|Home Ass Hats Celebrities Fashion Lifestyle Music News Politics Religion Sports Technology Our Staff|
Cancer (June 22–July 22) You say everyone but your creditors and your parole officer forgot your birthday? Don't let other people's selfish preoccupations with their lives spoil the party. Send yourself an anonymous e-mail, agree to meet the sender for dinner, and don't be shy about giving it up on the first date. If you don't have a birthday this week, send an anonymous birthday card and a pound of fudge to someone who does. It's better to be a gift horse than a horse's ass.
Leo (July 23–Aug. 22) Paper is the weighted force in your dominant quarry. Will you get a letter from a loved one? Or will you suffer the slings and arrows of a thousand paper cuts? Why are you asking me? I'm not an astrologer. I merely play one on a web site. I can tell you that rock blunts scissors, scissors cut paper, and paper covers rock—and that two-ply is better than one if you're seized by a sudden urge to make out your will while you're taking a dump.
Virgo (Aug. 23–Sept. 22) The oracles at Delphi, Microsoft, and Graceland suggest that any major decisions you make in the near term be guided by the following maxim: Half a loaf is better than none only when the sum of the hypotenuse is greater than or equal to the hexadecimal value of burnt orange. If you must color your world, color it something that doesn't clash with your aura, which runs to earth tones. Anything red—be it wine, underwear, or meat—could be misinterpreted by those closest to you, including yourself.
Libra (Sept. 23–Oct.23) You will have a recurring dream in which you travel to a strange land where the temperature is always a prime number; but on the day you arrive, the thermometer will read 80 degrees. Fearing the wrath of their gods, the inhabitants of that strange land will remove all the vowels from their alphabet. Thn th sht wll ht th fn.
Scorpio (Oct. 24–Npv. 21) You are the sort of underachiever who started out with nothing and still has most of it. Recently American Express sent you a preapproved credit card and a letter that began, "Don't leave home with it." You live each day as if it were your last, then you wake up the next morning disappointed. Be patient. Don't chase your dreams. Let them chase you. While you're waiting, explore the wonders of performance art: enter your eyebrows in a topiary contest
Sagittarius (Nov. 22–Dec. 21) During a reenactment of Pickett’s ill-considered charge at the Battle of Gettysburg you discover a document that proves Lincoln plagiarized the Gettysburg Address from a Bull Run Life, Casualty and Cow Theft brochure. Instead of making you rich, your discovery brings you nothing but calumny and venom, and you will find it impossible to get insurance.
Capricorn (Dec. 22–Jan. 19) A palm reader named Madam Velveeta tells you to imagine that you are your favorite pet. Then she tells you to imagine that you have fallen asleep and you are dreaming. When you wake up, you vow never to let the dog sleep in your bed again.
Aquarius (Jan. 20–Feb. 18) Your attempt to patent yourself meets with failure and ridicule when a panel of scientific experts declares there is nothing original about you. Before seeking prominence in the world, you should work on becoming a household word in your own house. Start tomorrow by wearing a name tag to breakfast..
Pisces (Feb. 19–March 20) This week the things that turn you on turn on you. What’s more, you are haunted by a sepulchral voice that moans, “Humpty Dumpty died for your sins.” When you go for a drive to clear your head, you notice the following sticker: “Objects seen in the rearview mirror may not necessarily be real.” Such is the price you pay for your artistic leanings. Observe the speed limit for the time being and resist the temptation to think of yourself in the third person.
Aries (March 21–April 19) Your discovery of the key to eternal happiness is tempered somewhat by the concomitant discovery that an incubus has changed the locks on all the doors in the Gilded Palace of Carnal Delights and Untold Riches. You grudgingly settle for a Motel 6 with free HBO and local calls.
Taurus (April 20–May 20) Your fondness for irony mutates into a full-blown paradoxical reaction to life. Dandruff shampoo turns you into a blizzard with feet. Cough medication makes you hack and sputter like a flooded outboard motor. Deodorant produces a rancid, road-kill aroma about your personal zones. I'd lay off the Beano, contraceptive devices, and hemorrhoid preparations if I were you. Focus on treating the illness not its symptoms. Begin by understanding the difference between "irony" and "coincidence." If time permits, work on the difference between "imply" and "infer."
Gemini (May 21–June 21) If the enemy of your enemy is your friend, does that mean your friend's friend is your enemy? Or are you simply being paranoid? Don't make any decisions unless you begin getting calls from a foreign-sounding man who breathes heavily into the phone and identifies himself as Al Ninyo. Then let your imagination and your feet run wild.
Meaner than a powdery-smelling, dried-up, old-hag English teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive. Visit The Grammar Prick
Trigger warning! The content of this website may cause raging panic attacks in hypersensitive snowflakes who suffer from androphobia, galactophobia, emetophobia, corprophobia, claustrophobia, fear of taints, and other psycho-sexual maladies too numerous and frightening to mention.
Trump Praises Pug Bus for Official English Policy
Dec 28, 2016 - 8:18
Michael Moore Urges Simultaneous Toilet Flush on Inauguration Day
Dec 24, 2016 - 9:03
God Says He Never Saw This Election Coming
Dec 16, 2016 - 10:16
How Well Do You Know the Alt-Right?
Dec 12, 2016 - 6:41
Huffington Post Scribbler Sets New Highs for Virtue Signaling
Dec 5, 2016 - 11:24
Gennifer Flowers Vows to Go Commando at First Debate
Sep 25, 2016 - 11:31