Years of training as a Boy Scout will lead you to escort an elderly woman across the street and take sexual advantage of her defenseless body in a nearby alleyway.
Your protest against the use of water cannons, tear gas, and rubber bullets to subdue unruly activists will succeed when riot-police officers simply kick the living shit out of you.
An attempt to better market yourself will have lifelong repercussions after an ill-advised promotional giveaway off of Route 39.
Standing before the statues of its once-great leaders, you will marvel at the colossal feats of Ancient Greece, amazed that an entire civilization of amputees was able to achieve so much.
While you’ve managed to get away with it for years, your hectic schedule of burning the town at both ends will soon catch up to you.
As a writer you’ve struggled to capture the essence of Gary, Indiana, but as a perfume maker it’s been a walk in the park.
While the music will make your body move, it’s the dance club’s strobe lights that will make your body groove.
This week a shattered tea set will serve as a fitting metaphor for your clumsy coming-of-age as a woman.
You’ll realize you’ve lost touch with today’s youth when members of your own family start referring to you as “Grandpa.”
So ashamed will you be about falling down the stairs that you’ll lie to friends and family, telling them your husband beat you.
You’ll dodge a bullet this week when a shotgun slug is fired into your abdomen, piercing both kidneys, shredding your lower intestine, pancreas, and spleen, and puncturing your right lung, before miraculously missing your heart by mere centimeters.
You will be singled out among many worthy candidates for your eye-catching looks, unmistakable presence and the fact that you murdered a homeless man in the early hours of Sept. 19.
