Friday’s Bad Horoscopes

June 29, 2012 2:00 PM

(Photo by Alberto E. Rodriguez/Getty Images)

140061249 Friday’s Bad Horoscopes

Aw yeah you go girl (Photo by Alberto E. Rodriguez/Getty Images)

By Mason Johnson


Aries, if ever there were a day to divorce your short, insane husband, today would be the day. Don’t let him woo you back by jumping on couches, find the strength to leave for good! Don’t worry about what you’re losing, nothing can take the good days away from you.

Man, I love Top Gun.


Grunt to the heavens, Taurus! Grunt like you mean it! Grunt like your life depends on it! Grunt till your voice is raw and you can’t even make a whisper, then grunt some more. Just don’t grunt as you play Tennis.


Powers that be want to control how you communicate with your friends. It’s up to you to take your life into your own hands. What will you do, Gemini?

Please friend me on Facebook.

pink line rescue 0 06281 Friday’s Bad Horoscopes

(Credit: CBS)


Cancer, you’re a ponderer. You ask: why don’t fortune cookies have fortunes inside that say “eat more fortune cookies”? Maybe adding an “or you might die” at the end? Someone has to wonder this. That someone is you. Go out, ponder your ideas!

Oh man, can I steal that fortune cookie idea it sounds pretty awesome?


Venus is rising and the constellation of Weed Wolf is bright in the sky. Stay safe, don’t leave the house and obey the law — you wouldn’t want to get a ticket.


Hey maiden, how you doin’? – Mason


Hang in there, Libra! Sometimes, life feels like a concrete bridge you’ve fallen off of. This is a metaphor. Not literal. Don’t literally fall off a concrete bridge. That would be bad.


Scoprio, you’re a winner, there’s no doubt about it. Some may call you gluttonous, but they’re just jealous. Ignore the haters, go out into the world and kick its butt! #yolo




You went too far with these ads. Me and my twelve cats have a bone to pick with you.


You gotta let go, bro. Love is one thing, but your unique brand of clingy-ness is downright creepy.


Pisces, my divine magicks or astrology mumbo jumbo or whatever they call it has clued me in on a little secret: the Cubs are going to win the World Series next year. I see, in my crystal ball, a kid, twelve-years-old maybe, who breaks his arm. That sucks, right? But wait, there’s more! He gets his cast off and, whaddya know, he’s been transformed into some sort of super pitching machine.

So yeah, start placing your bets now.

Mason Johnson knows nothing about horoscopes or astrology. He bought into it once to get a date, but that relationship went nowhere, and now he sits at home soaking in the bathtub and eating Cheetos. Chester is his only friend.

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