A minor explosion at the plant, caused by a Taurus fiddling with large blue and green levers that they should have known better not to have been playing with, so says a Leo, rather annoyingly smugly, you might think.
So annoyingly that a Virgo and two Gemini conspire to leap out and beat the smug Leo to a small mushy pulp hide behind a cardboard box largely untouched by the explosion and filled with some stuff that goes *clink* when you bump up against it and a Capricorn passes a comment, coming up behind the three crouched behind the box that occasionally makes *clink* noises when they bump up against it. This comment comes off as smug as well, and the trio forgo the Leo-beating and begin thwacking the Capricorn about the head with a rather shocked Cancer, who happened to be passing by, and is of the right build to serve as a proper thwacking tool, much to their dismay, as it seems to happen, especially since they began working at this plant.
The Leo, ignorant of the spectre (now gone off and visiting someone else) of a beating, leaves their scoffing at the Taurus' mistake and bumps into a Pisces, literally, bumping them, also literally, into the box that goes *clink* (or *klink*, I suppose), which tips over, in the process of which going *clink* rather urgently, *thump* when it rolls (impressive for a box-like entity) over an Aries, who goes *oof* and wheezes a bit but is really just playing for sympathy, if you ask the stars' opinion, which you presumably are, reading the horoscopes as you are, and a Libra, disappointed at missing out on the Virgo and two Gemini's adventures of earlier, kicks the Aries once for being a wimp, but only once, because they trip in the process of readying a second kick and roll down a set of stairs and out on to the lawn, still smoking slightly (and alliteratively) from the earlier explosion (the lawn, not the Libra).
A Scorpio pleads with a Sagittarius to acknowledge their existence, but the Sagittarius whispers through the side of their mouth that they can't, as they're not on break and not supposed to talk unless they're on break, even if there has recently been a minor explosion in the plant, and that they've heard of massive penalties for talking to Scorpios from the Board of Horoscopal and Referential Integrity. Another small explosion, possibly triggered by the omnipotent Board of Horoscopal Integrity and Small Sheep, sends both the Sagittarius and Scorpio scurrying, but still working, as they've not heard the official explosion whistle, nor have any alarms signalling work to stop sounded.

Luckily, it was only a processed cheese plant, and the one Aquarius at the plant (hired mostly for diversification purposes), happily munches on crackers slathered with cheese from the mounds of processed cheese dripping from most surfaces in the plant.

[Horoscopes. Get yourself out and go to the Metreon.]