Viewport width =
August 10, 2009 | by  | in Opinion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

A look into the stars for the week of 10-16 August 2009

Horoscope for people who can roll their tongues

Saturn is dancing seductively with your love crystals this week. That can only mean one thing, and that’s, well… Oh, God. This is much harder to type than I thought.
It’s over.

Between you and me. Look. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s just that… I… I don’t need you anymore and you don’t need me anymore. I have this thing… you must have noticed. I just need people to be devoted to me and you’ve… you’ve just not been praising me enough.

I wish I could tell you that it isn’t your fault. That we just drifted apart like two love logs in on a melting glacier of painful regret, but I don’t want to lie. Not to you. Not this time. You—I promised myself I wouldn’t cry—gave up. Didn’t you?

No no no. I can still feel it when you lie. Tell the truth. Are you still addicted to me? Because it just doesn’t seem that way. I’m not stupid. You haven’t washed my feet in months. They’re getting smelly and you know I can’t reach.

I have to come straight out and ask you this. Is there someone else? It’s just… I noticed that Neptune is lingering in your constellation a lot this year. Is there something I should know? You have been meeting up with that guy from your lectures a lot.

No no no. Don’t say that it’s because you have a clash and need to get his notes. It’s not his notes you want. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You used to look at me like that. A long time ago. When you were young and spry and I was pretty and scandalous. Now look at me. I’m not even a wreck of a person. I’m the aftermath of a drunk driver hitting the ambulance carrying away a weak-willed widower who fainted at the sight of a wreck of a person.

Wait! Stop! Rewind! I don’t mean it. I take it back. I’m not leaving you. I take it baaaaaaack. I… I… was joking. Funny joke. Ha ha ha.

Can you forgive me? Can you forget me? Oh, I misspoke. You’ve already forgotten me. I was at your window the other day and that self-portrait I made for you out of pasta sauce and hair was gone. Do you think you can just erase me like that? If you do, you are as wrong as you are enchantingly beautiful.

Remember, I was born in the year of the Aardvark and that means I never give up. Never. NEVER. When you stop returning my calls I won’t give up. When you change your locks I won’t give up. When you call the police because apparently we’ve never “actually” met and you think that it’s somehow uncool that I keep posting you my used dental floss, I won’t give up. When I have to break out of prison because you are sending me coded dream messages about how we need to be together FOREVER or die trying and end up accidentally hanging myself on the razor wire on a perimeter fence I won’t give up.

Horoscope for people who cannot roll their tongues

Your numeroscope is getting hazier by the day. This can only mean one thing. A lot of money is coming your way very soon. With both 9 and 7 flashing rapidly you will have to be careful how you spend it, you are, after all, in a spanking mood and right now there are more important things than who paddles your tuchas.

For instance, you hear that ringing? That’s the bank on the phone. They want money. Or else the apples get it. And we all know how much you like your apples. After all, applestone is your gem magnet every other year. Or should that be every otter year?! I think you know what I mean.

So. This is my advice. Straight from the stars, tarot cards and random number generator through me to you. You have to pick up the phone. You can’t ignore these people. It will only make them grizzlier. Remember—soon you will have lots and lots of money. More money than you can count if you’re a little bit dumb or illiterate.

Just tell them that. It’s simple. Say I sent you. I have a good reputation at most banks. Except, of course, for the close-minded logic-addicted, skeptic heretic banks which think that because I have no basis or proof for what I predict then I am wrong. IT IS THEM THAT IS WRONG.

All being well the bank will accept this horoscope as incontrovertible proof that soon you will be swimming in moolah like a pig in an exploded poo factory. And then everything will be fine.

Except that, now that I’ve double checked the numeroscope it looks like both 12 and 29 are strobing along with the 9 and 7. This can only mean one thing. You are still going to come into a large sum of money. It’s just not exactly as you would expect. During a botched mid-air bank robbery, a gold bar will be knocked loose and plummet to the ground. The only thing that will stop its graceful gravity-wise journey is your soft, fleshy brain.

Now let me tell you, the worst part of having a gold bar embedded in your head is that you’re not alive to spend it! And I should know!

So, luckily it is prime monkey spat month so you should have had your lead umbrella delivered mysteriously last week. Get it out! Get it out now! (No, not your penis.) Now, umbrella in hand go to your crystal dungeon and take three rosemary catskill teas brewed with only the water condensing on your old family photo albums. Once consumed these teas will create a protective aura (or ‘protaura’) around you to boost the lead in the umbrella’s endemic protective mana. You should be safe from plummeting gold bricks now.

Sadly, I have no magic to stop the bank calling.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Uther was one of the two arts editors in 2009. He was the horoscopier and theatre writer in 2010. Alongside Elle Hunt, Uther was coeditor in 2011.

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Turkish Red Lentil Soup
  2. Dragon Friends
  3. NZ Music Month
  4. Dear White People
  5. You’re Allowed to Watch Shit Films
  6. Flint Town: Season 1
  7. Sometimes It’s Too Cold to Go Outside
  8. Some Spicy AF Hot Takes
  9. Postgrad Informer
  10. Love Isn’t Real, Because You Aren’t Hard Enough
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided