Read the all-new La Voz horoscopes — we’ve got exclusive new star signs! Guaranteed to be the most accurate horoscopes anywhere, ever!*
Googly: Beware the Jabberwock, my son. Also, you’re not really my son. And you’re actually not in very much Jabberwock-related danger. The Jabberwocky is actually a fictional monster from a poem in a Lewis Carroll book, and therefore not capable of causing serious harm.
Retchy: It is highly unlikely that you will travel back in time to the Old West this week. Or any other historical era, for that matter. Unless it all turns out to be a dream or a hallucination or something.
Brian: This week, you are in very little danger of being beaten in the streets for humming a Spice Girls song on the bus. Mostly because your music taste is better than that, aside from that brief love affair with polka.
Gibby: The stars are pretty sure you won’t win any awards for macrame this week. No sir, no macrame awards. Not that you don’t do some pretty great macrame.
Filibuster: You may experience morning fog this week, which will likely burn off by midday as the temperature rises. Yup, you’ll be experiencing weather of some kind: the stars are very clear on that point.
T-Rex: Bees! Millions of them! Swarming all over your face! Totally unlikely! Unless you go stick your face in a swarm of bees! I don’t recommend it!
Squushy: You will read at least one newspaper horoscope this week. It will be self-referential. You will be only mildly amused. That’s okay, they can’t all be winners.
Germini: While it is possible that tomorrow you will be drugged, abducted, and have your vital organs sold on the black market, the stars say it is extremely unlikely.
Leapy: You will be less than pleased by gas prices this week. Especially if you like to use the super-expensive premium gas. Buy cheaper gas.
Wendel: Why are you sitting here reading a horoscope? It’s a nice day. You should be outoors, skipping around, flying a kite. Go run through a field of flowers in slow motion or something.
*This guarantee guarantees nothing. But have fun beliving you have no free will because everything is preordained and that flaming balls of gas millions of light-years away could somehow predict, or even care about, your future. Or have actual fun. It’s all good.