Aries Spears
You will headbutt a moving bus.
The next day’s headline will read “Butthead Headbutts Head of Bus”.
Even your grandmother laughs, albeit regretfully.
The woman who wrote the headline is promoted to CFO of hunger pangs.

Your name and your mind are scrambled.
Take some time to relax under a hollow sky.

All lower case “i”s that you write will be replaced by “j”s.
This will at first be annoying, then disconcerting, but eventually the hooked descender will come to represent you as a man, woman, or oboe.

Bad things will happen to you.
Cancer probably.
That shit is not fun.
[Editor’s note: Once again, this was written pre-cancer. It permeates his scribblings. It’s like he wanted to get it.]

You will ponder the meaning of this horoscope, settling on a meta reference of a reference you will never understand.
A late century Royal Bank mascot’s roar can be heard in the distance, but it is not to be believed.

You will star in a history of something rather broad and generally negative.

You will search for a lost bee surrounded by an obsolete currency.
If the missing letter comes to fruition, your air of professionalism will be unmistaken and unparalleled.

You will remind everyone of their favourite episode of a long-running animated series.
The hammock district awaits.

You shoulder a load that slides off your back with a grain of salt and a dash of pepper.
Man up, grown man.

You will get food stuck in your teeth.
If you don’t get the food out of your teeth quickly enough, the person who’s supposed to be the love of your life won’t be.
First impressions are everything.
Your lucky numbers are phone ones.
Stay fresh, Megaman.

You will drown…






(wait for it)…






a baby.

The world isn’t always what it seems.
Unless it is.
OOOoooOOOooohhh (ghost sounds)

Horoscoping in Modernity
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