While surfing the web late one night, the stars spoke to me. They said, “Me…” (though perhaps they said, “you”, or “Donnie”, either of which would have made a lot more sense, but as we are talking about astrology here, the facts are always -at best- fuzzy) “we wish to use you to deliver our message to the people.”
I asked, “What people?”
The stars replied, “All the cildren of the stars.”
“Umm,” I questioned, “ALL the children of ALL the stars?”
“Yes.” The stars (or the voice in my head purporting to be the stars) replied.
“But mankind has yet to master intergalactic flight, how am I to deliver a message beyond our solar system?”
The stars thought for a moment. “Alright then, we wish for you to deliver our message to some of the people.”
“What is your message?” I asked.
“The messages will come to you… Stare at your computer screensaver and we will speak to you.”
“How do I know that you are real, not just an auditory hallucination?”
The stars shrugged (which is a real accomplishment for an auditory hallucination) and disappeared.
Thus began my writing of Wildly inaccurate, yet shockingly precise, predictions based completely on happenstance and arbitrary universal fluctuations Horoscopes.
Just as the stars had said, I stared at my computer screensaver and the first messages just sort of came to me. I typed them out verbatim (who am I to question the message delivered by the stars?). They come to me infrequently, but always in groups of twelve. The stars always tell me which astrological sign to attribute each message to and I simply post them. Here are some of the stars’ previous messages:
After a long time away, the stars began speaking to me again today. Their message was so profound that I thought I simply must share it.
Eleven. That is exactly the number of drinks you can handle and still manage to drive your car home without dying in a horrible crash. Unfortunately, you will only know that number after you jump in your car after your twelfth drink this weekend.
Having fucked you straight out of your chance to rule an island nation with some incorrect information in August of 2009, the stars are feeling a bit morose. It is very uncommon that the stars are wrong. By way of apology, the stars offer up the winning number to the state lottery: 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42. While the stars can’t be certain which state or which drawing, they do guarantee that those are the winning numbers.
One should never, NEVER attempt Trepanning at home. The stars know that you will ignore this advice, so they offer this: “use no larger than a 1/32” bit and USE YOUR LEFT HAND. While the stars can’t elaborate, if you fail to heed either of those cautions, it will end … poorly.
Three inches is enough… Trust me… Until further notice, if anyone asks you a question where the answer should be distance, never say more than three inches. The stars can’t go into detail, but you will soon be the victim of a horrible misunderstanding whereby your anus will be stretched by this amount.
After a lifetime of fearing death, you will suddenly embrace it -even beg for it. You will also realize that your attempt to swim across the English Channel while encumbered by a fifty pound weight was ill-advised.
Your masculinity will be questioned when your mom finds your Real Doll … wearing a strap-on.
Pornography: You made it your life’s goal to break into it. It’s a reasonable and achievable goal. Unfortunately, the whole thing goes south when you are paired up with an Aries. So much stretching will ensue that you would wish to be a Cancer.
Life, they say, is fleeting. You’ll discover just how fleeting it can be this weekend. You’ll have to chase that bitch for almost three miles before she finally trips up so you can kill her.
The stars did recently tell your wife to “listen to her heart” regarding whether or not she should leave you. The stars did not intend for you to listen to her heart. But once you used that bonesaw on her sternum (not trusting the stethoscope which just responded with a cryptic thumping sound), we’re pretty sure she made up her mind anyway.
The stars would like to apologize for stating in their last prophecy, “Be wary of the stranger you meet at beach this weekend. The stars aren’t sure why, but they don’t trust him.” Through a cosmic hiccup, that information was supposed to be released this month. The August prophecy should have read, “A dark and handsome stranger will approach you on the beach, profess his love for you, and sweep you away for a jetset marriage. After which you will lead a long, happy, prosperous, healthy life as the Queen of a small island nation.” We apologize for any inconvenience this error may have caused.
Your new stopwatch will allow you to time how long you can hold your breath underwater down to the thousandth of a second. Unfortunately, poor planning will mean that you take that number to your watery grave.
Your innovative new device for beauticians to use while giving pedicures can be wildly successful and make you quite wealthy IF you change the name. Trust us, no one is going to buy a “Ped-O-File”.
Your Mother always told you to wear clean underwear just in case there was an accident and paramadics had to see them. But as you board that plane today, the stars want you to know that you needn’t worry about it. The debris field will be more than 8 square miles, making it impossible to find most human remains. Not to mention that the ensuing fire will burn so hot that it will disintegrate not only all fabric, but most of the thin metals aboard as well.
You just had to get that genital piercing, didn’t you? The stars tried to warn you not to, but you went ahead and did it anyway… Now all your worst fears will come to bear when, at a campground this weekend, you run afoul of this guy:
The less traveled by areas of the Grand Canyon’s north rim offer some of the most breathtaking views of this natural wonder. You will soon find out they also include some of the worst footings and none of the handrails. They do, however, provide equally awe-inspiring, terminal velocity impacts.
The stars heard your pleas, begging for someone who you could share your love with and embrace for the rest of your life. If you are still single, throw your arms around the closest person to you at 3:44pm GMT on Dcember 9th -That’ll be the one. Trust us, you won’t have time to be picky…
The stars have piled up most of your things on the front porch. You can stay at a friend’s house, but you aren’t coming back home until you admit what you did and apologize. The stars’ Mother was right about you… (you must have really pissed them off; the stars were in tears while they told me this)
The stars have been doing a little thinking and a lot of math. The population of planet earth is roughly 6,796,590,704. That means that roughly 566,382,558 people share each astrological sign. About 18,620,796 have the same birthday. Based on average life expectancy as many as 248,277 people were born on the same day, in the same year, for every zodiac sign. How can one statement possibly predict the future of all of them? Ehh, fuck it. “A full moon while Venus is rising is an omen of good things to come.”
They say you never know how you are going to react to a crisis. After a home invasion this weekend you will: You will scream, “Do whatever you want to my wife, but leave me alone!” You will then create a distraction by throwing your newborn at the assailant as you dive through the window to safety. Now you know.
They said it wasn’t possible to jump your bicycle from your office building to the one across the street. But that stolen jet pack will let you have the last laugh. Well, your smoldering remains will.
The stars have reason to believe that your identity may have been stolen. That being the case, you will need to provide them with two forms of photo ID before your future will be made available.