Screw you, Magic 8 Ball, and your “Better not tell you now” coyness. You think you're so superior, telling us all what's what with your terse responses. Would it hurt you to give me an affirmative one of these days? I mean, I do my part. I focus, I shake, I beg, I plead, I stroke your smooth exterior. "Reply hazy try again," "Cannot predict now," and "Don't count on it" may be truthful but would it hurt you to throw me a bone once in a while? Everyone knows that polite white lies are just good form if the truth is going to hurt. You don't see me telling you "My sources say you suck," do you? No, I keep it to myself, because I'm classy that way.
You might as well say "He's just not that into you" or "Poverty is in your future," stab me in the heart with a sharp point of your fickle icosahedral die, and be done with it. Stop prolonging the agony, or better yet, give me an "It is certain" or a simple "YES" every now and then, you smug ball of jackassedness.