You’ll be at the center of a gay-rights battle this week when you try to claim partnership benefits from both your lesbian and heterosexual marriages.
This week, you’ll be living proof that one man can make a differenceóat least to the owners of Lucky Lucy’s All-U-Can-Eat Buffet.
It’ll be a nuisance wearing the Nielsen box on your head all week, but at least you’ll find out that your viewership goes up when you’re fighting or having sex.
Your dream of operating your own karaoke bar is shattered when you discover, on opening night, that you need to let others sing, too.
Once again, you are relegated to being the one who causes the distraction while someone else gets to sneak past in the confusion and save the girl.
It’s all over but the shouting, but don’t worry: It’s going to be great shouting.
You will learn the hard way that climbing a mountain isn’t the kind of thing to do drunk. But you promised.
The name “The Stripper Murderer” looms large in your future. Apparently, you’ll either murder some strippers or be murdered by one.
When resolving office conflicts, remember the wisdom of Mahatma Gandhi: If enough peasants die horribly, someone will probably notice.
You will find yourself living out the lyrics to a popular song, sort of, when love slaps you down where you belong.
Events will soon come to pass which will brand you forever as “the kind of guy who doesn’t freak out if you shit in his stove.
The stars, without giving too much away, think there has never been a better time to stay home and avoid all galactic-adventure sci-fi movies.
