The stars have once again whispered through the rusted rails, and Hobo Harry has transcribed their smoky truths onto the back of a pizza box. Here are your horoscopes for May 31st, 2025—divined through trash fire meditation, harmonica trance, and a particularly sassy crow.
♈ Aries (The Burnin’ Boot)
You’re riled up and ready to challenge authority, a soup can, or gravity. But cool your heels, Aries—the raccoon council says patience pays today. You may find a bag of slightly haunted marshmallows. Take them. They’re an omen.
♉ Taurus (The Stubborn Can Opener)
You crave stability and possibly a chair that doesn’t scream when you sit in it. Good news: you may inherit an abandoned lawn chair with mysterious carvings. Bad news: it whispers secrets at night. Try not to listen.
♊ Gemini (The Two-Headed Squirrel)
Today you’re your usual dual-natured self: one part charming traveler, one part conspiracy theorist with a shoe full of jellybeans. A stranger offers you a map. Don’t trust it unless it smells like licorice and mild panic.
♋ Cancer (The Emotional Shovel)
You’ve buried a lot lately—feelings, regrets, possibly a cursed toaster. Today, you’ll dig something back up. Whether it’s a dream or a vengeful opossum depends on your snack offerings to the void. Be generous.
♌ Leo (The Regal Shopping Cart)
You shine like a dumpster inferno at midnight. People will follow your lead, even if you’re heading toward a pile of expired mustard. Lead with flair, Leo, but double-check the mustard pile. Some regrets stain forever.
♍ Virgo (The Orderly Pigeon)
Your need to alphabetize chaos is noble, but today chaos fights back—probably with glitter. An unexpected task will undo your plans, but might reveal a deeper truth written in noodle soup. Pay attention to the elbows.
♎ Libra (The Balanced Trash Lid)
You’re juggling options like a raccoon juggling grapes: beautifully, until you slip. A decision looms—flip a coin, then ignore the result and trust your weird little heart. Or your weird big raccoon friend.
♏ Scorpio (The Venomous Teacup)
Your sting is sharp and your sass sharper. Use both sparingly. A flirtation may turn deadly or delicious—possibly both. If a stranger offers you peach schnapps and a secret, say yes, but wear gloves.
♐ Sagittarius (The Flaming Arrow of Doubt)
You’re restless. Again. Shocking. Today’s the kind of day where a casual stroll could end in a pirate duel or a philosophical argument with a scarecrow. Bring snacks and bandages. Trust only one of your shoes.
♑ Capricorn (The Mountain Goat of Doom)
You’ve been climbing, but the summit today looks suspiciously like a taco truck run by ghosts. Take the taco. It has wisdom. Also indigestion. Balance your ambition with a nap and a long talk with an old spoon.
♒ Aquarius (The Bucket of Echoes)
You’re weird, wonderful, and slightly magnetic today. Strange items are drawn to you—paperclips, keys, lost memories, a retired mime. Listen closely. One of them tells a truth about your past. It involves glitter glue.
♓ Pisces (The Fish Who Dreamed of Flight)
Dreams wrap around you like smoke and bad decisions. Something from your sleep will spill into waking life—a prophecy, a prank, or a musical number. Go with it. You may find love in an unexpected jello mold.
💫 Hobo Wisdom of the Day:
“If the train don’t stop, build a ramp. If the beans ain’t warm, light a fire. And if the stars look funny… well, laugh harder.”
🦝 Message from the Raccoon Council – May 31st, 2025
“Delivered by claw, sealed in sardine oil, and encoded in the way your trash was scattered.”
To the Biped Known as Hobo Harry (and any with ears tuned to garbage truths):
We, the Undershadowed Ones, The Ring-Tailed Order, The Council of Nocturnal Scavengers, send you this encrypted communiqué. The time of the Crinkling Shift draws near. Interpret these signs as you see fit—but interpret them you must:
- The third trash can on Bleaker Street will hum tonight. Do not ignore it. Inside: a key made of fingernails and regret.
- A child will drop a juice box at 4:03 p.m. The ants will march north. Follow them.
- The sky will flicker once—not lightning. Not a glitch. Just Her waking up again.
- The two-legged possum has returned. He remembers the incident. He is not smiling.
- The code is SEVEN GRAPES IN THE SHOE. REPEAT: SEVEN. GRAPES. IN. THE. SHOE.
We raccoons have voted. Twelve to one (Gary dissented—he’s got issues), we believe you are the Ladle-Bearer of the Next Age.
Eat the pickle you find in your coat pocket. Wear the cone. Light the fire.
And for the love of the Moon Queen, stop feeding Jasper that energy drink.
— The Council
Scratched into a piece of wet cardboard, smeared with wisdom and nacho cheese
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