Your 17-song album of Cole Porter covers will only sell six copies, despite the fact that you are one of the world’s top 1,000 touch typists.
You will experience little this week, except for a mild feeling of paranoia and a niggling awareness of your own insignificance. Expect the next 2,115 weeks to be the same.
Strive for a sense of equilibrium. When someone asks you how you are doing, reply, “Oh, you know, I’ve been better, and I’ve been worse.”
Go a little bit crazy this week: Get liquored up on cheap vermouth, steal a tractor-trailer rig, and drive it around, steering with your feet.
Your boss takes you aside and gently points out a few things about your work which could use improving. Show him you understand by killing his children.
You will lose your life savings betting against the Vegas odds on your love life.
Resolve difficulties between feuding family members by inviting them over to your house for a roast. Everyone likes a nice roast.
Pluto’s presence in Scorpio is impossible to discern with the naked eye.
You will experience a profound awakening this week when a drunken Gemini driving a stolen tractor-trailer rig with his feet plows into your house at 3 a.m.
After a dry spell of 30 years, your sex life is revitalized this week by a group of masochistic wrestling cheerleaders, a skein of orange yarn, a rocking chair, and a Tesla coil.
You experience a nameless sense of dread when your mother fails to make her weekly “I never wanted you” phone call.
Fire and water magic are especially strong in Pisces this week. Cleanse your soul with a healthy, refreshing jet of high-pressure steam until your skin falls off in sheets.
