By this time next week, you’ll be suffering from altitude sickness, in danger of being arrested by the Bolivian government, and freshly divorced—all thanks to a bar bet you’ll sorely regret having made.
Not that anyone asked you, but if you were designing the world’s biggest jetliner, you would’ve put some sort of flat surface under the passenger cabin, for people to stand on.
Not hitting your shots and a weak zone defense aren’t just why your team is losing in the playoffs, it’s why the Centralized Space Command will surrender to the Uranus Allied Forces this Thursday.
You may be proud of it, but it might not be such a good thing that you’ve earned an Emmy for Outstanding Participation in Television Consumption.
If you’d only learned to exercise patience, those caterpillars you’ve been vomiting up all week would’ve had a chance to become lovely stomach butterflies.
You’ll be well along the path to a lifetime of happiness when the rap-metal single you cut in 1997 resurfaces.
You’ll be reported missing in Afghanistan this week, which just goes to show how far you’re willing to go to avoid calling Greg back.
All right, Scorpio is going to say this for the last fucking time: With an apostrophe, it means “it is” and without an apostrophe, it means “belonging to it.” This is really not that hard.
You’ve been struggling to find a way to tell that special someone you love her, so keep in mind that someone of your species usually displays his tail plumage and excretes musk.
Certainly, the praying mantis is a fearsome-looking creature, but up until this week, you never imagined what thousands of them working together could do to an infant.
Those who don’t remember the past are, of course, doomed to repeat it, which is exactly why you drink until you lose your memory every single Thursday.
The stars foresee a lot of sorrow and tribulation in your life that, when viewed from their distant stellar perspective, seems insignificant and barely worth mentioning.
