Long after your death, many will remember you as the first man ever to simultaneously break both the sound and cement barrier.
Your new Civil War novel would have made a welcome addition to the corpus of American historical fiction if its main storyline hadn’t already been used in an episode of Knight Rider.
A man is often known by the company he keeps, which is more than enough reason for you to close down Wanton Bigotry, Inc.
You’ll wake up next to a dead Taiwanese prostitute Sunday morning, and immediately regret your decision to pick up a dead Taiwanese prostitute the night before.
Unexpected and startling events in the coming days will compel you to become more familiar with your monthly menstrual cycle.
Your new job as a quality-control tester gets off to a rocky start when you fall for the old peanut-brittle-can gag 76 times in a row.
While it may not be the most elegant of methods, you’ll nonetheless solve a problem with your in-laws this week through the process of elimination.
You’ll be made to feel like a princess this week when you’re betrothed, without prior consultation, to the odorous and rotten-toothed King Gumperthon of neighboring Ilswich.
A double-inclined plane will—through the application of downward force—drive a wedge between you and your spouse this week.
You will be judged today by a group of your peers, as well as tomorrow and every subsequent day until graduation.
After being tied to a set of railroad tracks for several decades, you’ll finally meet your demise this week with the arrival of a repeatedly delayed Amtrak train.
Your firstborn child will have your eyes, thanks to delivery complications and the organ-donor sticker on your driver’s license.
