Your desiccated remains will be found on a desert island along with an empty water bottle, three emergency ration packages, and the exact right CD for the occasion.
Love is strange. Repeating this fact no matter how you achieve orgasm will vastly aid your mental well-being this week.
Your life will be improved enormously by the sudden appearance of a wisecracking toady who leers over your shoulder and repeats the last word of every sentence you utter.
You’ve always thought of Death as a journey into the infinite, but it turns out to be a lot more like Harry Dean Stanton.
You just don’t have what it takes to be a contemporary man; in spite of your intelligence, compassion, and instinct for fun, there’s still the gigantic tits.
And to think you laughed when your high-school yearbook named you Most Likely To Be Responsible For The Extinction Of The Frigate Bird.
In spite of your photos, the Church will profess ignorance of the origin of the phrase “Lord love a duck.”
Yet another great moment in American oration will be ruined by your constant, vicious heckling of Mr. Sandler.
You’re excited to get what you’ve always deserved until you realize it amounts to $4.27 in pizza coupons.
You’ve never considered yourself a genius, which helps you avoid damaging blows to your self-image this Sunday.
You have always rejected the doctrine of reincarnation as superstitious nonsense, which comes as a great relief to Hindu couples expecting children early next month.
There’s no life for you without love, except in the strictest biological and durational sense.
