Saturn is aligned with Mercury, so it’s a good day to buy a car. Look in the Yellow Pages and call “Yurrah Sap Auto Pix” where you’ll get a deal on a pink Hummer, complete with a peppermint-striped nuclear warhead.
You’re neighbor’s howling beagle has tormented you long enough. Fix the pooch a fat, juicy Nyquil burger one hour before bedtime. Of course, you’ll be sued by his owner for millions of dollars, but isn’t a good night’s sleep worth it?
As Uranus enters the Seventh House, your obsession with fleshly pursuits has completely blocked your psychic channel to the spirit world. Replace your ellipses with colons and periods with semicolons.
The vampire who’s been stalking you will finally make his appearance tonight. Eat lots of garlic to ward him off. Not the store-bought stuff from Safeway. You have to order it special from Transylvania at Vampires R Us Dot Com. Warning: if you order from them, you'll be on their mailing list until hell freezes over, or the Colorado Rockies win the World Series . . . whichever comes first.
Do not leave your house today. In fact, do not leave your bedroom. Wait a minute . . . don’t even get out of bed. Oops! Too late. If you’re reading this horoscope, you’re already doomed.
You will finally finish your 512-page thesis “'Who's On First' And Why This Matters In the 21st Century" that’s taken you nine months to complete. Unfortunately, your computer crashes and you have to start over. Send Bill Gates a polite letter of complaint and switch to decaf.
Jupiter’s alignment with Goofy . . . I mean Pluto . . . makes this a good time to finish your screenplay “Mickey Mouse: Cross Dresser.” For inspiration watch “Some Like It Hot” in your underwear while nibbling a block of cheddar cheese.
The Horse is your spirit guide. Go to the track and bet one thousand dollars on Nomad Noodle to place. To prevent an embarrassing outbreak of acne, send your winnings to: Daily Horoscope Writer, 123 Gullible Avenue, Lamebrain, Kansas.
Mars aligns with Vulcan causing you to sprout pointy ears. Your close encounter with an alien life-form will create an obsessive desire to sculpt a replica of Devil’s Tower with your mashed potatoes. Resist the urge.
With Venus about to implode due to a monumental build-up of greenhouse gasses, your love life is taking a turn for the better. Your dream date will be waiting for you at the bus stop reading “Oatmeal For Dummies.”
Health conscious and robust, your daily workout at the gym is finally paying off. You have buns of steel and six-pack abs. Oh, sorry, that’s not you. My mistake. You’re the one with the cottage cheese butt and beer belly. Never mind.
Your therapist will diagnose you as paranoid schizophrenic. But don’t believe him. He’s lying. In fact, he’s plotting against you and talking about you behind your back. Your only hope is to listen to those voices telling you to strangle him in his sleep.