Scientists are slowly abandoning the idea of the infinite universe in favor of one that’s merely big enough for your mother’s fat ass.
Just so you know: A blood drive is not necessarily a success just because you’ve set records for the laundry bill.
You’ve always thought of your life as original, but it turns out to be identical to that of the daughter of a young couple from Leinster, Ireland, in the mid-1700s.
In spite of everything, you’ll manage to stay on the good side of your wife, the trained-seal woman, the trombonist, and the Las Vegas Fire Department.
Change is ahead, but don’t worry: A year from now you won’t be able to remember a life outside of Army desert field hospital #740.
You’re getting the feeling that your underlings are doing all the work. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone with Cheney.
After 36 hours of beatings fail to wrest a confession out of you, Interpol will just forge your signature.
It may seem like it’s all wrapped up neatly, but admit it: You still have no idea who killed the chauffeur.
You will be struck down by horror and anguish when you learn that the events chronicled in the song “Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald” really happened.
You’ve finally achieved the personal and financial independence that will allow you to fulfill your life’s craziest dream: to dance naked on the Berlin Wall.
You have no empathy or compassion, and are mystified by motivations other than raw personal ambition. Enjoy Harvard Business School.
You will spend another week putting off the inevitable unpleasantness, but, come to think of it, that’s life.
