You claim to be a champion of truth and beauty, but you still can’t name three poems by Dean Young.
You will soon embark on a long journey over water by night, which will be extremely romantic until you figure out how low the pilot is flying.
This week, you’ll gain employment in a strange office in which everyone is happy, no one makes irritating small talk about reality TV, and the work is challenging and rewarding.
Your life will be cut tragically short next week by the untimely discovery that your breadmaker can also be used to make doughnuts.
Love flickers, love fades, and love can gutter and die, but love is still better than those fucking compact fluorescent bulbs.
Future archaeologists will find your desiccated skeleton exactly where you starved, midway between two 64-ounce bags of Bugles.
You may be heartbroken, but you can no more stop him from leaving than you can stop the toaster from falling into your bathtub Thursday.
It’s time you learned to treat people as individuals instead of mathematically predictable members of an aggregate set, no matter how well that works.
On a dark night this week, the men in lab coats will once more come for you, but it’s just because they left one of their lab coats at your place last time.
The stars had something important to tell you, but California’s gay- marriage ban was just overturned so they’re going to get drunk and go dancing instead.
They thought they had you pegged. They thought they could screw you over and you’d just take it lying down. They were wrong. You’re thrashing about in ecstasy like a crazy person. It’s a little freaky.
Your life will continue on pretty much the way it always has.
