The thirteenth zodiac sign


I’ve always found zodiac signs fascinating in that no one I’ve ever talked to believes in them. Yet they continue to appear even in highbrow news sources like the Guardian. Why is that? Do people read them for kicks? Do people read them because they sort of believe in astrology but feel ashamed of the fact that they do? Is it just a very mild form of superstition? I have no idea. Maybe the only reason why they still exist is so that militant ultra-rationalists can keep complaining about the abhorrent intellectual status of society. I, for one, am quite glad that zodiac signs are still around, if only because they seem like an easy target for comedy.

In the following I will document what I have learnt about myself by doing a bit of reading on my zodiac sign, which is Scorpio.

  The main thing I found out about Scorpios is that we’re fucking arseholes, but that things work out for us nonetheless, because we’re also fucking sexy. We’re narcissistic, manipulative people with impeccably good looks and sexual desires so strong that we often cannot control them. It’s almost like we’re the human equivalent of sensationalist news articles: irresistible appearance, highly objectionable and unreliable content. Think a milder version of Patrick Bateman in American Psycho; not quite as murder-y, but there’s definitely an impulse to resort to violence when we feel we have been wronged.

  On this brilliant website called, you’ll find articles like „Are You Too Sexy For Your Own Good, Scorpio?“, where, in exactly twelve lines—that’s some heavy-duty journalism right there—, the author, Lola Stinger, tells you that Scorpios are indeed in danger of being too sexy for their own good and that they ought to be careful. Obviously a reference to her zodiac sign, I still think the author decided on a rather inopportune nom de plume. It just sounds like a pseudonym for someone who does rather niche work in the adult entertainment industry. Let me put it this way, if I typed Lola Stinger into the Pornhub search bar, I would not be surprised, upon hitting enter, to be faced with a woman aggressively stroking her own cock. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. But maybe it’s not an ideal pseudonym for an astrology writer. Anyway, in the article, Ms Stinger brings in some of her own experience as an uber-sexy Scorpio. She writes: „Sometimes, when I have told some guys I am a Scorpio, they immediately become obsessed with getting me in bed as soon as possible. Once, one even said: “I have great sex with Scorpios.” Omg… yikes!“ I agree, that is a bit yikes. But I suspect that this kind of overeager flirtation is not as much about zodiac signs as it is about desperately horny, heterosexual men. What I’m saying here is that you may as well have revealed yourself to be a steam train engine, and I promise some randy imbecile of a man would have come back with „I have great sex with steam train engines“.

  Anyway, having skimmed a few articles about how and why Scorpios are attractive arseholes, I can’t say I’m convinced. Here’s why: both my girlfriend and I are Scorpios and we’ve both said that, despite being abnormally good-looking, we also have flawless personalities. We are literally the most empathetic, trustworthy and considerate people on the planet. So, this zodiac signs business is clearly humbug. I mean, what more evidence do you need? (None. That is sort of what astrology is about I guess.)

  In closing I would like to express my doubts about astrology—not in the sense that it’s pseudo-scientific nonsense; that’s obvious anyway—but in the sense that I’m not sure that routinely reading one’s horoscope can have a positive effect on one’s well-being. I, for one, refuse to let some supposed authority influence my perception of what my day is going to be like, whether the prediction is good or bad. If you genuinely believe in the information they give you, then you’re already biased before your day has even started and what results is likely to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Do you know what would actually be good for you to read in the morning? A joke. See, laughter is actually good for your mental health, as opposed to being told things like ‘be very careful in your flirtation so as not to sexually assault your date’. So, how about instead of this horoscope bogus, you just read a hilarious one-liner to start your day off with a chuckle? In the interest of making this a trend, here’s a joke I came up with a while ago:

What do you call an Irishman on drugs? — A baked potato!

Hilarious, right!? They don’t call me a comedic genius for nothing! (I have to pay them… quite a lot).

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