Pisces (2/19 – 3/20) — Believing you still have the potential to be an effective, but compassionate serial killer some day, you watch “the Jinx” documentary about Robert Durst and take meticulous notes on “what not to do.” Considering the closeness you maintain with friends and family, you determined long ago to adopt more of a BTK approach to murder, minus the use of computers. But even then, of course, children will be off limits. You’re not crazy or anything.
Aries (3/21 – 4/19) — Recognizing a lucrative market, you set up a private web server to host personal email accounts for elected or appointed officials. Promising state-of-the-art security features and a custom library of patriotic emojis, you begin to enlist customers for “YourNameHere@AmericaMail.com. Unfortunately, your pursuit is tainted through pressure by lobbyists. Soon, the government will seize your operation and redistribute it to the poor.
Taurus (4/20 – 5/20) — Your near-liplock with Kiko the lifeguard will force you to change your ways. You’ll get a job as a lifeguard for the summer, but not because you want to save people, but because you like the eye candy. You’ll go to the trouble of getting all the needed training and certifications, only to forget it all the minute someone needs your help. You’ll trip in the sand and twist your ankle on the way to the rescue. Your misadventure will force Kiko to be the hero. You’ll leave the beach in shame.
Gemini (5/21 – 6/21) — Your golf cart and smoothie theft will make you a household name. You’ll even be mentioned by Sen. Ted Cruz on the campaign trail. The man who wants to be president will argue that it’s every man’s right to drive a golf cart, as long as it’s gas powered and comes with a case of beer. He’ll be on your side until he hears you stole a green smoothie. He’ll argue that’s too liberal for America and publicly ask that the judge sentence you to 20 years in prison.
Cancer (6/21 – 7/22) — You’ll turn that producer down, but roles in Mobile are few and far between. You’ll become so desperate for work, you’ll throw all dignity out the window and begin to gush to Nicolas Cage about his excellent acting chops on one of his future visits to the Port City to film some C-list garbage film. The sucking up works, though, as you’ll be cast as a bouncer in a remake of “Roadhouse.” It will have a very limited release and will run a tight 75 minutes.
Leo (7/23 – 8/23) — Continuing on in the spirit of St. Patrick’s Day, you’ll organize a Crichton leprechaun-themed, post-party-depression shindig, resulting in the consumption of copious amounts of homemade green beer. Still recovering from your actual St. Patrick’s Day hangover, you’ll be positive more alcohol can only make things better, but someone will spike the green food coloring with LSD. You’ll hallucinate and convince yourself evil leprechauns circa 1993 are trying to uproot your house with a backhoe while screaming “Gimme da gold!” Your lucky charm this week is Pepto-Bismol.
Virgo (8/24 – 9/22) — You’ve been procrastinating for a while now, but you’ll finally move into a new apartment. The last straw was your “bro” neighbors, who kicked a hole through the wall whilst listening to Nickleback during a raging kegger. You’ll have minor issues at your new place, like your disdain for the puke-colored walls and the mysterious fumes in your bathroom, but overall, the place will grow on you. Unfortunately, your neighbor will abuse pool privileges by inviting more than the allotted number of guests allowed, all bros BTW, to break the Guinness World Record for largest whirlpool. Stock up on towels this week.
Libra (9/23 – 10/22) — Depressed Jessica Lange won’t be returning to the upcoming season of “American Horror Story: Hotel,” you’ll binge watch something more lighthearted and innocent like “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” instead. Thrilled by the show’s premise, you’ll find your own apocalyptic cult to join and request to be locked in an underground bunker. By the time you emerge, “American Horror Stor”y will have evolved into DIY shows on HGTV network like “American Horror Story: CVS, Home Depot, Basement, Barn, etc.” You’ll be most excited for “American Horror Story: Whole Foods.”
Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21) — After suggesting Ted Cruz isn’t a natural U.S. citizen, you’ll become the target of political ire. It would seem suggesting someone isn’t from America simply because they’re kind of dark is OK, but attempting to derail a Canadian candidate warrants chastising from the conservative powers that be — those powers being your uncle at all subsequent family dinners. After a few weeks of abuse, you’ll shout over the passing of plates, “It’s the same situation, just a different ox being gored.” The use of such a Southern euphemism will calm the tension, if only for the moment.
Sagittarius (11/21 – 12/22) — Tired of waiting behind the extra traffic, you’ll use glass chalk to write “Nobody gives a damn about your Spring Break” on your car. Admittedly, the saying was illegible even to you on the rear window of a 91’ Bronco. Needing little to no provocative action, one group of shirtless guys will attempt to fight simply because they struggled so much to read your window message. They’ll beat you up, funnel a beer and answer a few questions for the Sean Hannity program. All in a day’s work.
Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19) — During an argument over police brutality, you’ll realize it’s best not to argue with a cop about the use of excessive force. Working tirelessly to summon a “mob” mentality, your friend will say things like — “You wouldn’t know until you’re in that situation,” to which you’ll reply, “I still don’t think I would have curb stomped a toddler, no matter how aggressive he appeared.” Abandoning the argument, you’ll finally say something all your “blue profile picture” friends can agree with. “Cops are right 100 percent of the time and if they kill you, you deserved to die.”
Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18) — Your annual drinking game — one sip for each fish print on display at Fairhope’s Arts and Crafts Festival — returns with great fanfare. Starting with a bloody Mary on Section Street, you’re totally wasted by the time you reach Fairhope Avenue with the watery remnants of a mint julep. The police are not amused as you make “reeling them in” gestures to passersby. But this being Fairhope, you are released on your own recognizance with a sentence of two “Our Fathers” and three “bless your hearts.”
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