You will have a tough time finding a new roommate this month. Perhaps it’s because your Craigslist ad is riddled with racist analogies that you’ve used to describe the kitchen, or maybe it’s because whenever anyone looks you in the eye, you assume that they are somehow stealing your childhood memories.
Oh Jesus Christ, Libra. Really? Are you serious? That’s great. That’s really great. No no, I’ll clean it up. I clearly have nothing better to do. Yeah, just leave. Leave me here with this nightmare of a mess. Jesus, what’s in this muck? I can’t tell if it smells more like burned erasers or clams. Why is it grey? This is just putrid, Libra. This is fucking monstrous.
Nothing is going to happen to you at all this month, Aries. Nothing. Your life is as bland as celery broth. It’s a drab heap of minutes and hours mashed into a dismal speck of desolation that seems eternal. The next thirty days is going to be a tedious, humdrum rigamarole of bullshit. You may as well inject corn syrup into your jugular and put yourself into a diabetic coma, because you wouldn’t miss a goddamn thing if you did. God I hate your life.
Someone is out to get you. But someone nice. Don’t get me wrong, they WILL murder you, but it will be done in a very humane way and their intentions are pure. Right now they are feeding a stray cat and they currently have fourteen adopted children through World Vision, but within a week, you will be lifeless and they will be the cause.
Remember that thing that happened? Well, all the stuff from before that is totally crazy again. Can you please make a couple of those things to fix all this business? And don’t be all “Ueeh” about it, because that’s totally like, you know. Ok, thanks Mr. President.
Your wireless network is a joke, Virgo. Do you have any idea how many people are taking advantage of you? Like, the whole building. The guy in apartment 4D returned his modem and solely uses your Wi-Fi now. There’s no password, and you have an open network called “Linksys”, which makes you look like a total amateur. I’m shocked that you are a web designer.
You really love porcelain owls, don’t you? You have twelve of them in your apartment, so I assume you do. There’s also a black velvet painting of a salamander wearing a sombrero in your hallway, a collection of princess Di commemorative plates hanging in the bathroom of all places, and vintage, laminated posters of Menudo on your bedroom ceiling. This all lead me to the following question: Have you ever been touched by another human being?
The level of awkwardness that you exude when you’re socializing at work parties is astonishing. Every interaction you have is as clumsy as trying to plug a power cord into an outlet that’s behind a large home entertainment stand. Next time you attend one of these gatherings, avoid starting conversations about tense subjects like Stalingrad or euthanasia. You are the reason why home-schooled kids are a bad idea.
You have to stop screaming into your pillow every time you see Angela. She’s gone. And she’s never coming back. Also, stop carrying that pillow around every time you go to her house to spy on her and her new family.
Great news! You’re going to playwriting camp! You don’t have to thank me. I know how much you love your little stories, and this will give you a chance to share all your ideas with other kids with learning disabilities and step dads who want to unload their sweatpant-clad step-sons who smell like pencil shavings and Froot Loops.
Thank you for coming in for your annual performance review. Now, we listened to your customer service telephone recordings that we collected to ensure quality assurance, and we must say that we’re shocked. Yesterday you told a lady that her voice sounded like a trans-gendered water buffalo having throat spasms, and on Wednesday you put a man on hold for six and a half hours before re-routing his call to a 1-900 dating service in Porto Alegre. We’ve decided that you are an asset to us here at Verizon, and we’re increasing your wage by $4/hour. Congratulations, you now make $6/hour.
What?– No!– Okay, what?– Oh!– No no no!– No, I’ll do it.– Ok.– Ummmmm. NO!– Well, did you ask him?– Hahahahaha. Yeah, that show is ludicrous.– Yeah, it’s like Buffy The Vampire Slayer meets The Red Shoe Diaries.– What? Shut UP!—Okay– Okay, you too.– See you later, asshole. Sorry, I was on the phone. You’re father is dead.