The Monk Bought Lunch: Monk's extremely lazy horoscope of which half are just song lyrics. what're you gonna do?

12.12.03

Monk's extremely lazy horoscope of which half are just song lyrics. what're you gonna do?

Your Birthday Today: Whoop dee fuckin' doo.

Aries: Today, take a good long look at yourself and discover you're neither good nor long.
Taurus: All the pictures are falling from the wall where you placed them yesterday.
Gemini: Das Weekend wilt konsisten kumplete auf der fingerpoken und mittengraben. das spitsensparken wilt nicht comens.
Cancer:When you get home she's got incense wine and can-dulls...
Leo: Your shit be up in my GONG!
Virgo: I saw you baby dancin' in your x-ray gingham dress...
Libra: You will call me as soon as I start doing something.
Scorpio: Your enormous testicles will ache as a result of being pressured into sitting like a goddamn sissy while riding public transportation.
Sagittarius: You think you're so cool...
Capricorn: If you're from San Juan, can we call you a Cap-Rican?
Aquarius: If I said you had a beautiful body would you wash it occasionally?
Pisces: Perhaps it's the color of the sun cut flat
uncovering the cross roads I am standing at.
Or maybe it's the weather or something like that
but babe, you been on my mind.

Posted by monk at :35

Comments

Weekly I turn to your heretofore insightfull and all-too-precise astrological cullings, and am routinely dismayed at the accuracy and forthrightness with which they comport themselves. I have lived, one might say, within the limits of their offerings and shallow though they may be guidings...however today I find myself at a loss. This horoscope is an astrological "Cleveland Steamer."

Posted by: Paul Pons at :32

....a turd, if you will, brought to bare upon a sheet of cellophane that we the net surfing public are surreptitiously wearing on our faces.

Posted by: Paul Pons at :37

Dear Mr. Ponce- Indeed, the horoscope has undergone a vertiginous decline of late, and I don't even know if "vertiginous" is a word. I'm glad you caught on to the fact that the horoscope has come to serve the purpose of a cranial commode, and that writing the horoscope has become ANALagous to dropping the kids off at the pool, so to speak. However, what you choose to wear on your face is your own responsibility, not mine. And to think all these years I thought it was a moustache...

Posted by: monk at :30