HOLLYWOOD If Halle Berry had listened to Unconfirmed Source’s Dim Son, astrologer to the stars, she wouldn’t have turned up at the Razzie awards Saturday night waving the Oscar she won for her 2002 performance in Monster’s Ball. Berry attended the Razzies to accept the worst-actress award for her straight-to-the-litter-pan performance in last year’s Catwoman.
“They can’t take this away from me,” said Berry, brandishing her Oscar like a club. “It’s got my name on it.”
“What a pathetic turn,” sniffed Joan Rivers, her face nearly cracking with a smile. “Somebody ought to take that dress away from her. It’s got Ronald McDonald’s name on it.”
Ms. Berry, a Leo who house is in disrepair, should have heeded Dim Son’s warning: “Your unfortunate attempt to master irony mutates into a full-blown paradoxical reaction to life. Dandruff shampoo turns you into a blizzard with feet. Deodorant produces a rancid, road-kill bouquet in your personal zones. Your performance in Catwoman is honored with a Razzie instead of an Oscar. Whatever you do, don’t show up to accept the damn thing—and for sure don’t take your Oscar with you unless you truly want to look desperate.”
In what many of his followers are calling “his best week in months,” Dim Son posted eight winners and only four losers. He also called Paris Hilton’s latest digital embarrassment right on the send button, and he provided uncannily accurate predictions for Pope John Paul II, Anna Kournikova, Hunter Thompson, Michael Jackson, Prince Charles, and—just to prove he can see into the futures of people who have no future—Kirstie Alley. Those stunning predictions, divined from a careful interpretation of the remnants of a KFC extra crispy three-piece-and-a-biscuit dinner, are presented in their entirety below.
Aquarius (Paris Hilton): Your sun is in arrears and your moon is in contempt. Ordinarily this would mean that you should be incognito, but privacy is a dangerous illusion in the virtual world. Do not entrust your innermost secrets to a sidekick, or soon your friends will be getting calls from mouth breathers and other stalkers who sound as if their medication wore off two days ago.
Taurus (Pope John Paul II): This week you will be haunted by a recurring dream in which a ghostly voice moans, “Humpty Dumpty died for your sins.” You awake with a start and a hole in your throat to find that the voice is yours and you are back in the hospital. Give yourself the last rites and ask for more Percodan.
Gemini (Anna Kournikova): Geminis suffer from automonosis—the tendency to become bored with their own company. You will be tempted to relieve your boredom by asking your agent to pay a homeless man $50,000 to write you erotic love letters. Beware. You may find the publicity you crave, but you may also find a heavily tattooed naked man swimming toward your house yelling, “Save me with your forehand, Anna.”
Cancer (Hunter Thompson): Like most Cancers, you are loud, verbose, and insufferable. You should stop whining long enough to consider the possibility that your present life is a last request from a previous existence. Before you do anything rash, like sucking on a loaded gun, try to discover why you were executed in that former existence and what your first requests were.
Virgo (Michael Jackson): Your health will take a turn for the whimsical this week as you fight your way back from a life-threatening sore throat. You will hear from many of the new pen pals you made while in the hospital. You also will meet twelve new friends who will play a significant role in your future. Like you, none of them is black.
Scorpio (Prince Charles): Men remarry because they disliked their first wives. Women remarry because they were disliked by their first husbands. In either case, the groom’s mother will often refuse to attend his second wedding, though she will give him a couple of extra servants and a castle to save face.
Capricorn (Kirstie Alley): Half your current dilemma—the benign half—is caused by a reverse case of attention deficit disorder: People have trouble paying attention to you. The other half is caused by the fact that your ass will soon qualify for its own Zip code.
Dim Son scorecard for the week: Winners