It’s great that you’ve been treating your body like a temple, but maybe you should try switching to a faith that doesn’t worship mayonnaise quite so much.
The brown-throated sloth often emits a loud, shrill screech during mating season, which explains why so many of them will gather at your recital next week.
Your new scientific invention won’t save any lives, but then that’s not why you built the Cancer-Filled-Syringe in the first place.
While you believe it to be the gentlemanly thing to do, opening trap doors for women actually makes you a giant asshole.
The stars foresee church bells in your future, though they’ll have less to do with an upcoming wedding, and more to do with you being a hunchbacked monster.
You’ve never been very good with technology, making this week’s unstoppable killing machine especially difficult for you to handle.
The strange men in lab coats will continue to refuse your desperate and agonizing pleas for water this week.
Creative fulfillment will finally be yours this Thursday when the ping-pong ball bounces off the wall, ricochets over the pool table, and lands squarely inside that red plastic cup.
You will soon take a number of mysterious secrets to your grave, the largest of which will be how family members will afford to pay for your funeral.
It might not be today, and it might not be tomorrow, but you’ll soon come to regret staging a pie-eating contest to choose a new nanny.
You will scream the name of a loved one from the rooftops this week. Unfortunately for you, she’ll still refuse to let you back into the apartment.
Every time one door closes another door always opens. However, note that the stars said “door” and not “padlocked iron gate.”
