LONDON – (Editor’s Note) After waiting nearly four decades, Paul McCartney has learned to his dismay that the answers to the questions he posed when the Beatles released “When I’m Sixty-Four” are all no. Not to be undone, however, by the realization that no significant other will be sending him birthday greetings or a bottle of wine today, the Cute Beatle took time out from doing bong hits on his farm in Scotland, where he is writing his first rap album, to send Postcards from the Pug Bus this exclusive horoscope.
Gemini (5/21-6/21): Gemini is one vowel short of imagine, which I now wish I had written instead of “When I’m Sixty-Four.” This should not keep other Geminis from announcing that the best way to solve the looming gasoline shortage is by turning the clocks ahead two hours next spring. Europeans, at least, will think the plan has some merit, which is only one consonant short of metric.
Cancer (6/22-7/22): Increased zinc in your diet causes you to have a recurring nightmare in which you were duped into marrying someone who starred in a pornographic remake of Bedtime for Bonzo in which Mike Tyson starred as Bonzo.” The nightmare finally stops when Tyson is sent back to prison for head-butting the queen during a nationally televised Boxing Day parade.
Leo (7/23-8/22): I learned recently that one of the psychic “hostesses” at the Kenny Kingston website is someone with the initials HMM who walks with a limp. Because Leos are infamously susceptible to bogus advice, they are warned to ignore any recommendation from her that includes fasting or unisex bathrooms or humming “Ebony and Ivory” while having sex.
Virgo (8/23-9/22): Your request to change your birth date legally so that it coincides with the Aztec calendar turns the worldwide judicial community on its briefs. Bill Gates likes the idea, however, and promptly releases Windows 8736 with a cool screen saver in which his face morphs into the image of the Sun God singing “Here Comes the Sun.” Oh wait, that was George’s song, wasn’t it.
Libra (9/23-10/23): Proctor and Gamble, the twin gods of discord, have rewired the thermostats in all the appliances in the constellation of Amana. Will Amana’s sacred hound, Algorithm, be able to reset the thermostats in time to save the Festival of the Swisher King and restore harmony to the zodiac? Your guess is as good as mine, homey.
Scorpio (10/24-11/21): A one-eyed, hairless dog at a rest stop in New Jersey warned me that when the raven flies over the House of Usher, mutant rays eminating from the planet Sillyanus will be reflected Earthward. You can keep your cosmic souffle from sinking by lining your house with aluminum foil and never looking directly at Ringo Starr.
Sagittarius (11/22-12/21): Sagittarians are ruled by the liver and the axillae. To maintain optimal health they should avoid fats, gravies, cream, butter, and chocolate. Moreover, they should consume Lucullan amounts of fruits and raw vegetables each day instead after holding them under their armpits for fifteen minutes while jogging in place as they watch a Richard Simmons “Sweating to the Beatles” DVD.
Capricorn (12/22-1/19): According to the Band on the Run 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; cannot recommend for advancement, 8.
Aquarius (1/20-2/18): Your family makes headlines when the ghost of Linda McCartney appears at a cooking ware demonstration in your rec room with a recipe for vegan apple pan dowdy that will bring peace to the world. Senile Auntie Edna, claiming that Linda pinched the recipe from her, throws a rolling pin that passes through Linda, shattering a valuable Princess Di thermometer.
Pisces (2/19-3/20): Following routine gender-modification surgery, you dog acquires a thought balloon visible to everyone he meets. You seize the opportunity and write a best-selling book about canine humor. You come to grief on the Oprah show when your dog thinks, “I wonder where she keeps her salt lick?” and thousands of lonely people try to put your face in a jar.
Aries (3/21-4/19): Spring equinox with its balanced periods of darkness and light is a perilous time for the Ram, who prefers to mood-swing from yin to yang, Paul to John, feit to counterfeit. So if there’s too much Joel Gray in your astral brew, reinforce with infusions of Camille Paglia; too much Wayne Newton, unleaven with tincture of Al Gore.
Taurus (4/20-5/20): 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, even the local Salvation Army band will line up against you. Have you insulted one of the mothers of the gods recently or what?
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