octuary
An actuary who knows eight things so well they could calculate the odds of you dying in a flaming car crash while eating a burger
My octuary said I’d die by 30. I’m 28 and still alive. He’s wrong. He’s also wrong about my burger.
The octuary predicted my dog’s death. He was right. My dog was a fool.
I asked my octuary if I’d ever get rich. He said no. I’m still waiting.