The Remote Island by Bryan Christian Donald Trump and Jay Leno are the kings of NBC? Plus: naked football players and Gossip Girl leaves us all hanging till next year.
Libra (Sept. 22-Oct. 22)
Tiptoe, Libra, through the charred field of tulips that is the remainder of your sad, sad financial portfolio. With the moneyhouses being sold into indentured servitude, or locked in basements and tortured with pointy sticks, it's a good time to get depressed. Luckily, the new moon last Wednesday was in your sign, allowing valuable insight to descend and make you even more depressed. Watching Rome burn, however, worked for Nero — so all signs point to clambering out onto your rooftop with a beer and savoring the toasty, glowing economy as it falls to ashes. And then burying your gold in the backyard.
Scorpio (Oct. 23-Nov. 21)
There is a mummy in your closet this week. Someone left it there and forgot it, and it won't figure out how to get out until next Monday. Fortunately, you never clean your closet, so write off the muffled thumping as your neighbors having sex while running through their darkened apartment and banging into their own furniture. The lone monotone moan will jar with this theory, but luckily, you'll be far too busy for neurotic paranoia. With Mars entering your sign this month, you're suddenly quite important, with job offers to reject and co-worker favors to grant. Wear your snootiest face and best underpants.
Sagittarius (Nov. 22-Dec. 21)
Nature lesson! The tiny goby fish sometimes lives with a shrimp. The shrimp digs and maintains a little burrow, and they both live inside; in return, the goby spots predators and taps the blind shrimp with its tail to warn it. And then they hide out in the burrow together. For serious. This month you're going to take turns being the goby and the shrimp. Sometimes, you need a burrow; sometimes someone else needs a tap from your tail. Don't be a hero, Sagittarius. And that way, you won't be food.
Capricorn (Dec. 22-Jan. 19)
Polar bears are becoming hermaphrodites and cannibals, and Ted Turner has predicted that in thirty years, we too will all be eating each other like overcrowded crabs in a bucket. But don't let it get you down, gentle Capricorn; this is a month of social engagement and nicety, a spirited and lively month of ebullience. Your wit will sparkle, your charm will shine. If you were living in Victorian England, you'd have all the polite houses whispering in shocked admiration at your moxie, and nobody would dare to spread rumors of consumption vis-à-vis your flushed cheeks. Stay marvelous, darling.
Aquarius (Jan. 20-Feb. 18)
This week, do not be surprised to find yourself exhibiting traits of dead lovers of The Bard. "Hark!" you will say, finding yourself in a corset, or breeches, or both. "I do detect the dulcet strains / of unfamiliar mental chains!" You will be briefly depressed to find that everyone you ever knew is dead, but overjoyed to discover that, due to lower standards, you are now the best rhyming poet on the planet. The lines, they scan! Now is the time for slam poetry. Be a one-hit YouTube wonder while you can, little Aquarius, because next week thy wry words will be as chaff in the wind.
Pisces (Feb. 19-Mar. 20)
My dear denizen of the deep, the urge to snoop and creep grows wild inside of you. What are those peculiar sounds coming from your Scorpio friend's closet? Would you get caught if you had sex in that closet? Are there aliens in your freezer? What would a septum piercing feel like? Some of these questions can be answered with empirical research; others, however, are best left to conjecture. Use your wily wits for good, not evil. Adam and Eve weren't bad people for eating the apple, but life did get a heck of a lot harder afterwards. Choose your apples wisely.
Aries (Mar. 21-Apr. 19)
This is a good week for foreign policy education, you rams, so peruse a couple world maps and read Alistair Horne's A Savage War of Peace to brush up on the impotence of traditional military tactics against an insurgency. We happen to know that a certain vice-presidential candidate is not an Aries. So if you're jonesing for a swath of icy tundra, now's the time to make like an Arctic Hannibal, get your army on some moose, sally forth and conquer. It'll be the perfect gift for the lusty, yet demanding, love object who has recently entered your life. Nothing turns on the difficult conquest like a new frozen territory named after him or her. Be prepared for Cirque du Soleil-style bedroom antics in an igloo. We know they're not the sexiest of evening garments, but you might want to invest in those long johns with flaps; it's cold up North.
