You’ll have a hard time finding inner peace, but frankly, you’re snorting so much large-animal tranquilizer the stars figure you don’t really care.
Sometimes the exact right thing falls right out of the sky and hits you between the eyes, which will be the case next week after the bowling ball plant upwind from you explodes.
You’ll worry about your mental health when your dog suddenly begins speaking to you in a commanding voice, but all it seems to want is food, water, and the occasional walk.
You’ll set off on an unnerving romantic adventure with a new partner who shares your unhealthy interests and reflects all the things you like least about yourself.
Soon you will reach the halfway point of your life, allowing you to look back on past triumphs as well as forward to the time when you’ll be old enough to legally buy alcohol.
They’ll say you died of a broken heart, but that’s only because no one wants to explain autoerotic asphyxiation to your poor mother.
Demanding excellence from yourself and your colleagues is not enough. Demand excellence from yourself and excellence, cash, and valuables from your colleagues.
Everything will go just fine next week except for the part with the truckload of carpet tacks, which doesn’t really come when you’d think the part with the truckload of carpet tacks would.
It’s true that just one more cookie won’t hurt, as the volcanic activity that will soon render all your earthly concerns irrelevant has been building up for months now.
You’ll have difficulty making yourself understood next week, and for quite a while, even though the people who found you frozen in that block of ice are extremely intelligent scientists.
You really hate it when people say “let’s get out of here” in disaster movies, which is hypocritical given how it’s usually the first thing out of your own mouth during a disaster.
The stars apologize for the lack of detail in last week’s horoscope about being seduced by a tall, dark stranger, but you must admit you had never seen that horse before.