Your ravenous hunger for human flesh will be quashed when you find out how it’s made and how much artificial crap is in it.
You will be granted an uncommonly long life, though an uncommonly large part of it will be spent getting into bus accidents.
There will be a brief cease-fire in the age-old war between the sexes as both sides cooperate in hunting you down and trying you for war crimes.
The flaw in your plan was the part where your accomplice would start a fire, and in the confusion, you would sneak into the philosophy department and finish writing your dissertation.
It’s important, as Kipling said, to treat triumph and disaster both the same, but it seems all you ever get are mild satisfaction and vague disappointment.
You’re trying to live healthier, but you’ll continue refusing to give up cigars, since they’re still the best way to light the dynamite you throw into children’s hospitals.
You will soon be judged by a jury of your peers, which is a good thing, as people who weren’t also self-centered drunken assholes would probably want you dead.
You’ll ask the tool salesman for a drill press that can bore all the way through a bowling pin the long way, but he’ll know damn well what you really want it for.
You’ll be asked to give up your destructive patterns of behavior by concerned people who love you but don’t understand how much fun it is to destroy things.
The blessed arrival of a baby in your life would be greeted with a lot more joy if you could figure out who mailed it to you.
Investigators on the scene of the accident will say there was nothing you could have done, unless you count not stomping on the gas and driving straight into the huge tanker truck.
Someday, people will have healthy, well-adjusted attitudes toward sex, but until then, you can still have it occasionally.