An Arkansas vacation-planning kit will soon arrive in your mailbox, even though you didn’t request one, aren’t planning a vacation, and, like most people, hate Arkansas.
The stars are aware of your wish to shake it, but they warn you not to break it, as it took your mama nine months to make it.
A bump in life’s road causes you to lose control of life’s car and spin out of control, careening off life’s cliff and into life’s rocky valley below, where the car bursts into life’s flames.
Under no circumstances should you take no for an answer this week. You’ll wind up in jail or hospitalized, but the stars will have fun watching.
After developing a form of psychosis, you will become convinced you’re Napoleon and conquer half of Europe before the British stop you next week.
You’ll spend the rest of your life experiencing a painful kind of celebrity as you burn to death over a period of 37 years.
Hotei, the Buddha of epicureanism, challenges you to a pie-eating contest, which you will, of course, lose. Also, the pies are surprisingly mediocre.
Your name will become synonymous with financial success when you have it legally changed to Rich Wealthy.
Scientists say the universe will end in a state of heat death, which makes the giant stuttering cartoon pig’s announcement that much more of a surprise.
You will continue having problems establishing meaningful, non-strangling relationships with men well into your 40s.
Your recent visit to the hospital to entertain sick children is a nice gesture, but they scream themselves senseless upon seeing you again.
It appears that this is your year at last, and it is—especially the “at last” part.
