Astrology in real life
“P, you’re crazy. Crazy, crazy, P,” the soldier said.
He tells me I’m crazy all the time like maybe three times a day. On this day I decided to attack. (swearing below the break)
“I’m crazy? I AM CRAZY? Hold the fucking phone! Hold That Fucking Phone Right There, I want to talk to you about this.”
“‘Bout what? About how crazy you are?”
“Well I may be crazy. I really may be crazy but what about you? You are the son of bitch who walks around with a psychic antenna in your hand ten hours a day! That’s right. That thing is hanging from the back of your pants (pocket) most the day and most the night and has been for 40 fucking years and you’re callin’ me crazy? Everyone knows you have that thing. You think they think you’re sane with that thing?”
“Well that’s not crazy, P. There’s nothing wrong with what I do. You on the other hand are crazy as hell. Yeah ol’ P. She’s crazy as a bed bug. She’s crazy as hell but I sure do love her.”
Seeing I failed to make a dent, I gave up that tack to come up with another.
It’ll be response #740 to his claim you know. “P, you’re crazy. Crazy, crazy, P…” I know I am right you see his elaborate defense.
This is what it’s like to have someone’s Saturn bearing down on your Mars/Mercury by the way. Ah, synastry. It never fails.
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Heads Up from Elsa P!
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