Horoscopes for Mindless Microscopic Amorphous Watery Gelatinous Amoebaic Blobs
(The most specifically and generally accurate horoscope in the world!)
The future is dim, grey, and murky. Each day will pass much like the other one.
The future is dim, grey and murky. You will encounter a meaningless meeting or parting with another formless, colourless blob. Good one!
Those born under the sign of Gemini, the twins, often find themselves at times of significant emotional or intellectual dischord, which they must overcome to move forward into a new and brighter future. Not you, though. You don't have an intelligence or emotions to be dischordant in the first place. The future is dim, grey and murky.
The days ahead will be watery and unclear, beyond which lie gloomy and shadowy events of a colourless nature, in a grimy and musty backdrop. Events in general will be dim, grey and murky.
You will meet, part with, or not stand in any particular relation to, another formless colourless blob who you may or may not have been at some point in your dim, grey and murky past.
The future is dim, grey, and murky, and since you do not have a mind, it will leave you in two lack-of-minds about how to proceed with your next month. With luck, more dim, grey murkiness will lie ahead.
You will have an encounter with a few random strands of DNA and RNA that are far too complex for your puny mindlessness to comprehend. The future is dim, grey and murky. Wallow in it.
You have tail feathers, like paddling around and quacking a lot, you eat flies and small insects, and the future is watery, but not particularly grey and murky. You are not actually a mindless microscopic amorphous watery gelatinous amoebic blob at all, you are a duck. Get your own publication, schmuck.
The future is dim, grey, murky, and rather acidic. You have just been swallowed by a toad with particularly fierce gastric juices, and you will not live to see another day. Goodbye.
Look! Over there! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it a particularly detailed reproduction of the Mandelbrot Set? No, it's just another blob that would in some ways look to some people like some of those things if they were able to see things from your eyes. Not you, though, since you don't have eyes or a mind. The future is dim, grey and murky.
The future is particularly blobby. Your prospects are on the up.
Guess which adjectives feature heavily in your future? That's right. Dim. Grey. Murky. Continue luxuriating in the general slushy gloopy gloppiness of it all, because that's all you're going to get.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
- Broken Biro
- Poetry 24
- Superlative scribbles
- Kirstyn McD!
- Rorrim a tsomla almost a mirror
- More Sterne
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- Too hot to Raaaaaaandallllllll!
- Erin's Excellently Everlasting Effervescements!
- Slammy Infamy
- Hail Paco!
- Baron Blandwagon, purveyor of cyberbunnies, hawker of Roger Corman, and Misruler of the Multiverse
- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
- Bad Apple Audrey
- The cartoon church
- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
- David of Metal City
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- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
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- Yet another Tim
- Was two peas, now three peas
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- Blink and you'll miss 'er
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- The Non-palindromical Editrix in Germanium
- Old Sterne
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
- Blairville, lair of all that is wicked and perfidious
- The enticingly acronymical CSH
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- Fiendishly complex
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- About this final thing we're having...
- How to make the universe explode
- Please rectify immediately
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- The aphoristic brevity of paternal pronouncements
- Mansfield Snark
- Once you have reached the end, go on
- My arts policy
- Congratulations! It's a bouncing 32 year old!
- The internet votes Labor
- Spoonerising by the light of the silvery moonerisi...
- A collection of puns looking for a reason
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- The sum of its somes
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- This poem just writes itself, dyslexically
- Where's a good vaticide when you need one?
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