An intrepid lemming, taking a quick detour to the shoppe before leaping off a cliff, runs into, literally, a Taurus standing on the street corner (and we shall cast no aspersions on anyone's character who happens to spend a good portion of their time on street corners, or small ones, at the most), and, as happens when a wayward lemming bumps into someone and perhaps gets a frightened and discombobulated, the Taurus' leg. This causes the Leo standing on the opposite street corner no end of merriment. Or at least no end of merriment until it's ended by a Virgo hitting them with their ice cream cart (the Virgo's ice cream cart, of course, as it doesn't make sense, fiscal or physical, for a Leo to have an ice cream cart).
In the ensuing deluge of ice cream (as you'd be surprised at how quickly it melts, especially if the force with which someone is struck by the ice cream is greater than Gemini³/4.76µ * 10 m/sec²; (where Gemini is a prime number determined by the amount of Jello any given person can ingest before turning into Bill Cosby), a Capricorn and a Cancer learn that one can, indeed, be terminally sticky, losing their identities but gaining an extra pair of every other bodily happenstance when they become inextricably entwined in the swirling eddies of Belgian Chocolate, Vanilla, Strawberry, and the occasional chunk of Cadbury Flake. A small dog enjoys this particular scenario.
A Pisces is swept down the street by an altogether unconnected explosion of a fire hydrant (which the dog, to this point happy, was luckily standing nowhere near, lest it's state of happiness be radically changed for the worse), accruing a good deal of discarded newspapers and wrappings of all sorts of treats that had been formerly lying in the gutter. Sadly, the Pisces is swept out to sea, despite the human chain spread across the street/river of ice cream and water made up of an Aries, a slightly sodden Libra, and a Sagittarius. They happened to miss out on catching hold of the hapless Pisces because the Sagittarius believed they'd seen a Scorpio, which we all know don't exist, and so said the Aries, rising and by rising throwing the Libra's balance off, depositing them on an island of the Times' back page and what used to be Pistachio ice cream, and a debate about the existence of Scorpios took place, much to the chagrin of the Libra, whose island was quickly breaking free from the kerb and drifting downstream, in the direction of the long gone Pisces.
The Aquarius, not being one to take lemmings lightly, guessed that something along these lines was going to happen (as they'd seen the lemming, after biting the Taurus, hitting the fire hydrant with a rather large spanner), and spent the scene in a bookshoppe, from which they emerged, none the worse for wear.

[Horoscopes. We, surprisingly, didn't make the top 50 sites for May.]