Your life will continue pretty much as it always has.
The mystical power of numerology makes itself apparent this week when your phone-psychic bill inexplicably turns out to be equal to the number of minutes you spent talking multiplied by $3.95.
Give yourself a special treat this week. Kill your mother. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
You will enjoy a financial windfall this week. Be circumspect in spending this money, however, or the PTA will get a new treasurer.
Because of budgetary cutbacks, your horoscope will be the same as Virgo’s until further notice.
Though the mystical force of the harmonious alignment of the stars promises a fruitful aura-vibration for you this week, the forces of physics have arranged for you to die in a tragic bus accident.
Whatever compassion or sympathy once motivated people to tolerate you will soon disappear.
Your cats will be ostracized when the neighbor who finds you dead in your house tells everyone how they ate your ears.
The stars have noted that you are still single. They find this to be hilarious. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Do not let your life be controlled by your profound hatred of Cloris Leachman. Instead, focus and feed off your profound hatred of yourself.
Do not worry too much about the recent legislation making love a crime. Even if they manage to take you alive, no jury in the world would ever find you guilty.
Though
