1. Take a chance by flying out on a man-eating pterodactyl.
4. Get lunch with my last three ex-girlfriends, start each meal out by asking “So, what did I do wrong?”, and always pick up the check.
5. Re-read Nathaniel Hawthrone’s The Scarlet Letter. No explanation needed, obviously.
6. Relive the night I lost my virginity – 5 seconds of ecstasy, followed by 10 minutes of awkward back rubs.
8. Endure food poisoning or death. Ironically, if you eat something from the food court at LaGuardia Airport, both will feel exactly the same.
9. Spend a day staring my ceiling in paralyzed fear, wondering “How did my life get to this point?”
10. Write The Great American Novel, get famous, become intimidated by my success, stall on a follow-up, lose my publishing contract, lose my agent, contract Hepatitis C from a Dutch prostitute, completely give up on my follow-up, develop a drinking problem, develop cirrhosis, develop kidney failure, develop liver failure, develop heart failure, die alone in a room at a roach motel somewhere outside of Austin, Texas, which – beside my corpse – would only have three other things in it: an empty bottle of Jameson, the finished manuscript of my 2nd novel, and a one sentence goodbye note that simply reads, “At least it beats departing from LaGuardia Airport at 2:15 on a Thursday.”