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Dr Danny’s Astrological Extravaganza – 2026

Yes, it’s time for another batch of horoscopes for the discerning masochist.

Aries: You go on weight loss pills. Unfortunately, due to a prescribing accident, you spend fourteen months taking a laxative every morning. You mistakenly believe the consequences of this mistake to be a case of understated side effects. You do lose weight, but your electrolytes budget goes through the roof in a desperate attempt to stay hydrated. As does your underpants budget. You commemorate the experience by getting a full back tattoo of the lyrics to “Ring of Fire”.

Taurus: Your employer’s senior management decides it would benefit company morale to appoint an official “court jester” of sorts. You are randomly elected to this position, but it’s decided it would be funnier to not tell you. They tell everyone else. Just not you. You will spend the rest of the financial year being the subject of a dizzying array of practical jokes, from bizarre and offputting work assignments, six hour drives to attend meetings at fictional locations, to custard pies to the face every time you turn a corner in the office. Morale and productivity skyrocket, you are named employee of the year, and receive a substantial cash prize. And another pie to the face.

Gemini: You discover that you are half of a whole “evil twin” situation. Specifically you’re the evil twin. Your parents kept your doppelgänger because they liked them way more than you. That’s why they encouraged you to move out, they wanted your room for them, so they could come out of the attic without the risk of you corrupting them with your general awfulness. You learn this when you make an unannounced visit to your parents to bring them a present, only to find your twin already there. After meeting them for the first time you decide your parents had a point.

Cancer: Did you ever see that movie Castaway? No reason. Anyway, you decide you’ve earned a holiday and book a luxury trip to the Caribbean. You plan to spend two weeks in the sun, in a charming beachfront hotel. Wait, sorry, not Castaway, I’m thinking of a completely different movie. What was it called? Oh, yeah. Alive. That’s the one.

Leo: You become so unutterably sick of hearing LLMs described as AI that you become a vocal critic of them, and their use, both in your workplace and online. After being called a Luddite you look up what the Luddites really were, and to your surprise find yourself agreeing. You go all in on the philosophy, building a modern force of classical Luddite organised labour. For legal reasons I cannot describe the rest of the year’s events.

Virgo: After a mental health episode caused by “fucking bullshit” you decide it’s time for a career change. You consider several new lines of work, before settling on becoming a goatherd in the Cairngorms. Not officially, as such. You just train the wild goats into your personal army and menace passers-by to hand over any cash and snacks they may be carrying. You will not entirely understand how this catapults you to a significant position in The Sunday Times Rich List, and nor, frankly, will they.

Libra: You invent a new type of cheese, which becomes an overnight bestseller. “Big Cheese” objects to the new competition, and you are kidnapped by a… huh…. There isn’t actually a word for cheesemaker. We just call them cheesemakers. TIL. You are kidnapped by cheesemakers, who attempt to send a message to future upstarts in the cheese industry by stuffing you into a wheel of cheese and leaving it to cave age for several years. Their plan to sell the resultant cheese-based-crime to the world’s elites is foiled by your eating your way out. You will go on to sell a best-selling account of your battle with the cheese cartels, ghost-written by the guy that proofreads the copy on the back of cereal boxes.

Scorpio: You learn that all the inconvenient maintenance problems that have arisen recently in your home are in fact caused by a haunting. The spirits of every chicken you’ve ever eaten in there have reached critical mass and amalgamated to become a “megaghost”. This would be a bigger problem if it wasn’t for the fact that it still has the intelligence of a chicken, and is therefore completely incapable of forming any actual plan beyond “wandering around and bumping into things”. You conduct a pity exorcism after the third time it wanders into the street and gets hit by a car.

Sagittarius: You become addicted to skydiving. At the peak of your addiction you are jumping out of planes upwards of a dozen times a day. After your third hospitalisation due to midair albatross collision, your loved ones stage an intervention. The only way they are able to keep you in one place long enough to stage said intervention is to create an elaborate and highly convincing fake aircraft which you believe to be in flight. To escape the intervention you leap out of the “aircraft” and land in a puddle in a field, where you are promptly kicked in the head by a horse, curing you of your addiction and your ability to spell the word blancmange.

