Imaginary Horoscopes for Real People
The stars have been raw dogging again, and their output today–Imaginary Horoscopes for Real People–resembles that of a malfunctioning AI with an astrology fetish and a tendency to talk too much. Proceed accordingly.
Aries … You have the energy of a caffeinated squirrel trapped in an existential loop. Channel that chaos into something productive, like explaining your life choices to a therapist who pretends to take notes.
Taurus … You mistake stuff for Shinola again. What’s more, that throw blanket you call a “safe space” is just a fabric cocoon delaying your evolution into a mildly functional adult.
Gemini … Your dual nature finally splits the rent. The problem is that both halves believe they are the responsible one, and neither owns a mop. The argument will last until the next fiscal quarter.
Cancer … You long to be understood, but when someone tries, you hiss like a cat in therapy. Vulnerability is not a performance art; stop auditioning for empathy.
Leo … You demand applause for surviving another week, but the universe has gone on strike. Try humility for a day–it will look absurd on you, which is precisely the point.
Virgo … Your inner critic has unionized. It now demands better lighting, clearer expectations, and the elimination of joy. Give it a three-day weekend and see what silence feels like.
Libra … Your quest for balance has turned you into a human spreadsheet. Life is not an Excel formula; sometimes “#DIV/0!” is the only valid response.
Scorpio … You call it passion; others call it arson of the emotional variety. Either way, the ashes are yours to sweep, and you will do so sensually, of course.
Sagittarius … You yearn for adventure but have mistaken impulsivity for destiny again. The map you follow was drawn by your hungover id. Enjoy the detour through minor regret.
Capricorn … You measure your worth in tasks completed, yet the cosmic printer jammed long ago. Sometimes progress looks like staring at the wall until the wall blinks first.
Aquarius … You crave revolution but cannot assemble a stable Wi-Fi connection. The future awaits, buffering endlessly while you refresh your ideals.
Pisces … You are an open wound disguised as a dream sequence. The world keeps handing you salt and calling it seasoning. Write a poem about it, then delete it immediately.
For additional horoscopes from hell, click here if you dare.
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