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Your Weekly Horoscope: 'It's in the Stars...'

By Jean Topascani

Aries (March 21 - April 19)

You are unhampered by the laws of physics or chemistry, as if you knew what they were anyway. Snot-bubbles on face detract from appearance. Woman in blood-soaked gown which hugs her ample curves asks: “Do you know a good dry cleaner?” Put prize hog up for adoption.

Taurus (April 20 - May 20)

Like potato salad at a summer picnic, you have quite a way with the opposite sex: At first it is endearing, then gradually it engenders caution and finally outright rejection. Tingly sensation, lack of feeling in one’s extremities, uncontrollable drooling occurs -- you're in a dentist’s chair on Friday.

Gemini (May 21 - June 20)

You grow like a little acorn and become a real nut. Liquid Drano burns your hand when you spill some on it, having disregarded the manufacturer’s warning. Horse trainer breaks up with you, quipping, "Breaking a horse and breaking an ass are really quite similar." Sat. a.m.: You win screaming contest.

Cancer (June 21 - July 22)

You really don’t think you will ever be able to love another the way you loved your last lover, but you are really eager to try. Suck hot Campbell’s Bean with Bacon soup through a paper straw. While wearing an outfit made entirely of cuttlebones, you meet winsome stranger who has narcolepsy.

Leo (July 23 - August 22)

Your pool of assets has been drained, your clogs are missing, and the toilet removed, leaving people with absolutely nothing to go on when dealing with you. Your thoughts will tumble in your head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free. Weds. p.m.: Elope with the village idiot.

Virgo (August 23 - September 22) "Homogeneous gelatinous sacrosanct blob" is used to describe you and cranberry sauce. Nose hair glistens in rain after a sneeze. In a serendipitous happenstance of synchronicity, your watch is a half hour slow, but Jeopardy comes on half hour earlier, at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

Libra (September 23 - October 22)

Your eyes say 'come here,' your lips say 'kiss me,' your arms and torso say 'hold me all night long,' but the rest of your body says 'Fillet me, cover me in cornmeal, and fry me in peanut oil.' Romance isn’t easy since you started dressing up as a mermaid. Tues. p.m. Remember: Take and you shall receive.

Scorpio (October 23 - November 21)

Your fingerprints are on “blunt instrument” that caused fatal depression in your boss’s skull. Wipe croquet mallet clean. Instead of handshakes and a tepid hello, greet strangers with kisses - a lengthy, ravenous kiss, lapping and sucking at their mouth, ravenously smothering them with lots of smooches.

Sagittarius (November 22 - December 21) Your thin milky blood will run cold when you smell spores from fungal toenail infections. You will meet a socially awkward proctologist. You have luscious, silver, hairy back, but no opposable thumbs.

Sun. p.m.: “It’s a grim tale” is how someone will preface your story before showing your lifeless body, crumpled like a forlorn Snicker’s candy wrapper to the press.

Capricorn (December 22 - January 19)

Your face is a perfect oval, like a circle that has its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master. You grow on people, like a colony of E.coli on room-temperature beef. You will have meeting with exciting Virgo who is (fortunately) skilled at the Heimlich Maneuver. Mon. a.m.: Quest in a mobile home park in Nebraska with a second-rate trapeze artist named Fred is not to be undertaken lightly.

Aquarius (January 20 - February 18)

Your ample derriere is relatively safe, but - and it is a big ’but’ - you understood there is always an inherent risk involving any surgery. Remember any spy worth his salt would kill anybody who knew his identity … so I wouldn’t go around mentioning that you read this if I were you. For hints on future read carefully about the annihilation of Sodom and Gomorrah. Weds. p.m.: Look both ways before crossing street.

Pisces (February 19 - March 20)

Change facts of stories you tell about yourself to make you into more of a hero than you actually might have been, had you been there to do half the things you claim you did. Hilarity ensues when you're mistaken for mob informant, followed by sleepless nights, coughing spells, tantrums, diaper rash, saturated mattresses and bone chilling screams. Complex emotions like love are impossible as mucus hovers at the edge of your nostrils or drips down the back of your throat.



Niagara Falls Reporter - Publisher Frank Parlato Jr. www.niagarafallsreporter.com

Dec 17, 2013