There will be just one major event in your life this week, but it will probably be both embarrassing and fatal.
The tragic events of this week teach you that there’s more to being in a convoy than screaming the lyrics to “Convoy” while driving your Miata.
Your fear that the CIA is controlling your mind is quelled when you receive a soothing mental transmission from agency director George J. Tenet.
The stars say that very little will happen to you involving horse-drawn carts, the solution to Fermat’s last theorem, or the Swiss consulate. Perhaps the stars are playing it a little safe this week.
Your suspicion that your spouse has been sexually active with other men deepens when you wake up in the middle of the night to find a dozen sated, sweaty longshoremen in bed with you both.
Your date with that rich, good-looking executive will go fine until he notices that your legs are cheap, plastic imitations.
You will soon encounter a philosophical message on a T-shirt or bumper sticker that will change your life.
If it is your birthday this week, you have only been pretending to be a Scorpio. Shame on you! Shame!
Conventional wisdom says that no one ever died of a broken heart, but there has never been anything remotely conventional about you.
You will die unhappy and dissatisfied after failing to discover why Oliver Twist isn’t in the final third of Dickens’ book of the same name.
Your astrological sign indicates that primitive people once assigned anthropomorphic shapes to the stars.
Your new co-worker is secretly plotting against you. Beware—if she finds out you are actually a vampire, all is lost.