Capricorn: Due to a fault with your phone’s navigation app you will spend eight straight months driving in circles around the same roughly three square mile area, stopping only to fill up the petrol tank. You become a local fixture, known as “that fucking idiot”. Your journey will only end when your car’s alternator fails, causing the battery to die, and your phone to reset. You will later refer to this period as the happiest in your life, marred only by your development of a crippling parasocial relationship with several radio personalities, and “that bloody traffic light”.

Aquarius: You finally snap and turn “that” neighbour into a selection of high quality artisanal cured meats. Several police interviews are derailed by your “majestic” charcuterie boards. Due to the lead detective’s side gig as editor of “Charcuterie Gazette” you become trapped in a months long global charcuterie board construction league. You do eventually win a trophy and a premium ham worth several hundred pounds, but in the process you leave a trail of dead, cured, smoked, and processed victims across Europe.

Pisces: In an attempt to be more social you start a local book club. After several meetings you begin to grow suspicious. Firstly none of the members appear to actually live in the local area. Secondly every week when it’s time to select the next book you are unanimously outvoted by the other members to choose Dianetics. Again. Thirdly they keep trying to move the club onto a repurposed coal barge stationed in international waters. Lastly you’re pretty sure you’re either being stalked by Tom Cruise, or he’s filming the dullest movie of his career, set entirely where you happen to be going on any particular day.

Dr Danny’s Astrological Extravaganza

April 2025

Horoscopes for the discerning masochist.

Aries: You will meet a tall dark stranger. Specifically, they will be fourteen feet tall and utterly incapable of reflecting light. They enjoy striding ominously through shadowy woodlands visible only in the peripheral vision of innocent bystanders, absorbing thermal energy from lesser entities, curating ritual displays of viscera, and those premade escape room in a box puzzle games.

Taurus: You will give a gift to a friend or relative without realising that the object is in fact a niche sex toy. It will take you several days to understand the highly euphemistic thank you message you received, at which point you will become deeply concerned by their suggestion that they now have something in mind for your next birthday.

Gemini: They say “walk a mile in someone’s shoes”. They didn’t mean stilettos, though. You will break both your ankles trying to run drunkenly away from a pub in a stolen pair of high heels. The owner will then catch up and beat you senseless with a handbag.

Cancer: Your car will develop mechanical issues. Your usual mechanic will be unavailable, so you will have to go instead to “Galathrax the Bone-Whisperer”. His prices are excellent, but you begin to grow uncomfortable with the number of parts of your car which he insists need to be replaced with bones. Especially when the car starts climbing in through your window at night and curling up at the bottom of the bed.

Leo: Due to a mix-up at the dry cleaner, you will end up with someone else’s skin. Unfortunately your new skin will be a size too small, and it’ll take weeks to stretch it enough that you can bend over without ripping the arse all the way to the shoulders. On the plus side you can get a whole new set of inadvisable tattoos. Let’s hope those new fingerprints aren’t legally problematic!

Virgo: There’s an odd superstition that it’s lucky to be shat on by a bird. Whatever your view on this, it will be tested during the upcoming six-week period where every bird that sees you will shit on you. It’ll be like a fecal version of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds.

Libra: For reasons not fully explained to you, you will be put on an all-Marmite diet. To get sufficient calories you have to consume an entire 250g jar per meal. You will reach out to Marmite for a sponsorship, and you will receive a crate of Marmite branded spoons. By the end of the first week all of your bodily fluids will have been replaced with Marmite. Passers-by will be able to scrape toast on you for free flavour. Marmite. MARMITE. MARMITE.

Scorpio: You will be the victim of a brutal campaign of televised “practical jokes”. These will include such hilarious pranks as connecting the water in your toilet bowl to the mains, beating you with baseball bats every time you use your debit card, hiding bucket loads of old fish around your house, and “all of world politics from 2015 to present”. All of it. That was all to fuck with you. You’re welcome. Also, you should probably throw your mattress out, we’ve replaced the stuffing with old shrimp.

