Hooray to you, nitwits of the nipper! Last time we left, you were troubled by dark dreams as you launched a marketing campaign to make Dr. Crustacean's Soporific Custard the 'must buy' product for parents with difficult infants. Unlimited sales potential, when one thinks! This anaesthetic brew is made from a recipe that was handed down by your ancient mother, god bless her shiny trousers and instruments of torture. By means of this sweet culinary bastion born in an antediluvian past to which you trace your blighted ancestry, you hoped to become incredibly successful, make a fortune and be able to have all the food and sex and rubber bath toys you want. So much for the wisdom of tradition!
Enough of this badinage and folderol! It's time to prognosticate in a manner vile and bitter for doom shall lay his icy hands upon the month of joyless July! So speaks the piffling prophet, Asperitus! That's me, in case you've forgotten. The ghastly business begins as marauding Mars barrels into the private parts of narcotic Neptune in a most unseemly and belligerent manner. Eek! And so you spend your dosh as if it's going out of style, have sex with Swedish folk or those of eccentric gait and dream dark dreams of being overpowered by mysterious figures.
As mischievous Mercury moves into perverse reverse, you become confused doing simple arithmetic, lose money from your pockets and argue with vendors about change in shops. As vamping Venus gropes about in the startling trousers worn by Uranus, idiot god, you have upsetting social encounters with in-laws, lawyers, academics and persons of a foreign type. These last in particular upset your xenophobic disposition. As jolly Jupiter launches his crapulous bulk into forward motion yet again, you return to the casino and gambling tables to relieve the unutterable tedium of your wretched life and escape from the oppression of the dreadful dreams.
But what's this? Quelle horreur, teeny tiny twits! Mischievous Mercury cycles backwards into your neurotic sign and you trip over the furniture and your words. The former gives you cuts and bruises but the latter creates nasty misunderstandings. And the dread dreams you've been having take a turn for the worse. Eek! You begin dreaming of your family (ugh) and those ghastly days you spent incarcerated in your bedroom as a child, due to infringements against the code of Justinian, the ruling document of law in your household. Ye gods and little fishes! What a ghastly thing to have to contemplate! Perhaps it will drive you mad, my little crab type things.
As the Full Moon comes in grim Capricorn, you either pay a therapist to listen to the morbid meanderings as you recount your tales of infantile yore. Or, failing that (it's the expense, you see), you marry someone daft enough to put up with your neurotic whining and insensitive enough to tolerate your stingy, miserable nature. Vamping Venus disports herself before dark Pluto, underworld god, and you give up on trying to find someone that likes you (a lost cause from the outset). Instead, you hire someone to look after you and re-inflate your rubber bath toys after you've performed the general run of disgusting acts with them.
But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's vamping Venus, colliding with the Loony Nodes then slithering into your neurotic sign. You seize your housekeeper by the hand and head out on a shopping expedition. There you purchase a variety of eccentric clothing, mostly in shades of sea green, while haggling with workers at each store over prices and discounts, causing scenes of riot and near affray. Marauding Mars clatters into anal Virgo and you purchase a new car, all in shades of grey with an environmentally sound fuel system. Actually, it's a sedan chair carried by immigrants on a work experience program. Very ergonomic!
The cosmos resounds with ghastly farting as the vain and selfish Sun god rolls into lackwit Leo, bringing a New Moon in that odious sign. The dosh rolls in, my darling crabby types! Dr. Crustacean's Soporific Custard is so successful at the launch that the empty boxes litter the highways and byways of the world in no time at all. Perhaps there's money to be made in garbage disposal now that you're a custard magnate. You could be a rubbish magnate too! Mischievous Mercury turns direct and the bills are paid.
Great Caesar's ghost, it's starting to look good, my seafood items. And yet, there are still the dreadful dreams! What do they mean? What will you do about them? And, was it the custard that caused them in the first place? Eek! Is the world soon to be littered with nightmare-haunted infants, demanding custard and then waking in fright? Contemplate the answers to these questions as you swan about in your slave-driven sedan chair, my crabby little noodles! Then click here next time to find the answers. Ave!