1. I lose my job, my boyfriend leaves me, and all my friends abandon me. Every ice cream cone I buy falls on the ground before I can take a single bite. Dogs are, at best, disinterested in me. Then, I find out that an uncle I have never met has included me in his will. I stand to inherit $2 million, but only if I am able to survive a night in a haunted mansion. I go to the mansion, but die before the night is through (not because of the ghosts, who are actually quite friendly — but I am fatally injured after touching an improperly wired wall sconce).
2. I become unable to grow hair any place on my body besides the inside of my mouth.
3. Someone drops a gun on a street and leaves it. Okay, let’s be honest — some teenager, in a hurry on their way to an illicit perverted group sex rainbow party sex rave, drops a gun on the street and leaves it. I am walking down said street, alone, at night, on the deepest, darkest day of winter. A cat falls out the window of one of the apartments above, and lands on the gun, which breaks his fall. The cat survives. The gun goes off, and shoots me in the leg. The cops arrive and then, due to a typo in the Patriot Act, I am incarcerated for the next fifteen years.
4. I find out that that one nightmare I always have is true: I do actually have to repeat the 10th grade, right now, as a 30-year-old. I do a pretty decently job in all my classes, and briefly join the track team, but I am later suspended when I show up to after-prom with a thermos full of Bacardi and Sprite Zero.
3. I lose my job, my boyfriend leaves me, and all my friends abandon me. Every job application I file is rejected. My Etsy store selling handmade Tardis-shaped bongs never quite takes off. In desperation, I post an ad on Craigslist offering my services as a house cleaner. I pick up a little work, and then a little more, and then a little more. Eventually, I’m so booked that I have to hire assistants. I find that I have a knack for the most hopeless of house-cleaning scenarios — neatening up the domains of pack rats, hoarders, and guys who store their pee in an elaborately organized system of Mountain Dew bottles. I develop a crew of clever, world-weary hard-luck cases who use all their cleverness and world-wearitude to help me cleanse these forebodingly filthy houses. I find love with the cutest of the world-weary hard-luck cases, and together, we rise to the top of the hoarder-house-cleaning world. We get a reality show, I get some ill-considered plastic surgery, cut a very unsuccessful album of dance music, and eventually, I am arrested for tax evasion.
6. I go to Forever 21 to return a pair of ill-fitting jeggings, and am then eaten by a bear, for some reason.