Sagittarius: You will be diagnosed with “Japanese Knotweed”. You request a second opinion, and they tell you that you’ve also got subsidence. Your doctor is as confused about this as you are. You think he’s onto something, though, because you’re growing increasingly lopsided and estate agents have started making the sign of the cross and fleeing on sight. So you’ve got that going for you, at least.

Capricorn: You will adopt a pet. Several days in you begin to suspect that you have in fact adopted a furry. Clues include the fact that they appear to be toilet trained, can cook and perform basic household tasks, are employed full time as a database admin, and run a lucrative side gig streaming Hearts of Iron IV.

Aquarius: Having finally had enough of your neighbours, you decide to take up “waspkeeping” as a hobby. You now live in a perpetual cloud of wasps. Everything you own is full of wasps. You are full of wasps. The neighbours, council, and several conservation groups want to complain, but they can’t get within half a mile of you because the wasps attack them. You are pretty sure you can see the postman’s foot sticking out of one of their massive nest-structures. It still twitches.

Pisces: In an attempt to de-stress you take up knitting. Unfortunately, you black out, and wake up several days later to find you’ve knitted an arcane woollen doppelgänger which has taken over your life. Sadly everyone prefers them to you, and your only purpose now is to perform tasks which require one to be “water-resistant”.

Dr Danny’s 2025 Astrological Extravaganza

Also, entirely for my own amusement, I also wrote another set of horoscopes which are just… awful. As these were to also fill out my BlueSky account, each one was character limited unlike the last set.

…

Aries: you suspect that neighbour you forgot to put on the Christmas card list took it personally. The first sign is the fact that someone is using your food waste bin as a latrine, followed shortly after by installing a stake pit on your lawn. Expect a fight to the death in late spring.

Taurus: This year you will suffer an escalating series of problems with your arse. It’s not all bad, though, as during the many hours you will spend in the waiting room of a gastroenterologist, you will form new bonds with the similarly afflicted over discussions of your ruined holes.

Gemini: You decide to attempt to better yourself through voluntary work. Though laudable, the attempt is a failure as the charity you select is in fact a secret cult. You do not realise this until the second blood orgy of the year. Also, you get nipple piercings. They suit you.

Cancer: You will be banned from every branch of a major supermarket chain after they misinterpret you becoming trapped in a shopping trolley wedged under the deli counter as an attempt to hide until after closing and steal all the beef mince. You also fall down a manhole.

Leo: You know those disconnected toilets at big home stores? You will be arrested after an “incident” involving one of them. It’s not what you think, though. You will be charged with arson and found innocent after a trial described by the BBC as “the funniest shit we’ve seen this year”

Virgo: You will attempt a difficult task which you have dreamed of doing since you were a child. Unfortunately, the attempt will fail when you are run over by the cab that you booked to take you to the station. You spend three months in a full body plaster cast.

Libra: In a futile, because you’re [already perfect/an unsalvageable trash fire] attempt at self-improvement you take on a new fitness regime. You end the year with a massive neck and the stamina and lower body strength of a toddler.

Scorpio: You will be the first person in human history to be telling the truth when you tell the A&E receptionist that you slipped and fell onto the object currently stuck unreachably far up your arse. No one will believe you, and your X-ray will go viral.

Sagittarius: While digging in your back garden, you will discover an unexploded World War Two bomb. Due to budget cuts, the police will employ a new disposal technique named “Uncontrolled Detonation”. The crater will be claimed by mole people as their embassy to the surface world.

Capricorn: You will make a major purchase (a car, or item of similar value). Due to an administrative error, you are instead sent its cash value in low grade brie. You lose hundreds in cheesy depreciation while trying to correct the error. Also, a heat wave melts quite a lot of it.

Aquarius: Due to a technical mishap and a slight misunderstanding, you will get a full back tattoo of the Cloudflare connection timeout error page. After some further miscommunications, you also get an exchange SMTP failure tattooed on your butt cheeks. Don’t ask where Clippy is going.

Pisces: You will piss yourself at a highly inconvenient moment. Specifically, while operating a public defibrillator. The resultant short knocks out electricity across three counties for a week. You also get a badly singed urethra and £500 from an adult reboot of You’ve Been Framed.

