers are sentient beings, a certain one would be apologizing profusely right now.
Please help clean up your world! After all, your mother doesn’t live here, at least not after next Thursday.
The stars aren’t exactly Cole Porter, but “If I Can’t Have You, I’d Like A Small Order Of Fries” doesn’t seem to have “hit” written all over it.
You will meet dozens of people as cold and unfeeling as yourself after taking out an ad in the impersonals section of your newspaper.
Try not to beat yourself up over your failings. After all, there are plenty of people willing to do the job for you.
There’s no easy way to say this, but a falling plate-glass window will shear you in half next Friday. Actually, that was pretty easy, come to think.
After all these years, the arresting officers still get a little flustered when you try to tip them.
Though you may never actually find your soulmate in this lifetime, any decent supermarket will provide you with a lifetime supply of Coffee-Mate.
Sometimes, you think that becoming a corporate lawyer stained your soul and destroyed your faith in humanity. However, there is the money.
Your ex-wife says you’re six feet of stunted emotional growth in a bad tie. Better get a new tie.
Remember those less fortunate than yourself next week. You can find them in burn wards and leper colonies.
You will be the 37th overall pick in this week’s NFL Slow-Old-Guy Supplemental Draft.
