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    SCATHING SCORPIO...

    Click for Last Month  The Eccentric Exigencies of January 2007  Click for Next Month 
    Scorpio Salutations, O demon spawn! Ave, O servants of the ghastly ruler of the anus and the infernal regions! Do not think I am singling you out from the other signs by dint of being dilatory with your forecast. Indeed, I detest all of the twelve spokes in the idiot Wheel of the Zodiac equally, without fear or favour.

    My creeping ennui is the result of an entirely catholic and egalitarian contempt for the nasty circle of nitwits from Ram through to Fishes. You are merely of a piece with the other carbon units that reside in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods.

    Last time, we left you in a welter of beauty parlours, poisoned face creams and a gaggle of persons you were plotting to kill before they could execute their death threats against you. I cannot remember why but it is situation normal really, given the insanity of the world and the behaviour that typifies your odious sign!

    As we have missed so much of jittery January already, why don't we just have fun by making up yet another shadowy tale of betrayal, murderous revenge, body bags and the wrong side of the law to satisfy your endless thirst for such things and my bent for irritation. To begin with, I will, retrospectively, forecast the events of recent weeks, a task that may more correctly be described as a hind-cast. The month began as jolly Jupiter and cranky Chiron fornicated lewdly and you began to salt away ill-gotten cash in your home, using socks or your underwear drawer as a bank, in a manner more befitting a neurotic crustacean. As neurotic Crustaceans are under discussion, a Full Moon in the sign of the Crab blazed with sickly light upon a naughty world. Thus, you laid plans to fly (or sail) to a foreign land, to murder an obese in-law or to attend a learning institution and study cattle husbandry or the manufacture of dairy products. Perhaps you will learn to be a cheese-maker. Blessed, indeed, are they! As vamping Venus then skittered lewdly into idiot Aquarius, you purchased a new carpet or a tallboy for your home to hide the loose floorboard where you had secreted further funds. The great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury performed obscene congress in the sign of the Hircine (goat) and you began an advertising campaign for your new beauty parlour, emphasizing with characteristic dark humour the almost magical properties of your new vanishing cream. The busy messenger sailed on to make eccentric and lascivious gestures from the sign of idiot Aquarius and you began muttering as you wandered about at home, somehow communing with the spirit of an ancient crone mysteriously connected with your matrilineal heritage. Marauding Mars battered his way into the lugubrious sign of the Goat and you bullied people out of their parking spaces, made savagely barbed remarks denigrating elderly commuters and sneered aggressively at all those whose vehicles were smaller than your own.

    That brings us up to date with past events! The hind-cast! I thought I'd remind you of that in case you nodded off. I myself nearly fell asleep several times. Now, we shall prognosticate in the customary vile and bitter manner, capturing the last piquant traces of the most ghastly month we've had since the last ghastly month, which was in fact the last one! Vamping Venus lustfully wraps her limpid limbs about the naughty bits of narcotic Neptune and you find yourself spending more time at home, increasingly enamoured of the companionship of the eldritch female phantom currently haunting your domicile and your boudoir in particular (eek).

    A New Moon arrives in gloomy Capricorn, sending your beauty parlour into full swing and condemning your clients to the hell of slow death by poisoned face cream. But, by my sainted aunt, the vain and selfish Sun god swaggers on into idiot Aquarius, creating an air of almost mystical obsession with this being from the other world. As jolly Jupiter impales Uranus, the idiot god, on the prong of his trident, spirit winds rattle the eaves of your home, carrying eerie whistling sounds and mournful cries. Strange creatures howl in the distance. Weird lights dance and play upon the ceiling.

    Egad, tiny turnips! What will you do? In a desperation born of sheer madness and morbid fascination, you have a reading with a noted psychic who tells you that you must hold a séance in your home to contact this spirit of the dead and ask what she wants of you. Gadzooks!

    As vamping Venus slithers into tear-stained Pisces, you dress in your finest occult finery and invite a gaggle of lunatic associates to sit in a circle and invite those passed over to the 'other side' to share their wisdom. Will there be rapping on the table? Will there be ectoplasm in the cabinet? Will something or someone from the past come back to haunt you? Click here next time and see, if you dare! Ave, odious arachnids!


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