For fuck’s sake, El Jefe the redeemer Christ, what a load of bollocks. I came here to check tomorrow’s horoscopes before bed, right? Coz, spoiler alert, I write these things months, even years in advance. I get the daily flavor from my life semi-annually – you know, from my repertoire of living life. This style of rant at the beginning, if I could be arsed to even give you some bland stories from my life.

So, yeah, here I am, after a long fucking day, writing columns for various outlets around the net, cashing in some meager cents per word. Basically being a paid howler monkey, non-unionized and whipped daily in the name of productivity. BAH! I’m just trying to make a living in these inflationary times. Screw you, Brandon and Mr. Orange – you both fucking suck. Seriously. You’re like a conjunction of a two-ton pile of old chicken manure and the result of a hemorrhoid operation gone horribly wrong. You pick your fave, Sherlock.

Don’t get me started on economics or politics, alright? Hot tip: the Illuminati runs everything. Don’t bother, resistance is futile, move along. Nothing to see here. If there is a hand, it is hidden, alright? Fuck me, anyways. Deep breaths, SERENITY NOW, something¤#”%¤”%. So I was dropping by to prepare my ass for tomorrow’s shitshow, as usual. You know, be on top of the pile, not buried in it or swimming circles. Wouldn’t you know, my fucking publishing server has gone down with all the fucking horoscopes for the next 6 months. Holy jeez.

Fine, FINE, you win, you lousy piece of shit universe. I will do it again. So, without further ado, the fucking horoscopes for you greedy suckers who’ve run into such bad luck you actually find yourself doom scrolling this shit. Good on ya, pat yourself on the back. It’s July 25th in the annoying year of 2024, when all fans are turned to 11 and the global deliverance of horse manure is running like hotcakes through a fat lady sings convention adjacent to the Pacific Ocean’s stunt double made of sewage. Strap in; it can only get better from here, at least for me.

The sun is really making its prowl into the proud sign of Leo. Fuck all, here I am, see me, adore me, envy me, for I am the best, alright? Fan my ego please, no, strike that, just adore me. It’s a must, or I shall not play with you. You must obviously be mad; why do you not like me?! What?! I am the best since sliced bread, right? That’s people’s average frame of mind now as the week’s temper sets in. Everybody knows a jerk like that. Listen, this is fucked up, no matter how we spin it, but we need it. Track me on this, nothing ever happens for no good reason. So, why is there a Leo and why the fuck does it make idiots act like they do? Because you’re being reminded of your own desires to be adored, to be worshipped like the proud lion on the Savannah, not horsewhipped like the fucking donkey you and I seem to be.

What you say? I literally can hear a sea full of dumb faces staring at me. Literally. But, Ragey, I’m not like them. Yes, you are. In your shadow self, you have everything under the sun – well, actually, the opposite, hidden from your own sun, coz you weren’t born into Leo, perhaps. At any rate, it’s in the shadow parts of yourself, the unilluminated yadda yadda yadda. Back to Thursday. The sun is directly fighting retro Pluto in Aquarius, and this is big. I’m gonna write a big fucking article on all the shitstorm we can expect in the coming months and years. Remember, the last time this happened we had the French and American revolutions, we had the industrial revolution really kicking off. This is big, guys. Get some buckets of popcorn and bucket seats. Those who are prepared laugh first.

Pluto is backing up. Why? Because there are hidden truths that need to be revealed, and going back to Capricorn will give us time to get our own shit together and strap the fuck in, coz once Pluto hits Aquarius, we’re not in Kansas anymore. To beat the last drivel out of that cliché. So don’t let your guards down. Gather your nuts, little squirrel, and know that a new season is soon upon us, and it will make Ragnarök seem like a walk in the park with your evangelical Christian cousin who’s constantly selling you the gospel in some psychotic fashion, when you really want to visit those dungeons beneath that. You catch my drift. Nuff said, moving on.

Might as well continue with crap in Leo, the theme of the day. Venus and Mercury. Mercury is about to pop its egoistic bubble of bold first-class gas, which hasn’t been reliable lately anyways due to it squaring with Yeranus *snickers* in Taurus and Mars in Gemini. Making the supply of solid gas as stable as a fart at an outdoor Bruce Springsteen concert during hurricane season. Don’t ask. If you know, you know. If you don’t know, you had to be there to know. When I say pop, or poop, I mean of course collapse into a neurotic besserwisser who thinks they know what needs to be done and why it should have been done yesterday. Much like your better half.

Venus is having some redeeming factors to our days if rejection and humiliation are your style of masochism. It’s sympathetic to Chiron, in fiery Aries. At least those old wounds got to the surface so you could whine one more time about it. Be grateful, now can it. I mean it, get over it. Yes, it hurts. We all hurt. Everybody hurts. It fucking hurts, we know. For all. And not just that, we have retro Neptune making a call from Pisces asking us to have back all those dreams we thought were our own, that’s right, they have a street address on the boulevard of broken dreams. Turns out they were mere figments of your own imagination and hubris. The universe has different plans. Rip the bandaid off. It hurts. The hair will grow back. Turns out your free will wasn’t so free as you thought. Tough luck. I thought I was scheduled to sleep now. Shit happens.

And that brings us to the most likely factor for why I am here, doing what I “love” at 4:20 am, on the day of my Norse friend Thor and his assembly of motley goats and hammers, listening to the darkest black metal you can imagine. Saturn, feeling uncomfortable in Pisces, calling the red line to Daddy Sun, busy being the prick he is, jamming up 99.8% of all day every day – yeah, your ego. So, Saturn calls up from his retro jail in Pisces. Says, “Yo, something ain’t feeling right.” You ask, “What?” He says, acting like a total sissy, “I don’t know, do you know? I just feel something is not right.” And being in Leo, hah, boy do you want to deal with that whiny wishy-washy bimbo you picked up last weekend promising everything and the sun and moon, just to get some easy nookie. Now tugging at your sense of honor. After all, you did promise…? Leos hate that, egos too.

Even Jupiter is in on the shizzle. He’s there in Gemini, feeling manic Mars breathing down his neck. It’s only a question before those two will conspire and make your day a true living hell, trust me. For now, it’ll just be your luck that the mother of that bimbo you met and fucked silly, well, guess what, she goes to church with your mom, and they have talked and made plans for 4 PM today. Put on your best smile, happy hat, 2-dollar suit and make your mom proud. Coz parents matter. Lucky, you got to make your mom proud. Take what you can get and move on, be happy your mother smiles.

That’s the takeaway from today’s coming shitstorm. It’s still a phase, but of fuck me sideways I hate phases so much. You know the drill, stay cool, stay safe, and for crying out loud, when you’re up to your ears in feces, keep your mouth shut. And, don’t come to me, I’m not your wailing wall, I’m just a goddamn ape on a glorified typewriter with no time to hold your hand.