Libra
(Sept 23 –Oct 22)
Libra,
I’m going to let you in on a little secret I discovered
while adjusting my astral charts the other day—Hurricane
Katrina was all your fault. Yes, I know it sounds hard to
believe, but do you remember saying last month how you hoped
some catastrophic meteorological event would hit America
and wake us all up about global warming? Well, it turns
out that the spirits were listening to you for the first
time in your life, and decided to grant your wish—the
first half anyway. So remember, it’s not the Mayor’s
fault—its’ your fault.
Scorpio
(Oct 23-Nov 21)
Trust
me, Scorpio; Mardi Gras wasn’t really all that great
anyway. It was sort of like Spring Break, but with better
music and architecture. All the roads were blocked off,
and the entire French Quarter invaded by brainless binge-drunk
jarnecks on an infantilist quest to see boobies, when really
all of the fun is in the touching of the boobies. Basically,
it was kinda cool if you’d never been there, and hung
out with the weirdos on Decatur Street instead of the conformist
touristy types on Bourbon, but if you lived there, Mardi
Gras was a grade-A pain in the ass. Losing Jazz Fest sucks,
though…
Sagittarius
(Nov 22 – Dec 21)
Sagittarius,
I know I should have made more of an effort to contact you
after the flood, but I guess I just knew you were smart
enough to leave town when the Mayor issues a mandatory evacuation
order. I’m having some guilt about it, though. I couldn’t
remember your mom’s last name, but I could’ve
looked up your dad when I tried to call you and got “Due
to the hurricane, the number you have reached….”
Oh well, I’ve never been good at keeping in touch.
I’m glad you’re okay, though—if you were
dead, I really would have felt guilty.
Capricorn
(Dec 22 – Jan 19)
Capricorn,
stop instant messaging me for no reason. What do you think
people do on computers anyway? Do you imagine me just sitting
there, staring at the screen, yearning to hear that stupid
“beedeloo” noise? Nein! I am working, or reading,
or wanking to free porn—in other words, I am busy.
If you have a question, or some info for me, or even a sexy
proposition, by all means interrupt me. But “I am
sooo bord” just isn’t good enough. Begone, IM
vixen and your silly noise!
Aquarius
(Jan 20-Feb 18)
Aquarius,
do you realize that a Colorado charity was offering New
Orleans refugees entire houses and jobs in Colorado for
free? They were there for two weeks, and got 32 takers altogether.
32. How sucky does a state have to be that people are like,
“no thanks, the free house sounds pretty good but
I’m gonna stay here in the feces-spattered stadium
with these 20,000 other people and their screaming children.”
Maybe if you drive real fast you can sneak into the Astrodome
and get in on the deal.
Pisces
(Feb 19-March 20)
We’re
sure you’re right, Pisces, and global warming has
nothing to do with the strength and frequency of these hurricanes…and
evolution is an anti-Christian plot to make you think too
hard. And babies come from storks. And gramma’s in
a better place now… the Mississippi, because her mausoleum
got washed out in the flood.
Aries
(March 21-April 19)
Seriously,
Aries, it’s time to stop masturbating so much. Don’t
get me wrong—I’m as likely as any psychic astrologer
to clobber the cannon at least once before lunch, but—dude,
seriously stop it, that’s gross while I’m talking
to you. Don’t gimme that “I’ve got an
itch” bullshit, I’m psychic, remember? Just
give me a minute here; put your hands on the table. Now
look: I’m not saying you should quit altogether, because
chances are you’ll wind up killing someone within
days. Just, you know, to alleviate the chafing, maybe allow
yourself to get horny enough to rediscover your interest
in two-person sex—which, despite the hassle, can really
be a lot better. Hey, what did I tell you—stop that!
Oh well, I tried, Aries.
Taurus
(April 20-May 20)
Well
Taurus, I guess we won’t be seeing the Rebirth Brass
Band at the Maple Leaf again for quite some time, if ever.
But we can still get together and blow sometime. Congratulations
on the Emmy, dick.
Gemini
(May 21 –June 20)
Gemini,
stop pretending you voted in the primary. I have consulted
the cosmos and I have discovered that you spent the entire
day driving to and from Friendly’s to get a strawberry
fribble, and then watching several episodes of “West
Wing,” secretly pretending that the characters are
your friends, and you’re banging Allison Janney. Dude,
I can see it, I guess, but she kind of looks like a basset
hound, you know? It’s all about the lighting with
her, I guess. But back to the other thing—how ironic
that you escape into fantasies of good government instead
of doing your part to make it a reality! Maybe if Josh Lyman
was running for mayor, you’d vote, but probably not,
you lazy ape.
Cancer
(June 21-July 22)
All
I want is a pack of Winstons and a cold coffee beverage,
Cancer; why must you buy so many scratch-off lottery tickets?
Can’t you buy them all at once? Don’t you know
why they call it ‘stupidity tax?’ And what the
hell is wrong with the cashier? Can’t he see the injustice
of making people who just want to buy stuff and leave wait
for some gambling addicted, mathematically challenged midget
to get his risk-related endorphin rush on in the most inappropriate
way since Russian Roulette? If you’re going to run
a casino for losers, at least put a room in the back and
maybe serve opium.
Leo
(July 23-Aug. 22)
Leo,
eat something, for Christ’s sake. You were really
cute a year or two ago, but now you’re a goddamn clothes
hanger. Not hot, Leo. Gradually, I’ve watched your
wonderful tits and ass disappear, until now your shoulder
blades are you torso’s most prominent feature. What
makes it worse, I never got to touch them…T&A
I mean; I’m afraid I would cut myself on you now.
I liked your hair better red, too.
Virgo
(Aug 23-Sept 22)
Virgo,
I don’t know what your problem is, but if I don’t
finish this soon, we’re going to miss our deadline.
You know I love you, babe, but what can I say? I’m
just going to keep on typing over here until it looks like
I wrote a paragraph of humorous Gonzo horoscope-type material.
I don’t get paid much anyway; what are they gonna
do? Besides, these guys are stupid enough to think this
was some kind of hipster-ironic pose, not an honest-to-goodness
act of desperation. Lucky numbers: 928392829382939, 00001001010101010,
72%
