You get the operation & enjoy delicious food forever & ever. No one cares if you sneeze on their sundae, & you become a national hero when you turn the Uzi in the hands of Britney Spears' would-be assassin into a low-impact staple gun. (Britney is still a little annoyed—"why not some goddamned packing tape?" she pouts as she pulls staples out of her midriff.)

You open an office-supply store using a handy pebble-pile for raw materials & write the great American novel.

THE END