You will discover this week that you are 1/64th Chippewa. Honor your ancient ancestors by discovering a use for every single part of the burrito.
You will fail to keep your New Year’s resolution to ignore meaningless holidays and arbitrary personal decisions.
A vision of Christ will appear before you, page through His Heavenly Book Of Geminis, read your chapter to Himself, and disappear laughing.
You will make
Unfortunately, Leo has been pre-empted this week by impeachment coverage.
In a strange example of either Kafka-esque existential horror or your profound idiocy, you will be horrified to discover you have suddenly sprouted a second arm
The Publishers Clearinghouse Prize Patrol will cruelly prank you this week by presenting you with an enormous novelty check for 63 cents.
Your near-illiteracy and slavish devotion to ’70s retro kitsch cause you to shock and disturb your friends when you unveil your new Pet Cock.
Investigators from several federal bureaus will ultimately concur that the failure of an 89-cent O-ring caused you to explode over Florida.
Your innocent inquiry regarding the origin of the term “panhandler” incites three bums to beat you to death with cast-iron skillets.
When you stated last week that “nothing can stop me now,” you apparently forgot about syphilis.
Your fascination with the Vietnam War, combined with your love of romance novels and vampire myths, cause you to produce the worst work of fiction ever.