Christmas Bonus: You will discover your festive turkey was used by drug smugglers and contains a full pound of marching powder. You will discover this when grandma starts dancing to EDM and tries to seduce the paramedics. Go Grandma! Just be careful you don’t drop those teeth!

A prediction for 2025

Around the turn of the year, in the hope of establishing a silly little tradition for myself, I wrote another piece of stream of consciousness second person nonsense.

It’s rather fun. I thoroughly recommend it.

…

It is January the 6th, 2025. Your last clear memory is of assembling a ‘Christmas leftovers curry, in a pie case, deep-fried in Yorkshire pudding batter’. You assume the endeavour was a success for three reasons. There is a pan on the kitchen counter containing several litres of congealed fat, the toilet bowl has shattered, and you have no feeling in your anus.

Feeling in need of an early morning pick me up, despite it being a quarter past six in the evening, you open the fridge to find it is filled to the brim with neatly stacked gold bullion. The gold is pleasantly chilled to the touch. Thankfully, nestled between two more gold bars in the fridge door is a single can of special brew, which you drink while you consider what may have led to this situation.

You do some quick maths, based on the volume of your refrigerator, and come to the conclusion that it is highly unlikely that you have legitimately obtained half a billion pounds worth of solid gold. Suspecting that such a loss is likely to have attracted attention, you turn on the television. Your intuition is proven to be accurate, when the first thing you see is a video of an individual riding a quad bike out of the Bank of England, towing a trailer packed with gold. You allow yourself for a moment to hope that the mysterious character is not you, their face being obscured as it is by a highly elaborate protogen mask.

Unfortunately, the news then shows a zoomed in photograph of an elaborate foreskin tattoo highly reminiscent of Kandinsky’s Composition 8, which you realise is why your bell end is so sore. Any attempt at a reliable disguise will now need to involve an amateur circumcision and several weeks spent in hiding. You sigh and slam the fridge door closed. At this moment, the admittedly impressive structural integrity of the kitchen floor fails, and the fridge falls through the flats of several of your downstairs neighbours, before making an aggressive arrival in the basement utility room. You peer down the hole.

‘Morning, Mrs Stebbins,’ you say, waving politely.

‘Put some pants on you fucking degenerate, I can see right up your arsehole from here!’ she replies, furiously. ‘And see a doctor, for Christ’s sake.’

Since you no longer need to carry the gold downstairs, you finish your breakfast special brew while strolling downstairs to the basement, finalising your plan as you walk. Arriving in the basement, you shovel the gold back into the fridge before closing the door and sealing the whole thing with several rolls of heavy-duty duct tape. The finishing touch of the plan is achieved by taping a pre-paid return envelope (which you received with an unsolicited credit card application) to the fridge door, with a return address of ‘The Bank of England’ written on the back (with your left hand, for security reasons). You then pay someone on an odd jobs website £3.25 to take the ‘parcel’ to the post office.

Crisis averted, you head out to your nearest branch of Wickes to test out their selection of demonstration toilets. After a spirited debate with the branch manager, you depart, but not without hitching your new quad bike to the tow hook of the car park burger van and driving off with it, staff and all.

So begins 2025.

Dr Danny’s 2024 Astrological Extravaganza

Horoscopes for the discerning masochist

Aries: In an interesting new cost-cutting measure, the Royal Mail will entirely abandon the concept of delivering unprofitable post such as letters to their intended recipient, instead putting the whole lot through your letter box. You personally. Every day you will be increasingly trapped in your home, first by the endless queue of Royal Mail lorries filling your street, and then by the ever-growing drifts of other people’s gas bills, bank statements and embarrassing letters from the hospital about that problem with their arse that they really don’t like people to know about. Within a few days, you have to claw your way through your own roof to escape a postvalanche. As your flailing arm reaches through the hole, you desperately claw for any purchase, and all you find is a postman handing you a Wickes catalogue.

Taurus: Your luck this year will take the form of a sine wave consisting of dizzying highs and crushing lows. The frequency and amplitude of the luck wave will gradually increase over the course of the year. In January, you will find a £20 note you previously believed lost at a time it is extremely convenient to do so, and will then have to spend a slightly irritating afternoon replacing all the bulbs in your car. By December, you will be alternating on an hourly basis between such events as being nominated for an OBE for services to sex and falling down a 30-storey spiral staircase. In hindsight, you shouldn’t have annoyed that particle physicist, they had a very odd look in their eye.

