You will achieve a form of immortality when you choose a tombstone that’s perfect for balancing beer kegs.
You will receive frightening news regarding the U.N.’s Council For The Prevention Of Nuclear Terrorism. For one thing, it doesn’t exist.
This week, it is neither the heat nor the humidity that’s the worst. It’s the guy with the two-by-four who runs around hitting people in the face.
You had a nagging feeling that your epic prose poem sounded familiar, but you’re still embarrassed when friends point out that you’ve ripped off
You will see your fate unfold as through a glass, darkly. This is largely due to your sunglasses.
Your arrest and execution for espionage could have been avoided if only you hadn’t argued over who would wear the back of the horse suit.
Your uniqueness as a human being is threatened when you find a person who enjoys ham more than you do.
Your attempt to explain to the judge that you “just wanted to see what horse laxative smelled like” is met with deep suspicion.
Your fall from grace will be compared to that of Lucifer, but only in that you both managed to take a chunk of a wall down with you.
You will experience conflicting emotions when, upon coming home next Friday, your friends jump out of hiding, yell “Surprise!,” and kill you with axes.
You will soon be the envy of all your coworkers, who, as luck would have it, are all necrophiliac contract-bridge players.
You have a crazy brother who insists he’s a chicken. You’d send him to a doctor, but you need the fried chicken.
