Look inward to find what ails you – it’s probably cancer.
Your feelings will be hurt when your physician laughs derisively at your (fortunately incorrect) concern that you have cancer.
Help Wanted: Fortune Cookie writers. Wages will be $.10 per fortune.
You have no fortune. You’re lucky to get a cookie.
The wages of sin is death. “The Wages of Fear,” is a damn fine movie. You should see it.
Death. Certain, unavoidable Death. Yours. Coming soon.
An unexpected houseguest will make cleaning up your dirty house unavoidable. Get busy, sloth!
Greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, sloth, pride - stop playing the field and pick just one.
You will pick up a food-borne illness from this restaurant.
This restaurant is a front for the NSA. You have just eaten several hundred thousand nanobots that will report your every movement, bowel or otherwise.
The hot and sour soup kills nanobots. FYI.
Never send out soups out for product analysis.
Our soup is made in a cauldron by the finest accursed witches. If you spill any on yourself, you will be forever after crying, “Out, out, damned spot!”
Have you seen my dog, Spot? He was right outside the front door when I came in here.
Your dog will chew up your favorite shoes tonight.
If your shoes stick to the floor of the rest room, find a new place to eat.
You’re going to have to find a new place to display your painted D&D miniatures.
Have your car painted tomorrow. Law enforcement is looking for it.
The gentleman in the booth behind you is probably with the Health Department. You know what to do.
Go the phone booth in the hall. Call SPArrow-6179. Ask for Blake. Tell him “The green goose crows at midnight.” Then run.