Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Your sun is in Leo, which could portend trouble because it’s supposed to be in Albuquerque. Leo’s son, meanwhile, has just confessed his love for his stepmother, who is being blackmailed by a mysterious, talkative gentleman named Jack Herer, who threatens to make public the details of Leo’s son’s stepmother’s affair with Leo’s dealer. Pictures at 11:00.
Libra (9/23 – 10/23): Myopic, yet insightful; quiescent, yet dynamic; honest, yet mendacious, you are the magnet that proves the opposites-attract, hybrid theory. Others more single-minded than you may find you confusing, but you should make great company for yourself and your favorite hybrid, Gelato. Settle down with your favorite double acrostic, order in, and prepare to stay blissfully at home, at least until the fall equinox.
Scorpio (10/24 – 11/21): If the enemy of your enemy is your friend, does this mean that your friend’s friend is your enemy? Or are you simply being paranoid from too much Sour Diesel? Don’t make any decisions unless you begin getting calls from a foreign-sounding man who breathes heavily into the phone and identifies himself as Al Ninyo. Then let your imagination and your feet run wild.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): You say everyone but your creditors and your parole officer forgot your birthday? Don’t let other people’s selfish preoccupations with their lives spoil the party. Send yourself an anonymous e-mail, agree to meet the sender for dinner, and don’t be shy about giving it up on the first date. If you don’t have a birthday this week, send an anonymous birthday card and an eighth of Sour Mango to someone who does. It’s better to be a gift horse than a horse’s ass.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Capricorns suffer from automonosis—the tendency to become bored with one’s own company. If you hanker to get away from yourself, here’s a tip: you don’t have to die in order to be reincarnated. If you don’t like who you are, become somebody else. There are companies that advertise in the backs of magazines that will help you. The Dark Web is also a place where you can “be yourself.”
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): The oracles at Delphi, Microsoft, and Graceland suggest that any major decisions you make in the near term be guided by the following maxim: Half a blunt is better than none only when the sum of the hypotenuse is greater than or equal to the hexadecimal value of burnt orange. If you must color your world, color it something that doesn’t clash with your aura, which runs to earth tones. Anything red—be it wine, underwear, or meat—could be misinterpreted by those closest to you, including yourself.
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Pisces are ruled by the buttocks, the seat of all power. Their gemstone is porcelain, their favorite time of day is right after meals, and they prize regularity above all other virtues. Pisces’ need to get to the bottom of an issue and their tendency to go it alone make them excellent research scientists.
Aries (3/21 – 4/19): According to the Lil Nas X Random Actuarial Profile, where “10” equals “dead-bolt cinch” and “0” equals “dead in the water,” your critical numbers for this week are: communicable disease, 8; grace under fire, 3; meets the criteria, 2; plays well with others, 1; inappropriate response 9; soils bed clothes, 6; coughs up a lung 7, cannot recommend for advancement, 8.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Like most Taurans you are a sniveling complainer, unable to get your mind around the fact that we are all responsible for our own karma. Perhaps the mess that is your present life is but your last request from a previous existence. Try to discover what you were smoking then, why you were executed in that existence, and what your first requests were.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Your sex life is a shareware program about to expire. One-size-fits-all gloves don’t come in your size. If dreams took human form, yours would be wearing toe tags. The planets, the traffic lights, every terpene known to man, even the local Salvation Army band will line up against you. Have you insulted one of the mothers of the gods recently or what?
Cancer (6/22 – 7/22): Your financial prospects are so wretched you could only afford the new George Foreman heavyweight grill on a time-sharing arrangement with a family that’s overly fond of ditch weed. Later in the month a three-hundred-pound canary named Lemon G will raise the specter of duality, adjectives, and the Hegelian dialectic in your mind.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): After a twelve-course Chinese dinner, you switch fortune cookies with the person next to you when she isn’t looking. When she opens “her” cookie, she grins happily. Several weeks later you learn that she has won a million dollars in the lottery. Meanwhile, the cookie that you opened said, “That wasn’t really pork,” and you haven’t been able to find your stash for three days
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