SWAKOPMUND, Namibia – Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have sold the rights to their baby’s first horoscope to Postcards from the Pug Bus, southeastern Pennsylvania’s leading satire site. According to NBC (Namibian Broadcasting Company), the seven-figure deal was hammered out entirely over the Internet without the principals ever meeting face to face. Ms. Jolie and Mr. Pitt-Jolie will donate the fee for the horoscope rights to the Namibian Astrological Society.
Said Ms. Jolie: “Although we have never met Phil Maggitti, the editor in briefs of Postcards from the Pug Bus, we were comfortable working with him and his staff, especially Chip Hilton, because the [crap] they make up about us better than the [crap] other people make up.”
“Damn right,” added Mr. Pitt-Jolie.
Because Ms. Jolie and Mr. Pitt-Jolie are determined to use only a Namibian dialect when they talk to their newborn child, they conveyed their baby’s Gemini horoscope, written by a local village chieftain, in Namibian. Postcards from the Pug Bus employed the best Namibian-to-English software to be had on the web, but the editor warns that there may have been something lost—or something gained—in translation.
The remainder of the horoscopes were written by Pugnacious, the Pug Bus’ astrological consultant. They are intended for educational purposes only; they are not meant to be entertaining, and their contents may have settled during transcription.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Your father has been making secret phone calls to his last wife. Sources familiar with the calls say they concern acts of cinematic cooperation or plans to make a lot of money together. Or was that acts that involve the exchange of money or plans to run away to a movie together? Either way, your father’s going to be in trouble if your mother finds out.
Cancer (6/22 – 7/22): Your birthstone is the guano. Your color is eggshell brown. Your power phrase is, “Beats me like a broken drum.” Before you set your gearshift for the high gear of your soul, make sure the clutch is engaged, your seat belt is in position, your air bags are functioning properly, your insurance is paid, and you’re wearing a clean loincloth.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Life is your karaoke tape for the nonce, and there isn’t a note you can’t hit. The sun only has eyes for you. The stars are your spotlights. All the jungle is your garden, and rain falls only when you’re not looking. This kind of run ought to be framed and put on a wall as a reminder of human potential. Enjoy.
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Your gregarious, talkative nature is both a blessing and a bane. It enables you to con people and to get away with murder, but by the same stars you are four times more susceptible to becoming addicted to idle gossip than is any other sign of the zodiac.
Libra (9/23 – 10/23): When your village chieftain consulted the salad entrails last night, two distinct faces emerged: Jerry Garcia’s and Martha Stewart’s. Obviously you are a trend setter, but terminal cognitive dissonance could erupt if either of those psyches were stuck in the other person’s body. The chieftain recommends inactivity and prayer—and a donation to the Namibian Museum of Psycho-Spiritual Reality.
Scorpio (10/24 – 11/21): You fear you were an unwanted child? You are doomed to lead a marginalized existence? You hate your hair texture? You have no moral compass? A cold, existential dread curdles your milk? What makes you say that, anyway? Remember, your daddy’s rich and your mamma’s good looking.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Sagittarians are ever the cynics. Always willing to believe it isn’t butter; that some people’s minds wouldn’t be a terrible thing to waste; and that maybe you don’t deserve a break today. That’s why Sagittarians are vulnerable to people who sell extended warranties on home appliances. Resist all such temptations.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): The harmonic investiture of the planets Currier and Ives suggests that you have something essential to prove. Could it be the First Law of Thermodynamics? The Pythagorean Theorem? That Tide really does get clothes whiter? In your quest for certitude, don’t overlook the obvious. The proof may be right there in the pudding.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Your ability to function without the aid of psychotropic drugs is severely compromised by an inclination toward acute Umberallis Prophylaxis: fear of going outside without the proper rainwear. Enroll in a Weather Channel support group fast. The incidence of Weather Channel addiction among Aquarians is eight times higher than in the general population.
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Seek shelter at once. Tax shelter, bomb shelter, shelter for the homeless, Shelter Island, it doesn’t matter. When the village chieftain drummed the numbers corresponding to your most significant planetary modulations into his Astrology for Idiots software, the screen went blank and up came the “fatal error” message.
Aries (3/21 – 4/19): There are four fixed signs in the zodiac, but yours isn’t one of them. You are scheduled for repairs, however, around the next Summer Cinemax. Meanwhile, as an unfixed sign you’re free to run with the status seekers. That beats going to day care at the offices of the Status Quo. Use this freedom indiscriminately.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): In the major planetary conjunction of 2006, the three planets closest to Earth will be in Taurus for the first time since the Beatles broke up. The next time this conjunction occurs a woman will be elected president. This has nothing to do with you, but ordinary life generally won’t.
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