ARIES: You've probably noticed that I recycle my forecasts on occasion, and you probably assume I do this as a practical way of saving myself from having to write new forecasts all the time, and of course you're right. But sometimes I do so because I am trying to convey an important point ... sometimes I'm even trying to save a life. Read on.
For over a month now I've been repeatedly reminding Aries that September is a time for solemn introspection and quiet reflection -- what with, you know, the positioning of Mars being what it is right now -- and that one wouldn't want to disregard and perhaps even interfere with that delicate astral alignment by, say, not being solemn -- quiet -- enough. But after 5 weeks I've reached my limit. HEY! GENE THOMPSON IN APARTMENT 7C! Turn down your stereo! Don't you read your horoscope, asshole? Don't you fucking care about Mars?

VIRGO: The next time you step on a petunia, stop what you're doing for a second and give some thought to the theory of evolution. That's that theory that says that all living things are competing for survival with all other living things. Even the lowliest petunia is competing with other flowers, insects, etc., and would kill you if it could. And yes, even common Virgos, dutifully reading their horoscopes right now, are locked in an unconscious struggle for world primacy and are destined to do rather badly at that.

SAGITTARIUS: Virgo scum.

TAURUS: Shut up.

SCORPIO: I don't want to be a Scorpio anymore.

VIRGO: Anyway, that's according to the theory of evolution. And you know, astrologers are a little like living things. I mean, most people start each day with a stack of daily papers, sort through them, and make use of only those horoscopes that seem appropriate for them that morning. That puts real pressure on an astrologer week after week. Be witty. Be wise. Flatter people while implying that they are easily manipulated. It is frankly difficult to function as a businessperson when the public refuses to ignore my competitors. Anyway, I hope you keep all this in mind as you consider the following forecast: Mr. Clark? Hi, it's me, Rob Bruzsky. Listen, Mr. Clark, I went outside and checked the planets and such and, well, you're not going to believe this, but: you will be having intercourse tonight. Yes, think of it: intercourse. At long last, dear God. Tonight. I am sending a hooker over to your house to make sure.

TAURUS: You probably remember from your required reading in high school the Kafka story about the man who woke up one morning to find he'd been transformed into a giant cockroach. Imagine! And the story went on to talk about how he felt about that. Well, sorry to disappoint you, Taurus, but nothing quite so interesting is going to happen to you this week. No, tomorrow you will simply wake up to discover that you have been transformed into a valet. You will spend the morning saying cheery little things and picking lint off of people's clothing and otherwise terrorizing everyone in much the way that Kafka's cockroach terrorized people when it rampaged through downtown Tokyo.
At 6 pm you will go to room 402 of the Val-Mar Apts. in White Center and knock loudly on the door. An old man will answer. You will enter the apartment and proceed to the kitchen. There, using ingredients at hand -- or ingredients you were thoughtful enough to have purchased for the occasion -- you will make a lovely candlelight dinner for the man and his elderly wife (whom you will first dress and position in her wheelchair). During the meal the man will say nothing; the woman will say many things which will likely not make sense. At some point during the evening, there is a chance that -- because they do not know who you are or why you are there -- the couple will show signs of resistance; but they are old and easily controlled.
At exactly 9 pm, after tidying up, you will leave; and you will reflect upon the changes in your life. You will have lost all your friends, but you'll know at last what it is like to be a tidy and efficient person. For better or worse, you will now be employable. And, most importantly, you will have provided that old couple, my parents, with the most thoughtful anniversary present I could come up with on short notice and it won't have cost me anything.

ARIES AGAIN: One could easily compare the job of astrologer to that of meteorologist. We both depend on charts, trends, satellite images. While neither is particularly respected in the community, each can have his choice of female; while neither is particularly reliable, each can easily control people using charm alone. Interesting. And it sickens me to think anyone would make this comparison.
Funny story goes with that. Was at a private party in Medina recently when I spotted KING-TV weatherman Jeff Renner across the room, holding court. Little fellow. I looked him over and quickly deduced his astrological sign (interestingly, it is not the one listed on his résumé). I then approached him and, leaning down, whispered in his ear his astrological forecast for the day: "Jean Enerson is in the producer's office right now trying to get you fired."
Well, he drops his Piña Colada and runs from the room. And I turn to the crowd of onlookers and say, "You see? We are not the same. I use more than mere charts and trends. By god, I use my feelings."

