Crystal Baws: May 2013 Horoscopes

Feature by Mystic Mark | 09 May 2013

ARIES
After fitting a new kitchen, the plumber accidentally connects your water pipes up to Europe’s largest Industrial Sperm Bank complex. Taking a shower after work, the boiler rumbles and the pipes gurgle and creak before a torrent of thick man sludge erupts from the shower head, covering you in an inadvertent bukkake. Blinded by muck, you stumble out to find the toilet filling to the brim with off-white ooze like something out of Ghostbusters II, then into the hall, warmed by radiators full of boiling jizz where you frantically turn off the stop cock.

TAURUS
This month your career takes an interesting turn when you’re sold into the army as a stab bag.

GEMINI
Didn’t your parents ever tell you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full of drugs?

CANCER
Tears roll down the 2ft mince-like tumour which hangs off your face like a leaking meat cauliflower while you watch the taped One Show Christmas Special you just got round to viewing.

LEO
You have the mind of a worm and the body also of a worm.

VIRGO
Like your sphincter, you tend to relax after a few drinks.

LIBRA
After starting your own accountancy firm you decide to put 110% into the venture. Nobody can fault your commitment, but this really fucks up the figures.

SCORPIO
You never noticed before the Job Centre employees’ stab vests or side arms, the searchlight tower in the car park, the snarling German shepherds barely held back by guards at the door or the wailing job seekers in cages hanging from lampposts in the street outside.

SAGITTARIUS
Your ruling planet is Jupiter, the fattest planet in the solar system.

CAPRICORN
You hope to one day have an ambition.

AQUARIUS
For you, the grass is always greener on the other side. That’s because you live in a nightmarish dystopian future where grass has been banned by a merciless World Government.

PISCES
Lately you’ve been working your way into the heart of a certain someone special, really getting to know what they’re like inside. In May however, a malfunction in the miniaturisation ray causes your microscopic vessel to expand without warning, exploding out of their body in a flash of meat and metal. With the engines powering down and the windscreen wipers moving guts back and forth across your cockpit window, you stumble out into a dripping red living room for a scream-filled meeting with the parents of the person you spent the last fortnight inside.