Herbal George:Disco Psychic – November’s Horoscope


What’s happnin’ out there boogie poodles? My name is Herbal George, and I am the disco psychic. 

Y’all probably wonderin’ what that means. Well baby, let me tell you. It means that every time y’all look up at the stars and y’all wonder about love, life, yo love life, yo loved ones, and making love to all the loved ones in yo love life, that feeling in your heart is me baby, Herbal George. That’s right, smooth as caramel up in here, y’dig? 

I be doin’ you a solid and smoothin’ out yo intergalactic shit by dropping some funky ass astrology knowledge, so y’all listen up real good, this shit is like buttermilk served ice cold from your lovers panties. 

Here’s your November Horoscope…


I see you been checkin out that hottie down the way in the office. Yeah, she’s real tight. Real nice. What you mean how do I know? I can see the future bitch! I could be twisting her back faster than it takes for you to cry into your socks. But I play it cool. I let you hit it. Just get yo shit together. Yo lucky colour is Pink.


Lately you been lettin motherfuckers get you down. Startin’ fights an shit. Don’t be buggin’. Herbal tell it how it is. Y’all need to let the haters hate, put on a pumpin’ groove and let the bullshit slide. The stars are saying just do yo thang baby:


This month you drinkin’ too much coffee. Stop drinkin’ coffee godammit. 


This month, you might be gettin’ real pissed off with Disco. Yeah. I said it. You got that guy with a ponytail in your local pub that keep playing Cheryl Lynn “Got To Be Real” and you angry. It make you wanna eat pop tarts you so angry. Don’t do it daddio. There’s still hope, Evelyn Champagne King still loves you:


You been hearing The Man talk jive lately, sayin’ “don’t play with fire”. That’s some bullshit. Strike up a match real quick. My lady Gwen Mcrae tell you better than I can, this month you better keep the fire burning:


Yesterday somebody told you you were pregnant. Don’t believe that shit. 


This month your life is all about steel drums. You seen ’em. Outside Iceland. Yeah, those guys. Maybe they might try sell you some incense as well. The stars say go for the camomile smell. Mmm… camomiiiile:


Sheeeet. It be yo birthday an thang. Y’all better be gettin your swerve on. Your lucky drink is Disco Juice. The only option is to cut loose and keep groovin’ all night long. My man George Benson will show you how it do:


Don’t ride a horse this month. I tried it once. Herbal George been trying to swerve on some Jane Austen shit. Country manors and ice cold lemonade. She was aiight. Used to wear frilly collars. Your lucky numbers are 18 and 3. 


I heard from around the astro way that you been creepin. I see that. Don’t think Herbal can’t see that look in yo eye as well. When you get doughy eyed like a Pokemon about to masturbate. It’s a risky game you playin’. I see it written all over your face:


You probably worried about money. You might have a dude you live with that’s pretending to be a chef for the Rolling Stones. He probably owes you money. If I were you I’d write him a strongly worded email, and follow it up with a text. Get digital on his ass.


This month you gunna run into a lot of people on public transport. Trapped in a steaming hot awkward boogie woogie. They might ask you what you doin’, but you see they don’t really care. Maybe they wearin’ a bow tie or some shit. Tryin’ to be novel up in your grill like they better than you. Give them a slap for ol’ Herbal. 

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