Great hellish horrors and damned demons! It's curtains for you in the ghastly passage of manic March, my impudent bottom types! And what will you do about it? Why nothing but bow your curly heads and descend to the underworld of an inferno that would make the Inferno of Dante something akin to a kindergarten picnic or an afternoon tea at the one-armed patch-workers guild.
Last time, you were on the precipice of litigation as an ailing, aggrieved parent (your pater) prepared to sue the pants off your shapely buttocks in a rather fruity malpractice suit. It seems the banana you administered went entirely wrong. Eek! They say there's nothing worse than a poorly administered banana but then who the hell are 'they' we ask? As I've forgotten how we got on to the topic of the identity of this unknown host of 'they', I'll return to the regular monthly task and administer, not a banana, but a dose of prognostications, vile and bitter.
As I'm late (as usual) with the forecast, I shall catch you up on what's occurred so far. Mischievous Mercury slipped a quick one to dark Pluto, underworld god, then moved to into perverse reverse. Thus have you suffered minor accidents with fire and water, fallen ill and shown the symptoms of the sort of stress you would predictably suffer at the prospect of a court battle with one of your parents. 'Parents'! An odd word, is it not! It sounds rather like an ill-fitting overcoat or a rare kind of three-toed sloth found only in the Arctic. Ah well! Such are the vagaries of language! As jolly Jupiter cavorts lasciviously with narcotic Neptune, the threat of possible bankruptcy (you're being sued for all you have) looms on the horizon of your fears. As vamping Venus enters idiot Aquarius, you dress in a peculiar manner (more than usually). As marauding Mars assails the private parts of Uranus, the idiot god, you twitch alarmingly and begin to speak with an odd foreign accent.
But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, say not so! But it is! The Full Moon comes in aggravating Virgo, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your solar twelfth house! Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! And other quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. The twelfth house is a realm of misery, deceit and self-undoing, better avoided by normal folk so it's ideal for you. You cannot eat or function normally (hmm) and finally sink into a disturbed and disturbing sleep. And, my tiny trollops, it's there that nasty things occur! Of course, the ghastly farting and fantastical fornicating of odious planets in awful aspect is to blame. But, after all, this is a benighted universe ruled by insane gods so what can one expect! As mischievous Mercury and dark Pluto again sate their evil lusts on one another, you fall into a walking sleep, unconscious yet mobile and wandering about.
Great Heavens and dancing monkeys! Do you realize what this means, O ye of the splendid buttocks? You've become a somnambulist! Fit for nothing but the unspeakable enigma of German films and the mockery those you pass heedlessly in your narcoleptic fit. For mockery it is! The great Sol Invicti clatters into addlepate Aries, visiting another Equinox on an over-burdened world. Passersby and one time associates make insulting gestures in your general direction and lewd or rude remarks about your dress, appearance and even (goodness gracious me!) your shapely buttocks! By my little brown bottle is there no justice in this naughty world? Apparently not! Oh well! How sad! Never mind! But you don't notice for you're deep in a transcendental daze and gone from the vagaries of real life, a thing you were never greatly familiar with in the first place. And if the horror that has occurred so far is not yet enough, be assured that further horror is to come! For a ghastly New Moon in the sign of the Ram brings a Solar Eclipse to your house of partnership and open enemies. It seems you are unfit to plead a cause against the enemy (your pater) and so must lose your case, your cash and your licence to heal with fruit.
Mother of Mercy! Is this the end for you? As I'm feeling tired and excruciatingly bored, I shall rest, lying down with my little brown bottle and my favourite silver tube. Should you or anyone that dislikes you wish to know of the fate creeping inevitably toward you, you may click here next month and see. In the meantime, ave atque vale, bottom types!