Time to start thinking outside the box. If life gives you lemons, why not make filet of sole with a lemon-wedge garnish? If the chickens come home to roost, get out the Shake ‘n’ Bake. Who cares for whom the damn bell tolls anyway? Let the answering machine get it.
Dyslexia Major begins an extended passage through your moon’s tiny house this week. As a consequence, you may experience reading difficulties until next month. Nevertheless, for reasons that we cannot reveal, you stand a chance of being the first person born under your sign on an odd-numbered Thursday to become famous.
Someone will come to your door this week dressed as Elon Musk, trying to sell you an electric garlic peeler. Failing that, he’ll try to sell you ginseng hair dye or his latest product, Interdenominational Hemorrhoid Salve. If he asks to use your bathroom, ask him if he carries Drano.
A person with a birthmark in the shape of Croatia in middle of her forehead will ask your advice about a personal matter. If your Neiman Marcus catalog doesn’t yield a solution, wave your arms, stand on one foot, and shout, “What the hell do you think I am, psychic?”
Now is not the time. For anything. Your planets look as tatty as Lincoln’s before he went to the theater, as JFK’s before the trip to Dallas, as the Buffalo Bills’ before all four Super Bowls combined. A food taster would not be a bad idea. Forget realizing your potential. Sometimes the good life consists in merely surviving.
The embarrassing rash that kept you indoors all last moth should be gone by now, and that problem with lingering incontinence should be much better, too. Life takes a turn for the paranoid, however, when you hear that the large surly guy who just moved in down the street is in the witness protection program.
The dating service you contacted suggests that you are best suited for the companionship of a significant other bearing a sticker that says, “Intel Inside.” The next time you go looking for love in one of those fee-based places, be sure to check the box that reads, “Same-species partner preferred.”
Will you learn to harness your psychic powers in the service of world peace, the pursuit of a cure for congenital disease, or the acquisition of free cable service? Choose wisely. What does it profit a man if he lives in a peaceful world but can’t afford the premium channels?
Migraines can be triggered by an excess of cute magnets on the refrigerator door, by leaving the Christmas lights up too long, or by leftovers in the refrigerator that begin to growl. Growl back, Skippy. Take control of your environment. A house is not a home simply because it’s cluttered.
While you’re channel surfing during a thunderstorm, the remote is struck by a bolt of lightning that scrambles your five senses. You subsequently discover that a rose by any other taste looks like F sharp above middle C. Worse yet, you can’t get anything but the cooking channels on television.
Don’t open e-mail with “Harpo” in the subject line. You’ll unleash the overbearing Oprah virus, which randomly changes the size of your executable files. The threat of the Oprah virus is proof that you should look a gift horse in the mouth—especially if it gives you a new car.
If the enemy of your enemy is your friend, is your friend’s friend your enemy? Or are you simply being paranoid? Don’t make any decisions unless you begin getting calls from a sinister, foreign-sounding man who identifies himself as Al Ninyo. Then let your imagination and your feet run wild.
The things that turn you on turn on you. When you go for a drive, you notice the following sticker: “Objects seen in the rearview mirror may not be real.” Observe the speed limit for the time being and resist the temptation to think of yourself in the third person.
Your request to change your birth date legally so that it coincides with the Aztec calendar turns the worldwide judicial community on its briefs. Bill Gates likes the idea, however, and promptly releases Windows 8736 with a screen saver in which his face morphs into that of the Sun God.
Your request to change your birth date legally so that it coincides with the Aztec calendar turns the worldwide judicial community on its briefs. Bill Gates likes the idea, however, and promptly releases Windows 8736 with a screen saver in which his face morphs into that of the Sun God.
The dual-action hair-growth-facilitator-and-mood-enhancer on sale at wegotyourdrugs.com provides a whimsical subtext to your cosmic narrative. The site’s motto — “No doctors, no questions, no waiting” — appeals to your propensity for self-medication. Read the instructions carefully, however, or you might wind up bearing an unfortunate resemblance to that Peter Dinklage.
Clothes and garden tools figure prominently in your future. Therefore, we recommend that you purchase The Seers’ Catalog. It contains dressing and cross-dressing advice and lawn-care techniques that wizards have used to gain wealth and prosperity for centuries. It also contains discount coupons, a decoder ring, and easy-to-assemble 3-D glasses.
Your lawsuit against the Fowl Weather Friend Corporation, Ltd over a malfunctioning pop-up thermometer in an oven-roaster chicken comes to trial at last. The proceedings are badly compromised, however, when a copy of Jury Selection for Dummies falls from your lawyer’s pocket as she’s making her way into the courtroom.
Troubled by your lack of a formal education, you enroll in Degrees for Dollars, a virtual university that awards degrees based on life experiences. After reviewing your application, the dean’s council votes to grant you a Bachelor of Arts in Compromising Positions, providing you allow them to keep the pictures.
Your financial prospects are so wretched you could only afford the new George Foreman heavyweight grill on a time-sharing arrangement with a family that’s overly fond of roadkill. Later in the month a 300-pound canary named Junior will raise the specter of duality, adjectives, and Hegel’s dialectic in your mind.
Half your current dilemma—the benign half—is occasioned by the fact that yours is the only sign of the zodiac that . . . Your other problems stem from a reverse case of attention deficit disorder: People have trouble paying attention to you. A prosthetic runny nose should serve to focus their attention.
You’ll met your soulmate during an all-night session in a Gavin Newsome chat room. Before flying to San Francisco for decaf latte and Ecstasy with this individual, ask yourself whether it’s someone to revere or just another preternatural smile looking for a toothpaste ad to sink its gleaming teeth into.
Time to start thinking outside the box. If life gives you lemons, why not make filet of sole with a lemon-wedge garnish? If the chickens come home to roost, get out the Shake ‘n’ Bake. Who cares for whom the damn bell tolls anyway? Let the answering machine get it.
Normally steadfast and true, you suddenly grapple with the simplest choices. Real or synthetic tree? Sausage or vegetable stuffing? Hang mistletoe on your belt for the Christmas party? Surender your iron will to irony. Sometimes the best decisions are those that make you laugh the hardest.
You put the arse in arsenal. Quick of wit, quixotic of charm, you can turn the most mundane situations into full-on clusterbombs. You mustn’t dominate conversations, however, because the gift of gab isn’t the gift that keeps on giving if the receiver can’t get a word in edgewise.
In a recurring (or is it reoccurring) dream, your adoptive (or is it adopted) child will insure (or is that ensure) your health and prosperity if you observe an upcoming festal (or it that festive) occasion–and if you finally learn the rules governing the use of that and which.
The embarrassing rash that kept you indoors most of December should be gone by now, and that problem with lingering incontinence should be much better, too. Life takes a turn for the paranoid, however, when you hear that the large surly guy who just moved in down the street is in the witness protection program.
