Cranky Large Medium reading, 3 July

Go away.

Why are you here? Why won't you go? What is keeping you here in front of me? What is it you want? Is that a lot of pointless questions? Especially coming from somebody who is ostensibly able to read you? Oh, of course, that's why you won't go. You want me to give you a reading. And, if I give you one, you will go. Nifty-spiffy. Here you are:

You are a convincing talker, studious, rather opinionated and independent, but on the other hand, you are a soft touch for any whiny person or cause. You are more interesting to those of the opposite sex than you are to your own, but that's purely superficial. You travel much in search of fun, seldom allowing anything to penetrate your thick skull or cold heart, but when you finally find an object of affection, you might actually be sincere.

Are you happy, now? Of course not. But at least you can head out from here in search of fun. That beats the capabilities of these people, all of whom, on this date in history, ended their search from the dark side of the lawn: George Hull Ward, Gaylord Nelson, Francis Willughby, William Jones, Jean-Baptiste L. Romé de l'Isle, Siegfried Handloser, Alexander M. Volkov, Mordecai Richler, Alexander Andreyevich Ivanov, Edouard Beaupré, Brian Jones, Rudy Vallee, Johnny Russell, Boots Randolph, James Daly, Ross Martin, Jim Backus, Benjamin Hendrickson, Dolf Luque, Frank Selke, Don Drysdale, Pancho Gonzales, Eddie Mazur, Maria de' Medici, Anna Maria Pertl Mozart, Hetty Green, André Citroën, Trigger, Andrian Nikolayev,

and Jim Morrison.

Yes, this is the end.
Happy birthday, anyway.