Bad luck

If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all. Gloom, despair and agony on me.

It's been a rough time for me lately. I don't mean to dump on ya'll, but you came here asking for it, now didn't you?

First, I had to cancel that Russian bride I mail-ordered last week. I was looking forward to some Eastern Bloc action, too.

I let some teenage punks live with us in our house, only to have them steal my money from an ATM machine. At least they got what was coming to them.

I lost another e-bay bid. I really wanted this one too, because it tasted like salvation.

I bought a whole bunch of stock in the Aunt Jemima corporation, only to find that Condoleeza Rice was not going to be their new spokesperson after all. I know better to invest in a risky scheme like the stock market.

One of my prize poodles left a puddle on Tony Blair's carpet.

The other night, I was settling in to watch Desperate Housewives, when a schooner sailed straight into my living room, causing me to miss the raciest segment.

My Hindu saint did not ascend on schedule.

Lonely housewives will not stop calling me for sexy romps. I keep telling you ladies, I'm married!

One of my favorite punk bands has sold out to Santa Claus.

Here's hoping my luck improves.