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 should pick their weed by terpene profile and THC level, not that stupid sativa-indica-hybrid shit.
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 Jay-Z is really a dick? In your quest for certitude, don’t overlook the obvious. The proof may be right there in the bowl you’re smoking, Skippy.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Your ability to function without the aid of psychotropic drugs is severely compromised by the onset of acute Umberallis Prophylaxis: fear of going outside without the proper rainwear. Should you enroll in a Weather Channel support group? Perhaps, but why not let a skunk be your umbrella on a rainy, rainy day?
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Seek shelter at once. Tax shelter, bomb shelter, shelter for the homeless, Shelter Island, it doesn’t matter. When we plugged the numbers corresponding to your most significant planetary modulations into out Astrology for Idiots software, the screen went blank and up came this “fatal error” message. Our advice: Smoke ’em if you got ’em, get some if you don’t, but never leave home without ’em.
Aries (3/21 – 4/19): There are four fixed signs in the zodiac, Killer, but yours ain’t one of them. As an unfixed, free-range sign, however, you’re free to run with the Heavy Hitters, if not the bulls. Use this freedom indiscriminately if you will, but remember: Only you can prevent panic attacks.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): In the major planetary conjunction of 2020, 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 black, lesbian tranny will be elected president. This has nothing to do with you, but life generally doesn’t. That’s why you smoke so much.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): You begin to fear that your Puffco Peak, a crap product if ever there was one, can read and record your thoughts. Sources at Puffco, what a gay name, tell us that you are obsessed with thoughts of violence against cats and of running away with the next door neighbor. Or did those sources says “acts of violence against the next door neighbor and running away with cats”? That’s why you should never trust a Puffco product.
Cancer (6/22 – 7/22): Your birthstone is the guano. Your color is eggshell brown. Your power phrase is, “Beats me.” Your favorite strain is Williams Wonder or some other sissy blend. Before you go setting 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 clean underwear.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Life is your karaoke tape, and there ain’t a note you can’t hit. The sun only has eyes for you. The stars are your spotlights. All the traffic lights are green, and rain falls only when you’re sleeping. You could smoke a blunt of Strawberry Cough all by yourself without coughing. This kind of run ought to be framed and put on a wall as a reminder of human potential. As that hairy-handed Chef John says, “Enjoy.”
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Your gregarious, talkative nature when you’re wasted is both a blessing and a bane. It enables you to take advantage of people right and left and to get away with murder, but by the same stars you are four times more likely to becoming addicted to computer chat rooms than is any other sign of the zodiac.
Libra (9/23 – 10/23): When we consulted the entrails of our McDonald’s Southwest Buttermilk Crispy Chicken Salad last night, two distinct faces emerged: Jerry Garcia’s and Martha Stewart’s, both were smoking Nevada Crowd Pleasers. 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. We recommend inactivity and prayer—and a donation to Jerry’s Kids.
Scorpio (10/24 – 11/21): You say you were an unwanted child? You lead a marginalized, meaningless existence? You hate your hair texture? You’re a Persian trapped in an alley cat’s body? You’ve lost your moral compass and your favorite roach clip? A cold, existential dread corrodes your dreams? What makes you say that, anyway? Haven’t you got anything good to say? Fuck off.
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