You’re not the sort of person who panics easily, which will keep you from getting on TV following next week’s volcano disaster.
Sleep will continue to elude you this week, so keep binging on coffee and amphetamines until you have enough energy to catch it.
You’re finally ready to put the entire sordid incident behind you, but it’s getting another 50,000 YouTube hits a day.
Mitochondria are passed on through the mother, which is probably why your cells don’t understand what you do for a living and are wondering when you’ll meet somebody special.
Remember, only you can make yourself feel bad, but it’s important to let people know how much you appreciate their help with it.
It’s cute to get a note asking “Do you like me?” including two boxes to check, but the White House stationery makes it a little disturbing.
You’ll be called in for the 20th week in a row to testify before a council of your peers on whether or not punk is in fact dead.
The stars have something important to tell you, but first you must apologize for once again forgetting Lou Rawls’ birthday.
You’ll be taken completely by surprise when the Maritime Administration declares you a derelict hulk and has you broken up for scrap.
They may not look that great, but they’re not transmissible to sexual partners, and you can always find someone who’s into genital stalactites.
You had no idea the cheetah’s feces-elimination process was so loud, so violent, and so frequently what was keeping you awake at night.
Decide to make the world a better place this week, but not before making sure your stuff goes to the right charities and surviving friends.
