The regularly scheduled horoscopes will return next week, right where they left off, for better or worse. This week, we bring you a "special" horoscope sheet.
The entire population of the world will be herded aboard a ocean cruise liner this week, due to fears about global warming or global lots and lots of rainfall.
This will all be quite fine and good, except for the vast majority of people from the UK and Ireland telling everyone in sight that this honestly isn't a lot of rain, they should come to Kerry, honest, now that's rain for you.
And then, even that fine and good will be interrupted, sadly, tragically, possibly, when it just so happens that the Tauri aboard the ship, whom had been playing Spades on the lower deck, decide to wage a brutal guerilla campaign against the Gemini on board.
The Gemini not really expecting to be attacked, and lying lazily on the uppermost deck, express surprise, confusion, then, finally, drownedness when their deck chairs are tipped seaward and the contents dumped therein. A band of Leos will be standing by, watching, and they'll spot the sputtering and soon-to-be waterlogged people floating in the ocean, and point them out to the staff of the liner, most of whom happen to be, by some odd coincidence, Capricorns (though this isn't all that odd, as Capricorns are well-known to be the best sailing of all the signs, often being born with oars in their hands, which, for apparent reasons, make them rather unpopular babies, indeed). The Capricorns quickly man the sides of the ship, and realise they'd forgotten to pack the life-preservers that normally also man the sides of the ship, though in a inanimate object type way of manning something.
On astute Virgo suggests they try tying all their shirts together and throwing a big rope out to the drowners, but this suggestion is infeasible because it's rather cold outside, and none of the sailors have had the opportunity to get a tan yet, and will look awfully pale if they dare take their shirts off.
Meanwhile, below decks, in the levels formerly occupied by immigrants, stowaways, and bugs, the Cancerians are having a lively time like the sort you'd imagine you'd seen in a movie once, though, when some of the upper class people from the Pisces deck venture down and attempt to woo a young Cancer boy the musicians stop abruptly, lay down their instruments, and proceed to beat the Pisces with the vast storage of mannequin limbs the cruise liner just so happens to be carrying. The boy they'd come down to woo is also beaten soundly with a mannequin's torso, for having greasy hair.
Manning the bilge pump, an Aries falls asleep on the job, not being terribly excited by something going "slurp, slurp, burble, burble, shuck shuck" really loudly, and fails to notice when the pump begins making "shurp, shurp, shurp, shurp, sllllllll-ck!" sounds, instead. Or, rather, the Aries notices the last bit of noise, as that's the sound of an Aries' pant leg getting sucked into the bilge pump.
The Libra supervisor doesn't notice even that, as they're too busy dreaming of becoming, someday, supervisor for some completely other and hopefully brighter department aboard the ship. The Libra was telling their friend, a Scorpio, who often sits on duty in the bilge pump room because they have nothing better to do, and are avoiding a certain cook aboard the ship, that they'd always dreamed of supervising the zoo, until the Scorpio points out that there isn't a zoo onboard. The Libra, from that point on, sits quietly, dreaming of tending the sheep in the zoo.
All proceeds as it had been proceeding, until, oh sad Until!, a Sagittarius is tossed overboard, to join the Gemini, and a few of the Tauri whom had been taunting their victims relentlessly from the side of the boat, and had fallen in, taunting perhas a bit too enthusiastically. The Sagittarius keeps they're head, however, when they realise the ship hasn't ever left the dock, and swims over, finds that green sludge clinging to the pier a bit disgusting to swim through, but otherwsie makes it aboard before the sludge alters their genes enough for them to grow gills.
The captain of the ship, an Aquarius, feeling the jerk of the ship due to the pant leg stuck in the bilge pump, steps out into the night air, feeling the crisp sea wind, knowing, with a great sadness in his heart, that this night the ship will sink slowly into the briney deep, taking with it his passengers, because he remembered distinctly leaving the lifeboats on the pier, next to his passport and the Chinese takeout menu. Which would have been a terribly sad ending, indeed, if the Aquarius hadn't remembered to pack aboard a space ship, and flew off, into the night sky, to the nearest planet without bilge pumps.
[Horoscopes. wow. fan-bloody-tastic.]
