Horoscope of the Apocalypse, the happy new year 2015 edition

why not read them all?

For Fire Signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius), 2015 will present many traps that will drastically effect your mood, overall. That’s why it might be the right time for you to buy a pet, a nice little mutt you can name Roderick and abandon all alone in a strange city. Why? Because Fire Signs are dynamic and larger than life. You don’t need some mangy little mongrel named Roderick with that goofy cone thing they wear, cocking its leg on anything marginally vertical in the world, or walking around sniffing with delight the foulness of any unidentifiable lump of decomposing matter the universe has thrown up. Jeez, whatever made you think you needed a dog?

For Earth Signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn), 2015 is the year you’ll finally stop standing in checkout lines while some sweaty, panicking baby boomer attempts paying for a small cup of coffee with his Visa card and doesn’t know whether to insert it, swipe it, tap it or just smash the damn terminal with a hammer, making you late, because it’s just another bit of technology that doesn’t work and you’re all pissed off because you have worse rage issues than Mel Gibson. Oh, and your brakes will fail.

For Air Signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius), Communications break down in 2015, except for the people talking about you behind your back. They’ll be the nasty bastards who go all silent when you enter a room. The ones who smarmily greet you all cheerful and say, “Hi Mildred.” Even though your real name is Norman, and only your mother calls you Mildred. And just so you know, there’s still some confusion over that theory you were developing with that person with the item that you both thought should have been a concept but turned out to be a matter of indeterminate material. I hope I’ve made myself clear?

For Water Signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces), 2015 will be a year of door knocking. Maybe that’s metaphorical, or maybe you’ll become a Jehovah Witness. Hell, I don’t know. Why am I always the guy who has to know this crap so you can come feed at the trough of my wisdom? Why don’t you write me my horoscope for once, you codependent whiner? Oh wow! I haven’t used the word codependent since the eighties when I was in this really strange 12 step program for people addicted to those crappy little Ikea Swedish meatballs that they make out of horse meat. I was really powerless over those, baby — let me tell you! But I can control it now … really.


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