The interesting thing about your future isn’t its extreme brevity, but how many angry, drunken Cossacks it holds.
In your explanation to the EMTs, you get no further than the part where you were “just trying to get the badger back into the mason jar.”
Mercury ascends briefly in Taurus this week but then suddenly disappears when the sun explodes.
It’s not easy to sit up in the sky and tell the people of the world their fortunes. That’s why the stars have been imagining them in their underwear lately.
Your life will be imbued with a deep sadness this week, but you’ll be able to ignore it as usual.
You will have plenty of time to reflect on the vagaries of modern capitalism while being dragged behind a Learjet by your tie next week.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with you that a miraculous breakthrough in the treatment of post-metastasized brain tumors couldn’t cure.
Happily, that person you met over the Internet will turn out to be a kind, personable, well-balanced individual.
This week, you will provide a good example of what happens to people who undertip funeral directors.
Sure enough, if you drive the ice-cream truck backwards, it plays “Pop Goes The Weasel” backwards, too. See how fast you can play it backwards!
If someone tells you that whales are not fish but aquatic mammals one more time, you’re going to kill somebody.
That’s it: Pisces isn’t going to do any more horoscopes for you unless you start showing some damn appreciation.
