Valentines Day Horoscope

Well well well if it isn’t the #1 pervert himself, St Chad Valentine, coming round the bend with his big horny holiday. Ahh, Valentine’s Day. Hearts r poundin n pulses r quickenin. A day for love and capitalism! But before Christianity prettied up an other-wise debaucurous holiday, the pagans were spending the day dipping goat hide in blood and slapping women in the face with it to boost fertility. We’ve come a long way with our chocolates, cupid arrows, and heart-shaped candies. Yet, the naughtiness persists. Executing priests and indoctrinating the country with purity culture can’t keep us down! Midnight text confessions, big horny feelings, and self-love in every sense of the word remain at a constant. This day is NASTY, baby! Whoever thought giving portly babies lust-tinged weapons is a Grade A Freak, and we love that. So lay down, draw a bath, unwrap that fist-sized chocolate heart your mom mailed you, and GET TO READING. Whether you’re coupled up, coupled down, solo, or winging this life with a gaggle of your closest pals, this weekend’s astrology forecast has something for all you sexy lil sinners.

You don’t often need an invitation, spicy Aries. Much like a sweaty Ed Sheeran pouring some thick-ass milk into a pint glass while mumuring “I feel like a failure” on Hot Ones, you are leaning into re-evaluating your strengths this month. Sure, in the past, shooting an antique musket into the air every time someone left you on read did wonders for your lore, but perhaps this Valentines Day weekend, you put down the gunpowder and instead hold up a mirror. What do you see? If the answer is anything besides “a freak nasty bitch with an incredible face and a terrifying personality,” then look again. Just know, for those of us lingering in the peripheral- we like what we see, and we want more.

What you’re manifesting this Valentines Day: Getting away with arson, flame details on a Corvette, and a loyal partner who submits to you like a dog (rolls over, shows their belly, avoids eye contact, pees)

Do you ever think about how traumatizing The Brave Little Toaster was? Grade A fucked me right up, cuz! One (me) could argue millennials’ brain chemistry was shaped by ONLY three things: Mark Ruffalo being a 9/11 conspiracy theorist, how many celeb vahoons the paps pervertedly snapped while exiting Escalades in the early aughts, and an animated feature about household appliances exploring the nuances of abandonment. And listen Taurus, if you could make it through a infantile animated masterpiece centering on palpable themes of grief (Phil Hartman’s grumpy air conditioner exploding), worthiness (THE JUNKYARD SONG) and unconditional love (repairing the appliances and taking them with him to college, Lampy sacrificing himself, the movie as a whole), whos to say you can’t break down that wall and redownload the dating apps? Sure, at times it’s like scrolling through The Hills Have Eyes’ most eligible bachelors, but maybe there’s a diamond in the rough hiding in there? A heart on the mend? Something or someone…begging for repair?

Valentines day Mantra: “One day we will all die, so.”

This or that? Him or them? Her or HER? Monogamy or 1/18th of a pollycule? Sometimes I am jealous of the dentist’s office treasure chest of sexy options that await you, multifaceted Gemini. The world is your kaleidoscope. But what happens when everyone desires you? Like my dog sniffing out a buried rotisserie chicken in the piles of cigarette-laden snow behind my house, everyone’s caught wind of your magic, and they won’t stop until they get a taste. This Valentine’s Day, lean into being the most coveted hot dish at the potluck.

Dream Date: Getting blotto at The Ohare Chilis and going absolutely Beast Mode on a triple dipper

I’ve gotten your feedback. Your letters. Your threats. You want more, you want something, anything. I understand. So I’ll leave you with this: “What is Beans from Even Stevens up to today?” Don’t look it up. Guess. Your answer says more about you than this horoscope ever could.

Turn-ons: Hot soup

Turn-offs: When an escalator gets stuck, prolonged eye contact with a TSA agent at the airport, cold soup

What’s wrong, Leo? Tummy too full after the proverbial all-you-can-eat buffet that was returning to your hometown for the holidays to show all the Shoulda-Couldas what they’re missing out on? Feet sore from stomping around the local dive bar’s karaoke and rib tips night? Voice hoarse from belting Betty David Eyes, making sure to boop the highschool quarter back turned substitute teacher’s nose when the lyric She’ll tease you, she’ll unease you hit? Leave your mark, boisterous Leo! Gotta give ‘em something to think about while closing up shop later. Listen, it’s hard work being the Holiday Ham, but you did it well, and you deserve a rest. As you ease into a more self care entered Valentine’s Day weekend, draw a bath and light some candles. Just don’t forget to snap a quick selfie and post it with Alanis Morrisette’s An older version of me Is she perverted like me? Would she go down on you in a theatre? Keep ‘em guessing, wild card.

Most compatible with: Libra, all the background actors from A Night’s Tale, the spotlight, an empty ER waiting room

Least Compatible with: Capricorn, corn in general, My aunt Barb (her ex was a Leo, she’s sworn them off)

No one is quite as good at spotting a fake AI dating profile as you, attentive Virgo. 7 fingers on a left hand holding a bouquet of lilies in a snow storm? An airbrushed buff man sitting erect on an airbrushed buff horse? A face smoother than whipped butter, one bicep bigger than the other, the answer to every prompt being “Memento Mori”? Call it as you see it, you truth-seeking maniac. Bullshit is still bullshit, dressed up footloose and fancy free in an incel’s version of smooth-brained masculinity or not. Be honest, Virgo, you want something real. You want the buff horse.

