You are about to find love in the most unlikely of places, or at least that’s what the panting, neglected sociopath living in the abandoned textiles factory will call it.
An out-of-body experience will soon leave you with a deeper understanding of just how much weight you should be trying to lose.
In times of crisis you’ve often looked to the stars for guidance, and this weekend will be no different, aside, of course, from your utter failure to identify which one of us is Polaris.
You will soon learn that only by hastily skimming the errors of the past can we hope to mostly avoid repeating what we dimly remember them to be in the future.
There are two sides to every story. Unfortunately, no respectable publisher is interested in putting out your account of D.H. Lawrence’s ‘Sons And Lovers.’
Approaching police sirens combined with your naturally paranoid tendencies will significantly alter the stuffing of tonight’s honeysuckle white turkey.
They say you can’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his shoes, but after 3,000 feet, you’re beginning to suspect he’d like to have his sneakers back.
You will ignore the voice of reason once again this week, but that’s largely because it’s gone hoarse and grown nearly inaudible over the years.
Disappointment will be yours this week when what you first believe to be the play’s curtain call turns out to be just Act 1, Scene 2.
Someday you’ll inspire a whole new generation to pursue their dreams, secure in the knowledge that they couldn’t possibly do any worse than you.
You’ll have a hard time putting what it is you don’t like about your new neighbor into words, particularly after he slices through your larynx with a cheese grater.
Remember: It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye—not an arm, half a right leg, a lower jaw, several organs, five pints of blood, and the complete control of his central nervous system.