Gemini: You will stub your toe on a piece of wooden furniture. You believed the furniture was of higher quality than it in fact is, so the inch long splinter that drives itself under your toenail comes as a great surprise. Unable to remove the splinter without passing out from the pain, you take an Uber to the hospital. After waiting 14 hours with no sign of treatment, you catch salmonella from a WHSmith’s prawn sandwich. The hospital declares your undercarriage a biological hazard and has it condemned.

Cancer: Due to an incident of mistaken identity you will be put on the sex offenders register, the no-fly list, several anti terror watch lists, and will have your assets frozen under the Magnitsky Act. You will be initially successful in arranging to speak directly to the new Home Secretary, who will apologise profusely and promise to resolve the situation promptly. Hopefully you return home and, initially at least, they make good on their word. Unfortunately, due to one final bureaucratic mishap you are put on the Dangerous Dogs Act list of banned breeds, and are microchipped and neutered before the mix-up can be resolved.

Leo: You will meet one of your heroes. Someone who you truly respect and admire. You will take a chance and approach them to make some heartfelt expression of gratitude or ask an unusually incisive question. As you approach and make eye contact they see you, realise your intent and begin to smile warmly. However, due to circumstances beyond your control you will simultaneously sneeze directly into their right eye, trip over flinging a boiling hot coffee or soup over them, and piss yourself. Three members of the public will tackle you to the ground until police arrive to arrest you for harassment, assault, and public indecency. The three bystanders will receive a medal for bravery, and you will receive a three-month suspended sentence, six months community service and fines totalling not less than £300. You will also be shunned by this person’s fan base or community after video of the incident goes viral, and your face is plastered over page 7 of a tabloid newspaper. Your mum thinks it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened, and you suspect she might be right.

Virgo: The squirrels will have vengeance. 🐿️ You know what you did. 🐿️

Libra: Your family and friends will have a year of creative satisfaction, good financial fortune and general good luck. You will not. To be clear, you will not be unusually unlucky… you will just remain at a completely normal baseline level of luck while everyone around you has the low-key best year of their lives. You will start out genuinely happy for them. By the end of the year you will be a seethingly bitter wreck, impotently plotting the downfall of your nearest and dearest, only to see all of your plans come to nothing due to them all simultaneously winning holidays, being taken on a surprise night out to see a favourite musician or being given the day off work for no real reason.

Scorpio: Over the course of the year your employer subjects you to increasingly bizarre and nonsensical policies, directives, emails and meetings, causing you to slowly lose your grasp on objective reality. It begins with things you could simply dismiss as incompetence or carelessness, such as conflicting instructions or incomprehensible emails delivered with the urgent flag at 4:38 on Friday afternoon. Soon it devolves to conference calls conducted in Simlish, and “bring your great-great-grandparent’s skeletons to work day”. By the summer, you haven’t seen a coworker not wearing either a full mascot costume or a worryingly accurate rubber mask of your own face in weeks. The year will end with a ritual in which you ascend to a higher state of existence untethered from the petty constraints of cause and effect. Or someone put something in the water cooler again, you aren’t sure which. Either way, you get “Employee of the Year”.

Sagittarius: You decide to treat yourself to a weekly lottery ticket. You make the mistake, however, of choosing set numbers, meaning you are never again able to stop or skip a week for fear of the giant foam hand of fate bitch slapping you through a plate glass window and bringing your numbers up the one draw you skip. To make things worse, every single week you “win” a prize smaller than the price of the ticket causing you to receive an email telling you that you’ve won the lottery, but not saying how much, and not allowing you to log in to the website to check until the next morning (yes this is a real thing). This backfires and causes you to develop a fetish for extreme edging followed by crushing disappointment. Your junk’s never been so confused and disappointed at the same time.