GEMINI: You will read your horoscope today! Heh-heh. Kind of a joke. Fact is, I have no idea whether you'll read it or not. It's just a prediction! It's supposed to make you feel good about yourself: that someone out there cares enough about you to make a prediction about you! Anyway, the way your prediction goes is: you will read your horoscope today and be mildly disappointed.

SAGITTARIUS: Everyone knows that horoscopes have no affect on you unless you read them. And I was wondering if there was a way to force people to read them. You know, for their own good. No, silly, I'm not talking about passing some sort of law: I'm a conservative Republican (and will be until Neptune goes back into regression in March), and so I believe in limited government. But I also believe in forcing people to read their horoscopes. At this time I lack the man-power. At this time.
I dunno. It frustrates me that I can't give guidance to the very people who -- through some cruel quirk of fate -- seem to do just fine without it. It hurts. And I sometimes lie awake at night wondering how I can hurt them back. I suppose I could write bad forecasts for them ... but no: too many innocent persons would be harmed. Then it came to me, like a sudden white light: I'll punish them by not writing the self-same forecasts they refuse to read ... forcing them to write their own.
So, simple Sagittarian -- notorious for not reading your horoscope -- you will spend the day fitfully attempting to write your own forecast. And when you are done you will read it with hope and child-like excitation and find to your horror that it does not predict that you will write an accurate forecast today (or, if it does, it will not do so accurately). And your forecast will not be wise or witty like mine are. It will in fact seem a little bit insane. And you surely will not feel that tingle -- that exquisite astrologer's tingle -- that occurs when you have helped a needy person through a vulnerable time in his life and at the same time have made something of a fool out of him. No.
And after you've wandered aimlessly through the day, you and your fellow Sagittarians will send me these forecasts at the address listed below and I will print them from time to time and occasionally I will even reprint them if they're interesting or I'm tired. [Thanx to reader Andy Engel for that forecast.]

CONFIDENTIAL TO JIM FOOTH OF PORT TOWNSEND: You wrote me asking about how to determine the age of a grand old pear tree in your back yard, so that you could properly ascertain its horoscope. And I said: easy. Just cut it down and count the growth rings. And I said that if it turns out to be a Pisces tree that is great, because I had predicted bad things for Pisceans that week. And then you wrote back to thank me and to ask about mildew: you wanted to know when the mildew in your tub was born. And then you sent me a fax asking about athlete's foot fungus. "What sign is my athlete's foot fungus?" you asked.
I am aware that I am responsible for the mental and emotional well-being of the readers in my fold. I fully realize that I have written things that have caused something to happen to your mind, Jim. And I would like you to know that I will of course for strictly professional reasons continue to do so.

YOU BORN TODAY: You cannot read yet, but you will want someone to clip out this item and save it for when you are old enough to read it. Then, and only then, will you appreciate my powers of prognostication.

ASTROLOGY NEWS 'N NOTES: Regarding the Eric Lacitis column in which he pointed out that all of my forecasts last year were inaccurate, including my prediction that Aries would be injured in that unfortunate Kingdome fire which did not occur: he evidently doesn't realize that I predicted his column and its many typographical errors on a note card which I have here and can show him any time if he requires proof.

FOR THOSE WHO THINK ASTROLOGY IS HOGWASH: Your Tarot card this week is ... (drum-roll) ... the Death Card. Sheesh! Again? Ouch. That must suck. Sorry.

LEO, PISCES, AND MISCELLANEOUS OTHER SIGNS: There will be problems for you this week, but I'm out of space, so check back next week to see how it all came out.

INGA: Inga was born on August 34th, and like all of those born in the temporal sub-plane she cannot be influenced by astrological forces, but she likes to see her name in print.

I am the authority. You will question me. And the question you will ask is:
"Rob? Do you have a 1-900 number?"
I do! It's 1-900-903-2500. Call anytime and chat with my recorded message
which changes daily and costs 4.99 per minute!

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