Scientists will be amazed when new quantum-radar technology reveals that most of the dense, fast-moving, fist-sized objects in the universe are headed straight for your testicles.
You’ll soon learn that “shit a brick” is not merely a colorful rural figure of speech, first through the efforts of your neighborhood pigeons and then from painful personal experience.
A relatively dark time lies ahead for Gemini, one which does not seem to be infused with all-corrupting evil but does contain a lot of moist little noises, whimpering, and half-heard big band music played on badly tuned AM radios.
The police will once again explain to you at length that while yes, being your district’s night-shift colon scraper is a dirty job, no one in fact has to do it.
As it turns out, having your car struck by a bolt of lightning won’t turn it into a sentient evil robot, but it will flesh-weld you to the parking officer you were fellating to avoid being ticketed.
Your cynical belief that people are easily led sheep who care only about big meals and furtive sex will cost you your fortune and your life, unless you realize how much they also love senseless violence.
You’ll squander whatever small goodwill you’ve won in the world when you attempt to cash in on your self-proclaimed status as The Helen Keller of People with No Sense of Smell.
The week will start off shaky for you when your town is hit by a 9.6 magnitude quake and get even worse on Thursday when you’re gang-raped by bikers in an incident that doesn’t lend itself well to a trite play on words.
Your spirit will finally be broken for all time when the latest L.L. Bean catalog does not contain a photo of puppies asleep in their signature Dog Bed.
You talk a good game, but when the pressure’s on, you’ll fold like a cheap tent, breaking all the bones in your body that lack the articulation of a cheap tent’s poles.
A routine appointment with a plastic surgeon turns epic when a scheduling error introduces you to the magnetic bedside manner of The Iron Surgeon and his Neodymium Nurses.
You suspect you’re finally going a little soft when you start enjoying the kind of pornography in which the pig lives.
