Once the initial uproar over the killer bees has died down, attention will turn to the Virgo who placed them in the HVAC system. Plead no contest.
Stop complaining that no one cares if you live or die. It’s only half true.
Your frequent boasts of being a real lady-killer will finally gain some credence when an FBI forensics team digs up your backyard.
The stars would like to tell you about the naked ladies and the $50 billion in Nazi gold, but if you didn’t believe us about the dark stranger, you’ll never buy this.
Cancer has had a real hard time lately, what with Mrs. Cancer moving out and all, so why don’t you just decide your own damn destiny this week? Assholes.
You will take a long journey, half of it over water, the other half plunging down through the water in a mass of still-burning jet fuel and twisted aluminum.
In a nutshell: Everybody knows. They hate you for it. They’re absolutely right to feel that way. It will be born dead.
Your date with Dave will go swimmingly until the part in which the waiter turns out to be an escaped zoo monkey.
Christ Himself couldn’t save you from what Fate has in store for you this week, but it sure is nice that He showed up to tell you Himself.
You’ll have another one of “those dreams,” but at least this time you won’t wake up to find your pillow missing.
If someone says “the,” “a,” or “and” to you one more time, you’re gonna scream.
Pisces is getting the feeling that you never pay it any attention unless you want something.
