Aries (March 21-April 19)

Aries, I told you last month that I would be receiving a sign for you soon. Now, after much divination and meditation, I can see that sign, and I’m afraid it says, "Free wings at Rocco’s, Happy Hour only—$2 dollar drink specials." The wings of your destiny appear to be barbecue in nature, and rather grease-laden and lukewarm after spending the last few hours on a steam table. And when you reach the stool of your reckoning, remember to ask for a lime with your watered-down rum and coke—the scag behind the bar tends to cut corners. Look to Saturn, Aries, and take a cab home.

  Taurus (April 20-May 20)

You’re a weird, stuck up asshole, Taurus. I don’t get it. I never did anything to you, but you still react to my presence in bars, restaurants and at other chance meetings by pretending I’m not there. I know you recognize me, bitch; what the hell is your deal? It makes me want to punch you in the back of the head that you seem to feel so superior to me. The only thing that holds me back is the satisfaction I derive from the knowledge that I jacked off into your face cream last night when I broke in to watch you sleep. Sweet dreams, Taurus.

  Gemini (May 21 –June 20)

Gemini, your vocal claims that corporations should not be taxed are a clear indicator that you are a twisted, hateful idiot. I can understand that the trauma of ostracization by members of the opposite sex and persecution by your peers can lead to a sensationalistically malevolent worldview, but it’s not the lower class’s fault that you were ridiculed by your peers, it’s yours. Besides, you live in Clarence, stupid. Your skewed assertion requires you yourself to pay more in payroll taxes, and is obviously motivated by a desire to draw any kind of attention whatsoever to yourself. You claim to hate liberals, but you are truly a wounded child, yearning for their acceptance and approval, and reflecting the scorn your self-hating paranoia projects upon them. Look to Mercury, Gemini, and then go there.

  Cancer (June 21-July 22)

Cancer, I know that things have been pretty rough for you monetarily of late, but trying to get a job as a stripper is not the answer. No, I’m not trying to say that it’s somehow immoral or shameful, or even that you could do better; quite the contrary, in fact. What I’m really trying to tell you, Cancer, is that you’re not exactly the delightful dish you imagine yourself to be. A healthy ego is a good thing, but you shouldn’t imagine yourself to be an irresistible temptress just because the lonely toothless losers down at the diner make rude comments as you walk past them with a pitcher of decaf. I’d actually bet that most of the patrons at The Booty Shack would probably be willing to pay a fee just to be spared the ghastly vision of your cellulite-ridden ass wobbling gracelessly before them. Look to Uranus, Cancer, and prepare to lower your expectations even further.

  Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)

I hate to tell you this, Leo, but your continued obsession with comic books is virtually ensuring that you will retain your virgin status well into middle age. Face it, the only people who think you’re cool are other sexually frustrated arrested development cases who wash their hair every couple of weeks and play fantasy role playing games online, where they can act like alpha males (or scantily-clad vixens) and not get ridiculed for it. They’re comic books, Leo, not really important art, and, while we’re at it, no girl over 11 is going to be turned on my your complete set of Star Wars cards, either. Look to Orion, Leo, and sell your John Byrne Fantastic Four collection.

  Virgo (Aug 23-Sept 22)

Christ, Virgo, why did you eat that acid? Now you’re going to be up all night, freaking out. What kind of impulsive idiot just throws 4 tabs of white blotter back with a whiskey sour twenty minutes before closing time? A drunk impulsive idiot, that’s what kind. Now you’ve got the bed-spins and the head-spins, and that cute goth chick you were gonna score with went home after you asked her to stop turning inside-out. It’s OK, Virgo, just relax and ride it out—you’ll just have to blow off lunch with your girlfriend’s parents tomorrow; she’ll get over it. Unplug your phone, Virgo, avoid mirrors, and keep reminding yourself that ceiling tiles can’t really talk.

  Libra (Sept 23 –Oct 22)

Libra, you shitbag, you said you would do the damn dishes yesterday. In fact, you said you would do them the day before that; and even the day before that. If you think you can get me to clean up after your disastrous attempt to make Peking duck, you’ve gotta be the most optimistic ketamine addict in history. You may not be bothered by the obscene stench wafting from the kitchen, but on the other hand I’m not particularly bothered by the idea of knocking your teeth down your throat with a baking sheet coated with rancid burned duck fat. Look to the classified section, Libra, because I’ve had it with your lazy ass.

  Scorpio (Oct 23-Nov 21)

My dear Scorpio, I would first like to say that I understand that you have never gone car shopping without bringing your dad along. His wealth of experience and minor expertise in automotive purchasing have served you pretty well throughout you life as a driver. First there was that great Corolla he found you for a song, and after that thing finally went, he negotiated a sweet deal on the old Accord that you’re still tooling around in. But your dad died last year, and that really means you can’t bring him along anymore. Digging him up was just wrong, Scorpio, and you shouldn’t be surprised to find yourself in restraints. Look to the moon, Scorpio; it’s the only thing you can see through your 3-inch plexiglass window anyway.

  Sagittarius (Nov 22 – Dec 21)

Sagittarius, I’m really confused and upset with you. You never return my calls, and you act like you don’t know me when you see me outside your house. Look, you’re the one who smiled and said "hi" to me last week at the bank—why would you lead me on that way if you were just going to send me mixed signals and play games like this? I know deep down you still care, Sagittarius, because you haven’t changed over to an unlisted number yet. Look to Venus, and consider deeply the purely symbolic nature of protection orders.

  Capricorn (Dec 22 – Jan 19)

Capricorn, I’m afraid your boyfriend isn’t going to make lunch with your folks today—he took three hits of LSD at 4:00am last night. Not only that, but the good-for-nothing jerk went home with a haggard, coked-up, painted skank who only escaped his sexual interest when he got distracted by the lines on his hand. He’s sitting at home right now, wrapped in a blanket, curling and uncurling his toes, watching "The Practice" and desperately clutching an orange. Don’t despair, Capricorn; now is the perfect time to brainwash him into a state of eternal remorse and atonement.

  Aquarius (Jan 20-Feb 18)

Aquarius, you are not actually paranoid. Rather, it is entirely true that everyone is out to get you. They’re all jealous, of course, because you are such a genius in every way. You grandeur, my Aquarian friend, is legendary among the vast array of exceedingly important people who secretly monitor your every word and though through invisible microphones and brainwave scanners, and is by no means delusional. The White House itself can scarcely make a move without checking to see what pearls of foreign policy wisdom may have fallen from your handsome lips this very morning in the shower. You are too smart and important to be allowed to stay alive, Aquarius, and I suggest that you run away and assume a completely different identity. As long as you don’t live across the street from me anymore, weirdo.

  Pisces (Feb 19-March 20)

Mis Piscis queridos, si los assholes podrían volar, usted sería la concordia. Usted es desprovisto del ética, o de cualquier grado del carácter moral. Mirada, Piscis, elasticidad justa detrás todos esos CDs usted estola del trabajo. ¡Usted incluso no tiene gusto de esas vendas! ¿Qué el infierno usted está pensando? Usted escucha apenas siempre la música en el país, de todas formas, y cuando usted hace es siempre ese álbum estúpido del sastre de James. ¿Qué usted necesita con un doble-disco o un amo vivo P del asesino? Esos individuos en el trabajo no son ricos, usted sabe. Usted tiene la llave, Piscis; ¡chivato justo adentro esta noche y puesto les detrás! Marqúela con tiza hasta una breve aberración. ¡No los lance hacia fuera, usted cobarde! Bien, lance fuera del álbum del oasis, usted no desean oír esa mierda otra vez.

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© 2004 The Beast