Valentine’s Day Mantra: “Submit or die!”

Have your cake and eat it too? THINK AGAIN SICK ASS. Let’s rephrase, shall we? In the game of MASH that is real life, infinite roads lie ahead of you. You begin the game wide-eyed and ready for the world. Mansion, Apartment, Shack, House, they’re all perfectly fine options for residence as long as they’re filled with the ones you love. It’s a wonder to be alive at all, right, Libra? “WRONG,” the world tells you. “IDIOT!” the corporations whisper into your ear. “GLP-1!!!!!!” the internet screams at you as you scroll. MORE! More, more, more, and more again. Suddenly, it seems all the options on the page aren’t enough. Why isn’t there a B for Big Ass Boat in the title? A Ways to Use Your Son’s Blood to Live Forever category between Job and Kids? Who told you life itself wasn’t enough? We are promised nothing except the breath we just took. Cut the noise, clear out the debri and start again. This Valentine’s Day, we are getting back to basics, Libra.

What You’re Manifesting This Valentine’s Day: The revival of The Next Bus, flowers, someone at the gym approaching you after a big lift and saying “I’m proud of you”, and an empty fridge.

If burn books were strictly horny, you’d have an Atonement-style library full of them, sacral Scorpio. And yeah, you’d be bangin’ on ‘em. You can’t spell Scorpio without F-E-R-A-L. And please, before you get defensive (too late!), no one doubts your depth. What we do doubt is the ability to let the past go. You say you’ve moved on, but what’s with the call logs, flimsy undercover disguises, and tapped phones? What is this, the Bush administration? Why not let yourself be seen, and therefore loved? The dark is good for plotting, but the light? The light is for living. Emerge from the shadows, I dare you. Also, please remove the knife from my throat.

Turn-Ons: A stalker you’re well aware of, secrets, hanging upside down like a bat, an undrinkable spicy marg

Turn-Offs: a man with a guitar at a party, a man playing Devil’s Advocate, a man who’s allowed to drive.

It’s nice to see you so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Saggy. I feel like we’re close enough that I can say this- you’re fucking wild! You’re here, you’re there, you’ve dropped trou and you’re chimp style hangin from the disco ball. Ever since I’ve known you, you are ra ta ta ta ta you’re pussy bitch. Which, like, we love. Slaying the house down, my house down, actually, ha ha boots, LITERALLY. Like, it’s a mess now! Mud everywhere, more mud than I thought possible! Mud in every sense of the word. But so fine! Soooo so fine. No blame here! You’re busy serving cunt! If cunt is sending me 6-10 voicenotes teterring on the edge of an emergency between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM and then when I respond in the morning you follow up with “new phone, who this?” even though I KNOW you still have the same Motorola 2024 Moto G Play that you had when we met at You Flip, I Flip, the indoor trampolin club for adults in 2023. But that’s fineeee! I’m fine! I’m actually like, really happy for you. Like, so seriously glad you’re in your element! Lean in! Lean in away from me! Forever maybe!

Dream Date: Finding someone on Craigslist to dig a deep hole and lower you into it.

Synergy, circle back, value add, excel spreadsheets, wheelhouse, espresso, cocaine, grey goose, circle back, leverage, touch base, go to market, circle back, level up, recognition, daddys affection, synergy, paradigm shift, grind, hustle, circle back, work hard play hard, affection, love, circle back, touch base, touch hands, hold hands, hold space, circle back, circle back, end of year sales, end of year, legacy, die, death, my father, my idol, my enemy, ping me, ping me, ping me, circle back, value add, value, circle back, value add, circle back, value, circle back, value, circle back, value. Value. Value. Circle back.

Dream Date : Rippin a Celsius and answering an important business call on the treadmill at a 13 incline.

Whatever you’re doing, stop it. Every day of the week is a different story with you, “Aquarius”. Monday, you’re climbing the corporate ladder at a Fortune 500, Tuesday you’re handing out herbal tinctures at the West Hollywood farmers market, Thursday you’re headlining Red Rocks. And Friday? Friday, you’re in love. I won’t even bother asking what happens on the weekend. What I will ask is this: Who holds the crooked skeleton key to your heart? Anna Nicole Smith famously fell in love with a horny ghost. I expect nothing less from you this Valentine’s Day. Please stay away from me.

Turn-ons: Flubber, underwear with days of the week on them if every day was Tuesday, giving a Beanie Baby a BBL

Turn-offs: Eye contact

Last, but not least, and certainly not lacking, Pisces. This Valentine’s Day, Cupid shot a rock-hard arrow through your waterbed of a heart, spilling all its contents on the floor. Anyone else would grab the mop and get to cleaning, but not you. If anything, this is an invitation. You’re splishin, you’re splashin, you’re whipping your hair across your face in a way that hurts, you’re pretending to drown so the hot lifeguard will save you. Hunny, you’re in your element. And what a good look for you, slippery one. Out of all the sirens on the rock, you’re the one I’d want to lure me to my rocky death with song. So get to singing and see what comes calling.

Most Compatible With: A haunted doll, Scorpio, and eldest sons

Least Compatible With: Pianos, Dentists, the Pigeon Lady from Home Alone