Horoscopes

Clever and Confounding Horoscopes for August 28

A baby curiously touching a man's face while he lies on grass.
“What do you want it to say?”

Welcome to your Clever and Confounding Horoscopes: Where the Stars Are Tripping and the Spellings Are Freelance.

If the zodiac signs herein  look … off, they are. These aren’t your mee-maw’s  clever constellations–they’re the ones she scribbled down after three glasses of boxed merlot and a séance with a malfunctioning microwave. Each name has been misrendered by our least reliable intern: Cosmic Clever Dave. He was hired during Mercury retrograde and immediately outsourced the spellings to a sentient autocorrect algorithm trained on ancient MySpace posts and discarded Craigslist ads. The result? A dozen signs that sound like prescription medications, failed startups, or IKEA furniture with unresolved trauma. So whether you’re a proud Leow, a confused Aquariumb, or a dangerously moist Scorpiowrong, rest assured: the stars still judge you. They’re just doing it with a little more flair and a lot less accuracy.

♈ Arie-no (March 21–April 19) You attempt to start a revolution in your group chat, but autocorrect will sabotage your manifesto. “Rise up” becomes “Rice up,” and suddenly you’re the leader of a grain-based cult.

♉ Taurex (April 20–May 20) You discover a new form of wealth: emotional coupons. Redeem one for a hug, two for a passive-aggressive compliment. Your wallet may be full, but your soul remains suspiciously laminated.

♊ Geminot (May 21–June 20) Today your duality becomes a trinity when a third personality emerges, obsessed with vintage staplers and whispering “bind me” during meetings. You are now a committee– or a threesome.

♋ Canker (June 21–July 22) You feel deeply connected to the moon, which is unfortunate because it’s currently ghosting you. Expect emotional turbulence and unsolicited moon-June-spoon poetry from your subconscious.

♌ Leow (July 23–August 22) You are mistaken for a celebrity-influencer in a grocery store produce aisle. After you sign a banana, the banana will sue. You settle out of court for three avocados and a vague sense of closure.

â™ Virghast (August 23–September 22) Your spreadsheet begins  judging your life choices. It highlights your emotional inconsistencies in red and suggests pivot tables for your relationships.

♎ Librage (September 23–October 22) You attempt balance, but life hands you a seesaw made of chain mail and dryer lint. You eventually find equilibrium in a Walmart parking lot at 3 a.m., whispering “justice” to a Tesla charger.

â™ Scorpiowrong (October 23–November 21) You feel powerful, mysterious, and slightly damp. No one knows why, least of all you. Later today you hit on someone using only eye contact and a PowerPoint presentation titled “Why I’m a Scorpiowrong.”q

â™ Sagiterror (November 22–December 21) You  book a spontaneous trip to a place that doesn’t exist. The airline thanks you for your imagination and charges you double. You return with a passport stamp that says “Nice Try.”

♑ Capricurse (December 22–January 19) As you climb the ladder of success, you notice it’s made of spaghetti. You decide to build a fortress out of LinkedIn endorsements and passive-aggressive emails. Surprisingly, it will hold.

â™’ Aquariumb (January 20–February 18) You invent a new adjective: “glumbunctious.” It’s the feeling of being joyfully melancholy while wearing socks that don’t match. You host a TED Talk about it. The audience cries and dances.

♓ Piscease (February 19–March 20) You dream of fish. They’re wearing shiny suits and offering unsolicited financial advice. You wake up with a new savings account and a vague sense of financial dread.

For additional horoscopes from hell, explore the full archive and see just how deep the cosmic rabbit hole goes.


The preceding is satire. Straight up, Skippy. No warranties are expressed or implied. For life advice, try a professional. For investment tips, try a dart board. For salvation, the gentleman in the robe has been handling that portfolio for 2,000 years.