The pleasure you get from playing the two-finger waltz on the piano is astounding, especially considering it cost the life of an elephant.
Your married life will end just minutes after it begins next week, when everyone riding in the limousine, chauffeur included, assumes that the increasingly frantic honking is congratulatory.
True, as a SWAT team sniper, you never should have been spying on the disrobing blonde across the street through your rifle’s scope. Then again, it’s not entirely your fault that your hands got as sweaty as they did.
Like Charles Perrault’s
As the mother of newborn quintuplets, it’s understandable that you’ve had less time for work around the house. Still, you really shouldn’t let them pile up in the sink like that.
You will bring next week’s funeral service to a screeching halt when you insist people give you one reason why that perfectly good casket should be buried.
The biggest mistake you’ll make next week is putting so much love and care into building that effigy.
The stars believe you felt a tremor, but leave out the part about the bobble-head dolls when telling others.
It’s been years since you read the play, but this week’s Softsoap-sponsored production of
While the jazzercise class won’t trim your thighs or waistline, it will leave you with a greater appreciation for brilliant composer Charles Mingus.
Perhaps it’s your fault for having expected too much of fame, but as the Guinness World Record holder for Shortest Living Man, you thought you’d at least be up to your neck in pussy.
You’ve always feared spending the rest of your life as a streetwalker, but don’t worry, there will be about two hours near the end when, for all intents and purposes, you’ll be more of a field-crawler.
