Alarming developments this week mean that withholding sex will no longer be one of your more effective threats.
You’ll be thrilled all the way down to your toenails this week when electrodes are planted in the appropriate pleasure centers of your brain.
After the events of next Sunday, for the rest of your life, people will stop you on the street and ask you to autograph packages of pork chops.
Millions will be rescued this week when the Red Cross deploys thousands of desperately needed words to the site of an unspeakable tragedy.
You must admit that you’re sleeping better than ever, but it’s kind of unpleasant to wake up every morning with a blowgun dart in the back of your neck.
More than anything, you want to mold and shape young minds. Unfortunately, most commercially available Jell-O molds are unsuitable for this purpose.
Your new pheromone-based scent will make you irresistible to women, who will devour you, bones, hair, and all.
Well, the stars tried, but somehow, you’ve been left more or less in control of your own destiny this week.
For centuries, great thinkers have contemplated the purpose of life. It’s best to just relax and assume they’ve figured it out.
If you’ve ever regretted not pursuing a career in bullfighting, this week may bring an accidental chance to start over.
You will have a vision of peace, transcendent love, and infinite compassion, only to find it was all a dream. Also, your pillow is gone.
Don’t take it personally: Someone had to be the cutoff point for who does and doesn’t get on the Emergency Earth-Escape Rocket.
