The day is here for you to fulfill the prophecy, Taurus. You must use all your brain power and your charming sass-mouth to build the world a watermelon piano. I don’t know how, I don’t know why, I just know it is your destiny, and that in days to come, future men wearing silver space suits, with pants that look silly to us, but are actually quite stylish in their time, will sing elaborate songs of your efforts, which will be entirely composed on the instrument of your invention: the watermelon piano.
The fashion world is buzzing today. Can you hear it, my darling Scorpio? It sounds like pasta being murdered with a broad sword by a man wearing the bottom half of a two-person horse costume. The word on the street is that collar bone decorations are majorly IN. If you wanna be ahead of the pack on this one, you better get on it quick. Slather your CBs in yellow paint, whale placenta, or pet rocks, and watch all the poor Johnny-Come-Latelys drool with jealousy.
Things are heating up, Libra. Summer is here, and you know what that means: It’s time again to pour hydrochloric acid on every single article of clothing you own that isn’t a tube top. If you don’t own any tube tops, then it’s worth asking yourself how you have made it this far in life. But I guess that’s not the point. Right now, you are having a fashion emergency, and someone needs to drive you to the nearest Forever 21, and FAST! After a lively 80s montage of trying on various tube tops, you will invariably settle on the fabulous blue-sequined one, and then your life can truly begin.
Newspapers are a dying breed, Cancer, just like your strange belly button issues, and thank Jebus for that. Now that’s the good news. The bad news is that a race of renegade giraffes have taught themselves how to breathe fire, like their dragon ancestors and they have begun to rain terror down upon the civilized world, in an attempt to destroy you personally. I think one time you made a joke about one of their cousins in a zoo and they are still pissed. If I were you, Cancer, I’d hide in someone’s laundry hamper until the airforce bombs the crap out of these wretched mutant freaks and we can get back to our TV dinners.
If you want my opinion, Virgo, Lindsay Lohan is the most promising young actor and role model of our time. She is a festering cesspool of raw talent and hair. I predict that she will bag a Best Actress Oscar any day now. What I’d like you to do, Virgo, is to sit up and take notice. Make a concerted effort to emulate the Lohan, our shining beacon of glorious glory. (Did you know she paints breath-taking watercolors that would make your dead grandmother weep tears of baby oil?) Walk the Lohan path, Virgo, and watch the tides of sparkle vomit roll in to bless you.
If you want to get ahead, Aquarius, it’s simple: Be Rich. ”But how?” you ask? I’ve found that the easiest way is to adopt an army of dogs from the SPCA and train them to rob unsuspecting old people. You don’t even have to feel bad about it, because having no money will take them back to a simpler time, when all a man needed to get by was a little elbow grease, some dental floss, a handful of pine needles, and a nickel’s worth of dreams about sassy dolphins. You’ll actually be doing them a favor.
It’s time for a vacation, Capricorn. Watching the creepy old man across the street wash his car with Crystal Pepsi is no longer enough. You need to get away. I recommend a nice hitchhiking expedition into the bowels of America. See how far into the middle of nowhere you can get, while still remaining alive at the end of the trip. Bonus if you are picked up by a stranger with a hook for a hand. If you achieve this bonus, I recommend a nice sunset freeze frame high five in silhouette. When you reach the velcro factory in Elbow, Alabama, your vay-cay will strike 12 and you will turn back into a delicious pumpkin.
Listen up, Aries! Quit being an elegant goat knuckle salad and clean up your act, stupid. You’ve been spending way too much time on your cell phone and it’s turning you into a weeping mess of shame and severed barbie doll heads. If you want my advice, it might be time to pull the metaphorical plug. (Metaphorical because cell phones don’t have plugs. Duh.) From now on, limit your cell usage to 6 and three quarter hours of phone calls a day, and no more than 800 texts. Do this, and savor your liberation. You’re welcome.
How’s that rash, Gemini? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You shouldn’t have rubbed your face on that waiter’s necktie. But hey, don’t get your bees in a bumble. We all get weird stuff on our face places from time to time. All you need to do is mix together equal portions of cool mint mouth wash and Island Splash Summer’s Eve, and then apply the concoction to your face 12 and a half times daily. Stay on this regimen, and your rash will turn into a glorious suntan in no time flat.