Did you read your horoscope this morning? It says, “You don’t need a horoscope, mothafucka.” Oh, it doesn’t? Well, it should because horoscopes are scams propagated by the mall kiosk industry to sell more zodiac-based gifts.
So you don’t need your horoscope ever again, because I know everything about you. That’s right, even if we don’t know each other, or ESPECIALLY if we don’t know each other. Not knowing you allows me to avoid becoming mired in facts. All I need to know is your favorite seltzer flavor.
If you don’t drink seltzer, then I know nothing about you, except for the fact that you’re probably a non-human. Or perhaps, you grew up in a town where people froze and ate all of the liquid they consumed. Either way, you don’t understand drinks. For everyone else, find your favorite seltzer flavor below and enjoy my dead-on assessment of you.
You are somewhat conservative, but you don’t judge, because you experimented with some freaky shit once on a very special episode of your life. You’re the Brandon Walsh/Dawson Leery/Jerry Seinfeld/Condoleezza Rice of your friend group. Everyone around you is way more interesting, way more crazy, or both. However, people always turn to you in times of trouble and trust your sage advice. Also, you’re great at puzzles or grilling. Also, you like lime-flavored stuff. Not 100% about the rest of this, but I’m certain about that last part.
You have that new shade of lipstick that everyone who cares about lipstick and who still wears lipstick and lipstick, lipstick, lipstick, is talking about. You are very conventionally good-looking; people want to have sex with you, but not, like, in a weird way. (Also, most likely in a weird way.) You may or may not also be smart or literally a deer, the animal. There is no way of knowing for sure. This stuff isn’t an exact science, okay?
You killed someone once, or watched a TV show where someone killed someone. You are really good at listening, but also kind of terrible at it. You have an old soul. You are open to new experiences, meeting new people, and/or breathing oxygen. You are attractive, especially when you smile or fart. You have a birthday. You don’t hate the flavor orange. Whatever, just ignore anything inapplicable and move on with your life.
People always tell you that you’re a good kisser, because you are an amazing kisser and they don’t want you to get a big head. You look great in black and use the Internet. You are sassy. You have or have had a magazine subscription—or you wanted to once. You ate your twin in utero and your twin was a LIME.
You are an avid consumer of Grecian yogurt. You practice Santeria. You have knitted something in the past 24 hours or 24 years. You fucking hate oxidants. Your mother, or someone like a mother to you, or someone who worked at the nightclub Mother in the late ‘90s, has recently done laundry—nothing to do with you, I’m just saying. The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, ease up.
You love the ‘80s. You are great at telling stories. You’re a people person. You once walked in on your parents doing it. “It” was fighting about what to watch on television. You worry about getting trapped in your clothing, impressing your crush, catching STDs, having it all, not caring about having it all, grandparents, job stuff, hidden calories, whether you’re recycling properly, and/or correctly deploying slang terms. You may have entirely completed a push-up or a push-pop. One of these has got to apply to you at this point.
You have gorgeous eyes. You are a blond lesbian. You are definitely a blond lesbian, unless you are brown-haired, a man, and/or definitely not a lesbian. You possess a circulatory system and some type of blood. This one is completely accurate, trust me.
You are between two and seven feet tall. You’re really into Taylor Swift or Taylor Lautner or tailored jeans that you wear while stalking Taylor-Thomas, Jonathan. You are brave, but in, like, an unassuming way. Your hair smells good. You have all the worst characteristics of a “raspberry” and also all the worst characteristics of a “lime”. However, you somehow have all of the best characteristics of an “orange.”
How do I just KNOW? I can’t explain it. It just is. People are just people, by “people” I mean beings who can be completely defined to their essence by one random characteristic or something they happen to be carrying.