Crystal Baws: September 2012 Horoscopes
When the star M38b unexpectedly goes supernova in September an entire section of your personality suddenly disappears. It is the astrological equivalent of a stroke. The situation deepens mid-month as the star’s core collapses, forms a black hole and proceeds to hungrily devour the remnants of your constellation in its accretion disk. Expect to soon be reduced to a glassy-eyed shell whose only interest is a half-eaten jigsaw puzzle.
Like the bull you are generally happy with your phone tariff, although because of the number of calls you make in the evenings it might be worth considering swapping some of your text allowance for more minutes.
Your deeply compassionate nature means that you often feel sorry for all those unfortunate people you keep hobbled in your mechanised sex lair.
To your amazement the disgraceful TV pilot you thunk up whilst high on speed gets accepted and you sign a three-series deal for your Gok Wan-style Disabled Makeover Show. Fortunately for humanity, halfway through filming your third Down’s syndrome boob job the papers get wind of the idea via a meddling carer and production is cancelled. Looks like it’s back to doing lines of speed off the horrible drawing board.
Like the lion you don’t have a job.
You are very kind at heart. Never afraid to throw a boiling hot potato into the mouth of a starving child, or even cook an entire oven of beef before shovelling it out onto the pavement for beggars and crows.
Your mind is like a lightbulb in a sea of darkness. You should turn it off to help save energy.
Fearing the worst, and after much arguing with your parents about “what he’s like” you finally succumb to their wishes and visit your old uncle with your new girlfriend. For three hours you perch uneasily on the sofa as he sits in silence clumsily finger-banging her with his eyes.
The chart, like your diary, is empty this month.
In September your piles get worse and you spend a lot of time in the bathroom washing them clean with the care and attention you would if you were washing the delicate head of a newborn baby.
90% of accidents happen in the home. That includes your conception.
Like a mad Dr. Frankenstein you toil deep into the night trying to bring your sex doll to life. With its body stuffed full of meat and the brain of a dog sliding around inside its gormless plastic head you shock the doll repeatedly with a defibrillator to no avail. Dejected, you climb in beside your monster and make sad love to its leaking, deflating body.