Certain events of this week will serve to correct your misconception that salt is a good thing to rub in wounds.
You will discover an unfortunate downside to eating too many of those scrumptious, non-fat sleeping pills.
Stop yourself from gaining weight: Wrap your midriff in aluminum foil to block the CIA’s orbital stomach-control lasers.
The stars were considering warning you about next Friday, but they've decided it would be funnier if you found out about the goats yourself.
It's not that people won’t care when they see you get hit by a bus. It's just that they know an attention-getting ...
If the advice of the stars has still somehow failed to bring you happiness, don't worry: There's probably just something terribly wrong with ...
At long last, you finally achieve total domination of the woodwind section of the Berlin Philharmonic.
Stop blaming your problems on the people in your life. Blame various government agencies instead.
Your loud public whining about "getting the hell out of this podunk town" will finally drive your fellow Manhattanites over the edge.
Explorers will finally find the long lost city of Atlantis this week. All the evidence will point to you.
The stars say you will find happiness beyond your wildest dreams. But after that, their message trails off into drunken streams of profanity.
Nobody will believe your outrageous tale of saving 25 cents on a bar of deodorant soap.
In a fit of pique, you foolishly ignore the advice of a good friend and find yourself in possession of hundreds of worthless wooden nickels.
Congress will approve the creation of a 51st state, Assholia, for the sole purpose of naming you the state bird.
You begin to feel unwelcome by those around you when your State Tourism Board starts telling prospective vacationers that you’re dead.
You will discover this week that you are 1/64th Chippewa. Honor your ancient ancestors by discovering a use for every single part of the ...
Don't let the hustle and bustle of the holiday season keep you from finishing your last will and testament before 4:22 p.m ...
You will invent a successful line of fuckable baking dough, sell it to a major corporation, and achieve fame and fortune as the Pillsbury Ho-Boy.
Your first visit to a cockfight ends in disaster when you find out that the competition is actually between chickens.
After accidentally stumbling upon the long-lost plans of diabolical mad scientist Dr. Henley, you will become obsessed with the idea of building the perfect beast.