May 9 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 screen saver in which his face morphs into that of the Sun God.
May 8 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 screen saver in which his face morphs into that of the Sun God.
May 7 The dual-action hair-growth-facilitator-and-mood-enhancer on sale at wegotyourdrugs.com provides a whimsical subtext to your cosmic narrative. The site’s motto — “No doctors, no questions, no waiting” — appeals to your propensity for self-medication. Read the instructions carefully, however, or you might wind up bearing an unfortunate resemblance to that Peter Dinklage.
May 6 Clothes and garden tools figure prominently in your future. Therefore, we recommend that you purchase The Seers’ Catalog. It contains dressing and cross-dressing advice and lawn-care techniques that wizards have used to gain wealth and prosperity for centuries. It also contains discount coupons, a decoder ring, and easy-to-assemble 3-D glasses.
May 5 Your lawsuit against the Fowl Weather Friend Corporation, Ltd over a malfunctioning pop-up thermometer in an oven-roaster chicken comes to trial at last. The proceedings are badly compromised, however, when a copy of Jury Selection for Dummies falls from your lawyer’s pocket as she’s making her way into the courtroom.
May 4 Troubled by your lack of a formal education, you enroll in Degrees for Dollars, a virtual university that awards degrees based on life experiences. After reviewing your application, the dean’s council votes to grant you a Bachelor of Arts in Compromising Positions, providing you allow them to keep the pictures.
May 3 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 roadkill. Later in the month a 300-pound canary named Junior will raise the specter of duality, adjectives, and Hegel’s dialectic in your mind.
May 2 Half your current dilemma—the benign half—is occasioned by the fact that yours is the only sign of the zodiac that . . . Your other problems stem from a reverse case of attention deficit disorder: People have trouble paying attention to you. A prosthetic runny nose should serve to focus their attention.
May 1 You’ll met your soulmate during an all-night session in a Gavin Newsome chat room. Before flying to San Francisco for decaf latte and Ecstasy with this individual, ask yourself whether it’s someone to revere or just another preternatural smile looking for a toothpaste ad to sink its gleaming teeth into.
April 30 Time to start thinking outside the box. If life gives you lemons, why not make filet of sole with a lemon-wedge garnish? If the chickens come home to roost, get out the Shake ‘n’ Bake. Who cares for whom the damn bell tolls anyway? Let the answering machine get it.
April 29 Normally steadfast and true, you suddenly grapple with the simplest choices. Real or synthetic tree? Sausage or vegetable stuffing? Hang mistletoe on your belt for the Christmas party? Surender your iron will to irony. Sometimes the best decisions are those that make you laugh the hardest.
April 28 You put the arse in arsenal. Quick of wit, quixotic of charm, you can turn the most mundane situations into full-on clusterbombs. You mustn’t dominate conversations, however, because the gift of gab isn’t the gift that keeps on giving if the receiver can’t get a word in edgewise.
April 27 In a recurring (or is it reoccurring) dream, your adoptive (or is it adopted) child will insure (or is that ensure) your health and prosperity if you observe an upcoming festal (or it that festive) occasion–and if you finally learn the rules governing the use of that and which.
April 26 The embarrassing rash that kept you indoors most of December should be gone by now, and that problem with lingering incontinence should be much better, too. Life takes a turn for the paranoid, however, when you hear that the large surly guy who just moved in down the street is in the witness protection program.
April 25 You become obsessed with scanning the bar codes from all your purchases into your computer. Convinced that the lines constitute a treasure map, you begin digging in the back yard, only to discover a horde of missing household objects buried there, including some prescription drugs. When you return to your house, you notice that your dog is missing.
April 24 Your sun is in debt, your moon is in denial, but the planet Immodium will keep you from losing control as long as you don’t have the leftover Szechuan pork for lunch. Later this week fortune smiles on you, but it’s a Mona Lisa smile, and she may have a sharp object hidden under her dress.
April 23 Life deals you a painful wedgie when you receive a wedding invitation–from your current spouse. Toward the end of a lonesome month your prayers are answered. The answer is a flat out No, and it arrives with the notation “dictated but not read” beneath a hand-stamped facsimile of god’s signature.
April 22 Your evening plans are set afire by Taylor Swift. When a group of nuns fails to put the fire out with holy water, a paraplegic oaf saves you by chugging cans of Fosters and spitting on the fire. Let this be a lesson. Half an oaf is better than nuns.
April 21 Because you are highly possessive, adore your own company, and are inclined to mate for life, you begin a campaign to have self-sex marriages legalized. Your slogan, “Be part of the problem and part of the solution at the same time,” is too clever by half, and your campaign comes to grief when you are caught making an unauthorized deposit at a sperm bank.
