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Cryptic predictions

Pisces (Feb. 19-March 20)

With five minutes to detonation, you have to ask yourself if the world is really worth saving. Look into the face of that smiling baby and tell me you don’t see a vision of certain doom. Red wire, blue wire – it’s all the same in the end. One black bag and a family of earthworms.

Aries (March 21-Apr 19)

Ask her out. Take her to your favourite restaurant. Order a new dish. Laugh at all the right times. Uncross your legs. Make occasional bathroom breaks to check your composure in the mirror. Pick up the check. Drive sober and cautiously. Walk her to the door. Go home and dream about Marlon Brando.

Taurus (April 20-May 20)

Remember at the end of Signs, when it was the little girl’s insistent habit of leaving glasses of water out that saved the world? You should take a lesson from that, Taurus. No matter how annoying your stupid habits are, maybe one day they’ll help quell an intergalactic invasion.

Gemini (May 21-June 20)

I’ve always been convinced that there’s a cult out there for everyone. Gemini, don’t let your trepidation stop you from finding yours. Someday, we will meet on the sidewalk and give each other a cursory glance, nothing more, and I will know that your soul has been saved.

Cancer (June 21-July 22)

Remember me, Cancer? I bet you thought that I had forgotten about you. I will never forget about you, Cancer, or about what happened between us that fateful autumn evening. I still hear Savage Garden whenever I think about you. I still think that your hair looks like centipedes.

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)

“Mom! Aiden cut me in half again!” You remember that commercial, don’t you? Nobody’s good at everything, Leo, but everybody is good at something. Sure, that sounds nice on television, but it’s always Aiden’s mom who has to clean up the guts in the garage.

Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 22)

You will score 100 per cent on all of your exams, and everyone will fall in love with you. Your breath will always smell like cinnamon buns, and you’ll never have another pimple in your life. When you win an all-inclusive trip to the planet of your dreams, accept and never look back. There is nothing more for you to conquer here.

Libra (Sept. 23-Oct. 22)

There’s no need to be scared of the water, Libra. There’s nothing menacing lurking beneath that black mirror. Nothing waiting to pull you down to its deep lair, where there is no light and no darkness, only an endless spinning sensation as you try to reach a surface that is too far gone. Come on in, the water’s great!

Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21)

I would advise you to pay back any debts you owe, Scorpio, as it seems the stars are scheming against you. It’s nothing personal, honestly, the stars are just kind of dicks. I know they look all heavenly and intangible up there, but if you could meet them, you wouldn’t want to. Seriously, all they do is play Call of Duty and talk about each other’s moms.

Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)

Recycling is a conspiracy made up by the Federal Government to steal our garbage. Sure, we hear all about blue bins and proper waste disposal, but have you ever actually seen anything being recycled?

Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)

I don’t want to cause you any alarm, but the test indicates that there’s a tiny family living inside of your organs. I’m not quite sure how they got in there, but they’re settled in pretty firmly. I mean, I can’t just kick these people out of their home, can I. They’re nice, hardworking people. They have a sedan and HBO. They have family board game night on Tuesdays. Really, they look like they’re doing better than you are. Have you ever considered moving?

Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18)

Have you ever been trapped in a well? Have you ever been chased by a dog while working as a mailman? When was the last time you slipped on a banana peel? If one or all of these cliché incidents have happened to you, you might qualify! Just send a blood sample to our address and we’ll match you with the boring life of your dreams!

Mat Wilush
Mat Wilush
Mat Wilush once went to see Agent Orange on the outskirts of Toronto, where the beer was salty and drunken teenagers took turns sitting in a prop electric chair. The music had aged poorly. A mohawk’d middle-ager danced through the first couple songs, but quickly tired out. There just isn’t much room for surf rock in the world anymore. What next? Mat Wilush wants to know. Mat is the Gazette's Arts Editor. Follow him on Twitter at @wilushwho and email him at

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