Dancing With the Stars

CAPRICORN – Stop hitting on the youngsters, you horny old goat. Find somebody in your age range. And not my mom, either. That’s just wrong.

CANCER – You’re crabby, which explains why nobody wants to be around you. Lighten up.

ARIES – You’re hard-headed and tend to ram your way through all obstacles. Your problem is you keep on ramming even after you’ve solved whatever the trouble is. Take a break and give your head a rest.

LEO – Some cat ate my brother’s entire sheep herd. It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you. Don’t try to tell me it was a dragon. I’m calling the cops.

LIBRA – You’re either a well-balanced individual, constantly on a diet, or scaly. If you’re a snake, we can rule out the other two. Just don’t swallow anything too much bigger than you are.

VIRGO – Nobody’s a Virgo anymore. You’re not fooling anyone.

SAGITTARIUS – We’ve been getting complaints from ranchers about somebody shooting arrows into their barns. What’s the matter, William Tell, targets not good enough for you? We don’t tolerate vandalism around here. Take the hint.

GEMINI – You’re into threesomes, primarily with twins. You’re either a coyote or a mink. And very, very tired.

PISCES – You’re a slippery dude and not to be trusted. Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing in regards to your taxes—don’t.

AQUARIUS – You’re all wet, so you’d better be a surfer or Olympic swimmer or something. Just a word of warning: if you’re dating a Pisces, don’t let him or her do your taxes.

SCORPIO – You make the best damn vodka stingers I’ve ever tasted. Quit wasting your talents on others and open your own bar. Get a Libra to cook for you and you can’t lose.

TAURUS – You’re a bull, and therefore full of—what? What do you mean, I can’t say that in the paper? Fine. You have a lot of muscle mass and should go into competitive bodybuilding. And you’re horny. Go date the Aries. How’s that, better?

# # #

“I don’t think that’s what Nick had in mind when he asked for a weekly horoscope,” Ziva said.

“I don’t give a headless carp,” Ralph snarled. As the runt of his grizzly litter, he was unflaggingly churlish. “Astrology is a ripoff anyway. Make the snake write this scat. He likes making stuff up.”

“Nick’s trying to reach new readership demographics.”

“Who’s he aiming for now, the brain dead? Great. We can stick the Gazette on the checkout racks next to the gossip rags.”

“I predict,” Ziva said sweetly, “if you don’t give the boss what he asks for, you’ll be looking for another job.”

“Okay, okay, whatever.” Ralph deleted his post, scowled at the computer screen, and started over.

CAPRICORN – You have a sensible head on your shoulders and a helluva prong between your legs. The ladies must be lining up around the block for—

“Ralph!”

“All right.” Ralph waited for Ziva to stalk away before he let his head sink to the desk. “My ass is destined for the can,” he groaned.