Mercury is in retrograde for you this month. Not the planet. The Roman god of commerce, transit, messages, and the immortal guide to the afterlife. He will personally cause you to backslide deeper into your creepy fanfic addiction. But Mercury will also give you the gift of prophecy. You’ll think, “Oh gosh I bet my spouse would leave me if they ever found out how much creepy fanfiction I read and write.” You are correct. Potterotica? If you want your kids to turn into functional adults, bottle that shit up.
It has been foretold that you, the reader, are the only Taurus to read this horoscope. Also, somewhat coincidentally, Solipsism is true only for you. You are the only truly conscious being in the universe. So why don’t you do us all a favor and wrap this shit up. Call it. Time to clock out. Please. I can’t keep sending texts like I’ve been doing. C’mon.
Jeff from accounting will be very happy to see you clock into work on 3/22/22. He took the longshot on you not killing yourself in the betting pool they have at work for that. Everyone else will be doubly disappointed.
You will eat your last sardine this month. Although that’s probably no cause for alarm, right? You don’t really ever HAVE to eat sardines. Wait, the stars and constellations are making my infallible future vision somewhat clearer. You are going to eat that sardine on a Dorito chip while drinking a 32 oz Olde English. Yikes. But do contact me to tell me what it tastes like.
The Aunt Jemimah Syrup people will get away with using your image and likeness without permission as their new mascot, renaming the company “Groupchat Ruiner Syrup.” Will this be a good branding decision for the company? No. But it will FUCK with you in the syrup aisle.
If you don’t make black friends this month, your image will never be mourned on a T shirt. All we have is our legacy after we go.
Diarrhea 8 times this month. 29 total distinct squirts.
You will be killed by wolves. When those wolves die, they will have lavish, somber parades thrown for them with full bagpipes. Like the kind that cops get when they croak in Boston.
Your real dad is hiding from you. On purpose. How do I know? Because I’m him. That’s right. I boned the sex with your mom, baby! You may be thinking, “Oh that can’t be true: I know my real dad and he loves me.” Counterpoint: If you are here reading fake horoscopes on a local satire website, then there was definitely no reliable fatherly influence around during your childhood
Philosophy and science will be transformed when they prove two breakthroughs based on your life. They will prove a) the indisputable existence of The Soul and b) that your specific soul is worse, not as good, and more lousy than ‘normal souls’ theretofore studied. Like, it’s a weird and fucky soul. Lesser in value. I feel you’ve always known this. I have.
You can control fires with your mind. You can either make them worse or make them stay the same level of bad/on fire. You cannot make fires gone, better or more manageable. Same goes for the relationship you will have with your children when they’re adults.
No one will be able to prove it but your impure sexual thoughts will directly kill the Queen of England. Like, because of how unchristian they are. God will hear them and be like “Alright. Show’s over. I don’t even wanna get involved in that. Jesus Christ.” And then Jesus will hear from down the hall and be like “What’s that?” And God will be like “Don’t even worry about it. Don’t you worry your handsome little head about it, Christy boi.” That’s what God talks like. The stars told me.