Like a cross between Kim Jong Il and Paris Hilton, your problem is you can’t tell the difference between good attention and bad attention. Fortunately you are getting all of the attention available for the next week. Lap it up and discriminate afterwards.
Unusual messengers will drop confronting news in your lap this week. If the burning sensation in your groin isn’t the result of a Molotov-gram, please see your doctor, but don’t worry too much. It’s likely the eventual outcome will be positive. No-one liked you in those pants anyway.
Frustrated sexual energy finds an outlet this week. However I strongly suggest that you say no to that attractive young thing who invited you out to her/his farm over the weekend, or else Animal Liberation spies will catch you on film, thus destroying your career.
The last dregs of your irrational six-month period are filtering away, just as Mercury goes retrograde and makes you incapable of starting anything new. The interim period will feel a lot like that dream where you appear naked on Idol and attempt to fart You Are My Sunshine. Oh happy dream.
You will finish a major project this week by suddenly deciding to cut a lot of corners. If you’re Rupert Murdoch, those corners have obviously just been cut for you. The rest of you will have to pace your empire-building according to stealthier cheats.
This Halloween you will return to your home town to avenge yourself on the grumpy vegan that once gave you a carrot for trick or treat. You will be arrested dressed as a giant ham, draped in a fur coat, while impaling a life-size cut-out of Morrissey on her front fence. And you said you liked Morrissey!
Queensland farmers are trialling the use of rotten bananas to fuel their tractors. Inspired by the principle that ‘anything that stinks must be full of energy,’ you go and see World Trade Centre three times, giving yourself a lifelong aversion to yellow plastic raincoats.
The filter between what you think and what you say let’s call it the black eye membrane is particularly weak in Geminis. Right now it’s thinner than steamrolled cling wrap. It’s even thinner than Nicole Ritchie. Sweeten your tell-it-like-it-is moments with low-fat aspartame.
While generally painted as sappy homebodies, Cancerians can be ruthless and ambitious creatures, and this week that side of you will lead. When you hit a wall on Friday that competitive edge will help you over it, but it won’t help you decide who to take over to the other side with you. Look for loyal advisors.
It’s a bit late to claim you haven’t violated anybody’s sovereignty. The chance you had at reconciliation will have to have been taken yesterday, because for the next three weeks you will be hopelessly emotionally vulnerable. Any white hankies waved then will just end up snotty.
It might feel as if you’ve just been liberated from a great strain, but the sense of freedom will only last until mid-November, when rebel forces begin to drag you back into the fight against the Empire. You will not hang up your Docs for long, Senator.
Libran rapper Ras Kass has deeply offended the remnant Irwin industry by dissing The Game with ‘You the crocodile hunter, I am the stingray.’ Rules about the tastefulness or otherwise of remarks simply don’t apply to Librans this week. However, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to leave verbs out of your sentences.
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