Taurus (Apr. 20-May 20)
We don't know how you did it, given the current economic situation, but you're currently in possession of oodles and oodles of cash. So it's almost your civic duty to squander your new-found fortune on ridiculous luxury items to attract a sexy mate. Make sure to save enough plunder so the two (or three, if you're nasty) of you can roll are around naked on a bed covered in cash. Nevertheless, considering the rest of us are scraping by on canned beans, it might be in your karmic best interest to share some of that wealth. Follow the example of fellow Tauran propagandista do-gooder Eva Peron: Name a foundation after yourself, distribute shoes and cookery left and right, and kiss as many of the unwashed masses as you can. Someday Andrew Lloyd Webber will write a musical about you, and damn if that doesn't turn the whole world on.
Gemini (May 21-Jun. 21)
It's been a tough couple of months, but things are starting to look up for you, Gemini. The key is a change of perception; take a second look at your surroundings, and you'll see that everything's coming up roses. Your crazy roommate's meth addiction? An unseized opportunity to make the place really tidy. Why not take some of her stash while you're at it, get a typewriter and a ream of paper and bada bing! On the Road 2, a sure-fire bestseller! Your follow-up can be a thinly veiled exposé about your evil boss. Pick out the outfits for your Oprah appearances now. As for your love life: admit it, you've always found that panhandler who hangs out on your stoop kinda hot. And everyone loves a good Queer Eye-style makeover project, no?
Cancer (June 21-July 21)
Much like Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf, you're ruled by the moon. This week that giant slab of cheese in the sky is as difficult to assess as that three-week-old Stilton lingering in the back of your fridge. Is it delightfully ripe and pungent, or just too moldy and gross? You'll go back and forth on that question every day. The only way to handle such bipolar times is to go with the flow and act as mercurial as Klaus Kinski on a movie shoot. If you're coupled, this could provide a great opportunity to mix up the prevailing sexual dynamics in the relationship; if you're single, just look at this as an opportunity to meet (and shag) a wide variety of new and interesting people. However, as some old limey playwright with a Prince Valiant 'do once advised, one ought not to swear by the inconstant moon, so put off any blood oaths, court testimony, or shotgun weddings till next week.
Leo (July 22-Aug. 22)
You've been struggling a bit lately, workin' nine to five, fighting a redheaded hussy named Jolene to keep hold of your significant other. (Or was it your pet chinchilla? We always get those two confused.) Now that you're enjoying the fat of the land a bit, it's time to ask yourself the all-important question: What would Dolly Parton do? The answer, of course, is invest wisely. Create your own amusement park. Consider some cosmetic enhancements that will keep you looking fab in sparkly jumpsuits for years to come. And if your own waterslide and a smokin' hot bod don't have you swatting suitors away like flies, fret not. You should have plenty of cash left over to start the R&D for your own personal sex robot. Human contact is totally overrated.
Virgo (Aug. 23-Sept. 21)
You've been shedding a lot of excess baggage in your life recently, and now's the time to take stock of all the wise decisions you've made and give yourself a complimentary pat on the back. Replacing the egocentric ex with a really expensive sex toy? Good call. Dropping out of law school to go live on that commune? Drum circles are awesome! Plus, Rainbow and Djuna are so generous with the quinoa! Don't let this new sense of contentment from reaching for higher things, though. Getting rid of that baggage is the perfect time to upgrade to the cosmic equivalent of the full Louis Vuitton matched set. Pick the cutest and most sexually talented hippie, make him/her your consort and set about turning that commune into your own personal cult. Stay away from the Kool-Aid though; the forces that rule your stars aren't fond of megalomaniacal homicidal hubris.
, featuring curious yet marvelous infusions of cucumber and rose petal.
