Aquarius (Jan 20-Feb 18): You, Aquarius, probably make squelching sounds when you walk, and leave tiny wee dainty foot prints wherever you roam, because you have been pouring bottles of infinite water on your feet. We do not know why you do this. Perhaps your feet were hot.

This week, you may find yourself wanting to dress like a giant ladybug. Go for it, Aquarius. Maybe this is your chance to meet that special someone. We hope that a ladybug-fancier will be more tolerant of your strange, oval head. Remember, Aquarius–horizontal stripes are slimming. Unless, of course, you’re dressed like a giant ladybug, in which case, give up on slimming, embrace your inner coleoptera.

Remember, Aquarius, not to cover your head in tiny seeds, like a strawberry. We do not know why Aquarius in particular makes this mistake. And yet, they continue to. It is, we will allow, an impressive fashion statement.

Scorpio (Oct 23-Nov 21): Remember, Scorpio, that dressing up like Southwestern folk art, perhaps a horned toad or some sort of cheerfully-painted cuttlefish, will not change the fact that you are a horrible bug. Give up.

Virgo (Aug 23-Sep 22): For the love of god, Virgo, eat something. And not a calla lily, we suggest that you invest in some serious starches, maybe some muffins or bagels. We would also ask you to see a specialist, because you might find that your arms are growing directly out of your floating ribs. Perhaps you’ve grown your hair long to hide this exciting deformity, but really, Virgo, you’re only fooling yourself. Besides, you’re a Virgo, and should by now have adjusted to your basically unlovable nature. Marry a Pisces, they deserve it.

About your shoes, Virgo. Or possibly, about your feet. Perhaps this is something you should also bring up with your specialist. We do not think that wrapping your tragic little appendages in electrical tape is a valid approach to footwear, and it does not conceal how strange and distended your feet actually are. However, it may add valuable interest to your party conversation, and could possibly impress goths.

Your lucky numbers are 55 and 23. Sitting on top of giant mushrooms is good for relieving lower back pain, particularly the kind caused by having mutant arms out from just above your hips. The stars know, we find that pretty painful, it must be worse for you.

Salvation Army near Peyton Gin and 183. Apologies to any Virgos out there, and co-sympathy to anybody dating one :)

Please stand and say the pledge of allegiance to the shirt.

I have to assume this was yanked off some poor teacher. Oh how she must have struggled. “No! NO! It’s educational!” It was probably freaking out the third graders–the way Mrs. Klapham had Uncle Sam staring at them from over each boob, his tangled beard covering her ample breast in a cascade of wool. Setting up weird associations between Americana, Santa Claus, and mammaries that would, later, send many of them to a marriage therapist when their partners refused to wear the “lady liberty” to bed.

You have to side with the Parent Teacher Association on this one though. Really, there’s such a thing as too much weirdly-placed patriotism. This one was worse than the “Old Glory” sarong.

Not that I’m really a part of that particular subculture, because they never hold late-night, throbbing-techno dances in “Salvation Army,” and if they would I would be there in a heartbeat, but this doesn’t really speak “rave” to me.

But, there you go. As the raver generation ages and buys minivans, this…THIS is what you get. Dreadful.

…and bunnies. USA and bunnies. If there was an angel of America, yeah, she’d have that hair. She’d have bag-lady hair, and a D-ring suspension point embedded in her chest, because she’d be totally pro-bondage and anti-conditioner. But she’d have a soft spot for cute, fluffy things. And nice hips, but no feet. Because that would symbolize…something. Probably victory. Or determination. Or shopping. I don’t know, one of those.

Hi, George!

Awesome pants, by the way! I can see you’ve got your entire life wrapped up in this one iconic image. You’re probably holding the Declaration of Independence, there. And an apple, because you discovered gravity. I didn’t know that, but it was on Wikipedia. I’m not sure about the leg-warmers, though they’re a very forward-looking fashion statement, and would have been a great boon when crossing the Patomac. Maybe this is actually BOY George, but I don’t think he’d be caught dead in a dusty blue muumuu. And the make-up’s a little too subdued.

If there’s anything more patriotic than a furry holding a lot of fruit, I am not currently aware of it. Those are truly awesome pants. Not everybody could pull those off. Most people wouldn’t try, I’m guessing. I’m not sure about the hat, though. Maybe you should give that to George, he needs a little more color in his life.

Uncle Sam Rave Shirt from Salvation Army on South Congress near Ben White; American Angel-Peg from Goodwill on 183 near 620; “George” and Patriot Bear from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar. Happy 4th, y’all!

Rule number 14: Everything is better in extreme close-up. Take this hairy nightmare, for example.

If you harvested the short-and-curlies of 300 dryads, you’d get something like this. Now, the “why you’d do this” of such an operation, that is an open question. Maybe you’re a member of an avante-weird fetish community that’s collecting the groinal pelts of mythological creatures, for a very private, intimate version of Disney’s Fantasia–the Greek scene. You know, the silly Greek scene. Which would have been improved somewhat by having been live-action.

Goodwill, obviously, is making this a reality.

No, no, that’s not what’s happening at all, though honestly, I’m not sure WHAT’S going on. Even if you pull back a bit, get some perspective, scale back a bit, it still looks like someone dyed their poodle green, then felt guilty about it, shaved the poor thing bare to preserve its limited dignity, then put the results into a basket and sent them to grandma…with flowers, because they make everything better.

Serve it all up on a frame that looks like a paper plate, instantly the entire affair is that much classier!

From behind, you get flowers in bondage.

Or maybe in one of those drippy oil-lamps from the late 70s, early 80s. Where little threadbare fake flowers, yes, embedded in fake greenery, were drizzled with goo–usually mineral oil, but in this case, something a bit more biological. Whatever floats your boat, just don’t scare the horses or remove the pricetag, because in either event, they won’t sell it to you.

Goodwill on 2222, Austin