NEW YORK – Hey, y’all. This here’s Diddy with the microphone. You might remember me as P. Diddy or Puff Daddy or Puff the Magic Diddy. My birthday is this week, I think. Some people say it’s today, November 4, but others have it down as November 1. What’s a day or two among friends, you know what I mean?
Anyway, I’m celebrating my thirty-sixth birthday—or maybe it’s my thirty-ninth. What’s a year or two when you’re having good time, right? For sure ol’ Diddy can have some fun. My homies over at In Touch magazine paid me some mad props recently when they voted me the top male party animal in the world. I was sandwiched between two fine bitches on the top ten list: Tara Reid, who was number 1, and Paris Hilton, who was number 3. That’s like a reverse Oreo, you dig?
So, while I was chillin’ right before—or maybe right after—my birthday the other day, I wrote the following weekend horoscopes. Peace.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Your teeth become sensitive to radio waves following a routine dental X-ray, and you begin picking up cell phone transmissions within a one-mile radius of your crib. Soon you are wigged out by the lameness of human conversations and by a neighbor who sneaks out to the garage to talk on his cell phone late at night. Your reactions are not the mark of a large soul. You have not been cursed; you have been blessed with an opportunity to know your brothers and sisters better. Go with it.
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): You are at war with your demons, and your demons are kicking butt. You are no longer on speaking terms with your conscience. The cardinal virtues just sublet your beach house to the seven deadly sins. Unless you can get your hands on some excess disposable income and a lawyer with disposable ethics, do not change anything more significant than your ring tones until next week.
Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): A large envelope bearing the imprint of the Jabberwock, Jubjub, and Bandersnatch detective agency could figure big time this weekend. So could a recurring nightmare in which you discover that you are the love child of fellow Pisces Kurt Cobain and Cindy Crawford-a discovery that leads you to shoot yourself while appearing naked at an anti-fur demonstration.
Aries (3/21 – 4/19): This is your bulletproof weekend, dogg. The world is your White Diamond Escalade. No longer will you travel at the speed of dark. Wealth, success, and teeth-rattling sex are yours for the asking. Often you will be tempted to pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake. That beats those weekends when you pinched your favorite sex partner to make sure she was awake and you let all the air out of her.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Do not open e-mail with the word Harpo in the subject line, or you will unleash the overbearing Oprah virus, which randomly changes the size of your executable files from somewhat above average to slightly below gross—and back—at random. The threat posed by the Oprah virus is proof that you should look a gift horse in the mouth, especially if it wants to give you a cheesy new ride.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Paper is the force in your dominant quarry. Will you get a letter from a loved one? Or will you suffer the slings and arrows of a thousand paper cuts? Why are you asking me? I’m not an astrologer. I’m just the top male party animal in Hollywood. I can tell you that rock blunts scissors, scissors cut paper, and paper covers rock—and that two-ply is better than one if you’re seized by a sudden urge to change your will while you’re taking a dump.
Cancer (6/22 – 7/22): You will be followed everywhere this week by two agents from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. Make sure you don’t do or say anything incriminating, most of all in the presence of two guys in Joe Camel suits. Also remember that it’s easier to get a table—and to avoid people who insist on taking their damn kinds to restaurants—if you ask to be seated in the smoking section.
Leo (7/23 – 8/22): A fly-looking stranger on the street asks if you want to buy a vowel. Challenge him to pronounce the vowel first to make sure it isn’t a knock off, which will make any word in which it’s used unintelligible. Beware, too, the “sometimes” vowels, whose limited applications don’t justify the price. Word games will get you in trouble at home or at work, particularly this weekend when the Prince of Umlauts hovers over the House of Webster like a pair of bloated testicles in the sky.
Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): If you receive a collect call from your long-lost Uncle Ponzi, don’t accept it. Word on the street has it that he just acquired a truckload of eight-gallon hats, and he wants you to sell them as the genuine ten-gallon models. You should have learned your lesson from the bath you took on those “Windows 9.5” programs or from the small fortune you lost importing bootleg Jurassic 4 CDs. If you can’t sail first cabin, it’s better to stay in port.
Libra (9/23 – 10/23): Your sleep is disturbed by a recurring dream in which Liza Minnelli, who is disguised as a large rabbit, is bitch slapping ex-president Jimmy Carter in a Harlem nightclub, demanding that he have sex with her. You should refrain from forcing yourself on people, no matter how you try to disguise your intentions. Even a person with two black eyes can see through your masquerade.
Scorpio (10/24 – 11/21): You meet a mysterious woman with a tattoo of a Sicilian donkey—or maybe a Sicilian woman with a mysterious tattooed donkey. The important thing is: eternal riches and happiness and a pair of tickets to the next Super Bowl will be yours if you can guess three consonants that appear in both the donkey’s and woman’s names. What’s more, you should play the combined weight of the woman and the donkey in the lottery this weekend.
Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Aroma therapy ain’t gonna help your chronic carbophobia (fear of carbohydrates), and you sure as hell don’t need to take food containing place names—or food that’s been genetically engineered—off the menu. It’s more cool to add a slice of toast and a some steamed collard greens to your diet than to get down with a carb-free plan. You should also avoid the quick fix in matters related to plumbing, both internal and external, this weekend.
© The fine fucking print: The editorial content on this page is fictional. It is presented for satirical and/or entertainment purposes only. We cannot be held responsible for the actions of anyone who takes this sort of shit seriously. We also do not wish to be held responsible for any copyrighted material that sneaked onto this page when we weren’t looking. If you can prove that anything on this page belongs rightfully to you, we will happily take it down and return the unused portion. No questions asked.