Capricorn: That weird coworker/uncle/neighbour/friend you are no longer quite comfortable around (delete as appropriate) turns out to be bang on the money on one very specific thing. The government ARE putting chemicals in the water in your area to turn the frogs gay. But not just gay. Semi offensive nineties sitcom stereotype gay. Britain’s waterways become 300% more tastefully decorated almost overnight, and Instagram becomes full of bi people posting pictures of little gay frog couples (even bi people don’t know why bi memes are so full of frogs, but they are. Google it). The only downside is the six hours of 90s club hits blaring out of every pond all summer.

Aquarius: You will discover that someone you have known and trusted for many years is in fact your handler. In response to some unknown event this year, they will read a code phrase to you, activating you and causing your true identity and memories to resurface. You will briefly experience a surge of elation as you are subsumed by your true identity. Are you a secret agent? An assassin? A super soldier? Your last moment of existence is crushed by the horrifying realisation that you are in fact a sleeper ticket inspector for National Express coaches.

Pisces: You will begin work on a new creative project this year. It will take up a great deal of your time and attention, but you will find it greatly rewarding. You will become convinced this can be turned into a marketable product. You will never be more proud of something that isn’t one of your children than the day you put this product on sale. Unfortunately you will then discover due to an oversight in your market research caused by the sheer joy of creation, you are in fact selling an almost 1:1 copy of an existing patented, copyright protected and trademarked product. The crushing disappointment you experience comes second only in horror to the series of lawsuits which leave you living on a wooden pallet, ratchet strapped to the scaffolding holding up Hammersmith Bridge. You have three mortgages on the pallet and live in constant fear of a bailiff confiscating your ratchet straps and sending you plunging into the Thames below.

Dr Danny provides no assurances as to the accuracy of the above, nor does he take responsibility for any consequences should they come about. Dr Danny is also not a doctor.

A Prediction for 2024

A fiction piece I wrote upon waking up in the middle of the night, giggling like a child.

…

You awake and look to your watch. It’s 4:27 PM. Your last memory is of opening your seventh magnum of champagne and screaming at the waiter that “no, sir doesn’t want another 11 glasses, this is all for me” before trying to aggressively fuck a cheeseboard that someone put a lot of time, effort and expense into.

What happened between then and now, and why there is Fortnum and Masons Green Tomato Chutney smeared across your tits, is a mystery very much secondary to the fact you appear to be upside down in a vending machine. A fact brought home to you by the angry traveller repeatedly pressing “D5” causing the whirring machine to attempt to corkscrew 3 cans of monster energy up your arse.

Your overtaxed bladder releases and the stream of hot, and somehow still fizzy, piss cuts through the grime on the glass of the vending machine to reveal two things. The first is a crowd of people gathered around a massive video ad screen, which has been repurposed to show news footage of a new viral video. The video appears to be you, attempting to check in to an open vending machine believing it to be a capsule hotel, generously tipping the attendant refilling it, climbing inside and closing yourself in. The view counter currently stands at 2.4 billion. The second thing is the unmistakable, albeit inverted, outline of the Mirai Tower.

You do not have a visa for travel to Nagoya, or indeed any part of Japan, so this is concerning. Gathering your strength you inhale deeply, clench your entire self, and erupt through the glass of the vending machine, brutally lacerating the vendee and launching a can of monster at near hypersonic speeds into the head of an innocent bystander who (were it not for this event) would have made the developments in material science necessary for the creation of a functioning cold fusion reactor.

As three security guards, a member of the royal Canadian mounted police, and Hachimaru (mascot of the city of Nagoya) chase you, trousers-less, down the street, you consider your predicament. Air travel will be difficult in your current condition.

You escape your pursuers by causing a tanker full of industrial lubricant to overturn, rendering everything within 130 feet “thoroughly lubricated” and thus unsuitable for high speed pursuit.

Sprinting through the city streets to the nearest dockyard, you hide yourself in a shipping container bound for England. For six weeks you subsist on only dry noodle bricks, snorted flavour sachets and rainwater. You wile away the time fashioning an impeccably tasteful suit out of the foil noodle wrappers.

You arrive just in time for London Fashion Week, where you win several awards, before being hospitalised due to a case of constipation so severe that the tattered remains of your anus go on to grace the cover of the British Medical Journal.

So begins 2024.