You’ll once again get into a public shouting match at an upscale bistro over what is and is not in fact gangsta.
An in-depth study will reveal that, contrary to popular belief, bedbugs are great and you are the problem.
Somehow it just seems unfair that several famous people will make hundreds of dollars after picking you for next week’s Mundane Individual Dead Pool.
Nothing of note will happen to you this week, as the dozens of people you’ll tell about it will be able to attest.
Venus rising in your sign this week sounds like a welcome harbinger of romantic good tidings but the Zodiac assures you it’s merely decorative.
The largest meteorite ever to hit a person was about 45 pounds, making you a posthumous shoo-in for the record next Wednesday.
The universal red shift indicates that the stars are flying away from us at astounding velocities. Perhaps it is more accurate to say “from you.”
The stars are tired of politely nodding when you say you’re single because you’re “too picky.” Put down the fork and pick up the soap, dammit.
They say God never gives us more than we can handle, which must mean He knows a way you can handle a swarm of hyperagressive Africanized bees.
Before making any important business decisions next week, ask yourself if you’re using the same decision-making criteria that sent you to prison.
You’ll undergo the kind of stress that would break a lesser woman and which will cause whatever kind of woman you are to shatter into a coarse powder.
Your dreams will all come true next week, including the ones you have thus far mercifully forgotten on waking.
