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The Angry Astrologer (Or, Fuck Taurus!)

 

GEMINI: Hiya! We’ve actually “met” about 100 kajillion times before–most recently this weekend–but who are you today? We know you like variety, Gemini, but could you please, for the love of Cheez Nips, pick a face and stick with it for more than one day? You’re making those batty Aquarian nutbars look stable by comparison. 

CANCER: Just because you secretly love being spanked and called a dirty little fucktoy doesn’t make you a bad feminist … worshipping 24/7 at the Altar of the Wondrous Wiener does. Your judgment is clouded, possibly by an excess of spunk this month. Claws in! Back to your shell, Cancerian! Wall-up!

LEO: You know that one night stand you had on Thursday night? One word: herpes. Luckily, Leos thrive on drama. And what could be more dramatic than sores on your hoo-hoo-dilly? Oh, I KNOW! Finding sores on your hoo-hoo-dilly while naked skydiving. Soooooo… book a skydive before you peek at yer schlong, K? You. Are. Welcome.

VIRGO: Probably you should take that prickly stick out of your tight little sphincter and beat yourself in the squash with it, and save me the trouble.You’ve been a total twat lately. To everyone. A Taurus in your life is contemplating clobbering you (but he always kinda does, because you dare to disagree with his opinions). Aries is filing a restraining order (but you earned that).

LIBRA: Venus is your butt-buddy this quarter; yes, that’s right, you’re going to continue to be this delightful for months. You are effortlessly charming and eminently graceful, and all things Venusian are granted in excess. Now, if you’ll kindly excuse the rest of us–suddenly, inexplicably, we feel the need to puke. 

SCORPIO: Before you read this, take your hands off your junk. Yes, you’re a sexy ass-monkey, but we need a break from all your heavy breathing (pls note: the digital pictures are still–as always –much appreciated). Avoid Cancerians this month: your casual hot self usually has little effect on hard-shelled Cancer the Crab, but the stars have aligned for a brief, torrid romp. Steer clear! Though the sex will melt your face, moody Cancer can easily douse the fire you stir. 

SAGITTARIUS: This time you’re not right. No, you’re not. No. Not. No, really. Seriously, you’re not. Hey, even the  Magic 8 Ball at work said so, and that thing’s been dropped by 8 thousand kids. Also: stop texting me. All your “I AM SO” s are costing me money. (Note: for who’s actually right this month, see Taurus)

CAPRICORN: Having people take advantage of you is not always a bad thing. For instance, a certain Cancerian is eyeballing your crotchal region, and fancies herself your future Sex Kitten. Caution: if you stop petting Sex Kitten, Sex Kitten scratches, and will purr the entire time she’s shredding your face. (For more warnings about Sex Kitten, please see Editor’s Note)

AQUARIUS:As it often does for Aquarians, adventure abounds! OMG! Excitement is right around the corner, now. OMFG! It’s a giant yellow M!! HOLY SHIT! Whatever could it mean? Hasten to the quest and solve the Mystery of the Golden Arches. Bring $1.25 (pro-tip: Hello Kitty is the toy of the month) Take a Sagittarian with you–stuffing their mouth with “beef” might shut them up for a while.

PISCES:Ah, quit yer bubberin’!! For fuck’s sake, it’s just make-believe! How many times do I have to say it? YOU CAN’T WATCH NICHOLAS SPARKS MOVIES. Oh, this was–wait, you’re crying at the end of Willow? *sigh* Grasp reality with both hands, firmly, Pisces. The rest of the world needs Kleenex too. In fact, Scorpio could use a box or four about now.

ARIES: “You know who” is a “you know what” … and you know what to do about it. And you will … soon … or your sister will “facilitate”. And you don’t want that. Because your sister is a Cancerian with temporarily poor judgment due to orgasm overload (more commonly known as “OO”, such a terrible affliction–should hold a telethon, really) and will turn the situation into a ginormous clusterfuck. Then Sagittarius will say “told you so” and Pisces will cry and Scorpio will wander off to do a pro-wankn’flex in the bathroom mirror and I just can’t stand by and let this all go down! I can’t!

TAURUS: “Blah blah blah blah blah <insert your opinion here> blabbity-blah <your opinion rephrased> blah blah blah blah <shocking slur> blah blah <your opinion stubbornly repeated here> blabbity-blah” is what we hear. Allow me to speak for the rest of the zodiac when I say: by all means, continue to run that mouth of yours. I hope for your sake that you’re immune to pepper spray. And baseball bats.

And in closing, Ask the Bitchy Psychic!

Dear Bitchy Psychic: I’m so confused right now. Could you please give me some guidance? What’s the meaning of life? I can’t seem to work out my path. I’m feeling so lost and alone and I just want to cry. Seriously, what’s it all about? Sincerely, Confused.

Dear Confused: The Hokey Pokey. That’s what it’s all about. Do I have to spell it out? START WITH THE RIGHT LEG! DON’T FORGET THE SHAKING. You should have learned all this shit in Grade One, but noooooo, you weren’t paying attention. You were busy mining boogers with your grimy little fingernails, and now you’re how old, and still wasting people’s precious time with your stupid questions.  You might as well just sell your organs on Ebay now and get it over with. Start with your brain–you ain’t usin’ it.

Yours, with what little enthusiasm I can afford to waste on you, The Bitchy Psychic.

Did the Angry Astrologer or the Bitchy Psychic get close? Did either hit a nerve? No? Dammit, their aim must be off again. SEE? This is what happens when I’m–er, when the Angry Astrologer is denied her regular supply of pickled beets and Fig Newtons! Nobody wants to see me sans Newtons! Without carbs, I can’t prognosticate worth a shit (truthfully, I can’t prognosticate anyway, under any circumstances, by any possible stretch of the imagination, but why are you interupting my friggin’ rant, butt out!) get all frustrated and become a bad parody of Yosemite Sam! Yes, I said “become”. Because I’m not always a ranting, steaming, stomping–oh shut the fuck up.

(Editor’s Note: AJ Aalto is the bitter wind bringing rage and ruin to that trail of slime you call a soul. She was born on July 22nd, and is a proud Cancerian. A fan of saprophytic harmony, blatant carnivoracity, skin slippage and the lovely bloat of putrefaction, she can usually be found lurking in underwater caverns, waiting for unsuspecting divers. I heard a rumour once that AJ Aalto is the secret cause of Rapture of the Deep–but I think she started that rumour herself.)

(Public Apology/Safety Notice: Local authorities have reported sightings of Sex Kitten in the Niagara region. This highly unpredictable creature has been known to claw, scratch and bite with little or no provocation. For instance, when faced with soft rock/easy-listening music, Sex Kitten has been known to gnaw the knobs right off car stereos. Sex Kitten once gave Kenny G the flying elbow (no she didn’t) and body-slammed Rod Stewart (no she didn’t) … she doesn’t want Stewart’s body, nor does she think he’s sexy, and she doesn’t like being called “shugah” (yes she does), so she didn’t let him know.  And she’s sorry for being batshit crazy.)

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2 Responses to The Angry Astrologer (Or, Fuck Taurus!)

  1. Jason says:

    Youre so awesome, man! I cant believe I missed this blog for so long. Its just fantastic stuff all round. Your design, man…too incredible! I cant wait to read what youve got next. I adore every little thing that youre saying and want more, much more, Much more! Maintain this up, man! Its just too great.

  2. E. Van Lowe says:

    Yo AJ,

    This post was wild, but funny as hell. And I agree with the message to the Virgo. Dead on! I’m Cancer, like you, but I’m a guy. Spank away 😉

    -E

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