Don’t worry your pretty little head about next week’s events. Instead, worry your pretty little arms, your pretty little legs, and that pretty little spine of yours about it.
The stars would love to give you some relationship advice, but then, they’re still quite tired from having all that sex with your wife.
You’ll be honored this week by the prestigious Academy Of Just Handing These Damn Things Out To Whoever’s Around.
They say animals can often sense an earthquake moments before it strikes, which explains why so many of them are smiling at you right now.
A premature and rather curious birth this week will bring new meaning to the idiom “all thumbs.”
Your coworkers are beginning to tire of your lame excuses. Although, to be fair, that’s really your plumber’s fault.
Looking back on it now, letting Sam Peckinpah direct your home movies was probably a big mistake.
Note: This week’s horoscope has been classified by the CIA due to a series of national security concerns. The constellation Scorpio has already been detained.
You’ve never felt comfortable with math or science, which makes complete sense, as the two disciplines molested you as a child.
The judge will sentence you to three weeks of community service work at a nearby park, which is exactly what you were doing when the cops picked you up.
Low-Risk Mutual Funds and Tax-Exempt Municipal Bonds might seem like a safe bet. But then, picking a racehorse based solely on its name is never the way to go.
Remember: Spring is a time of renewal and rebirth. Barricade the door to your goddamn basement before it arrives.
