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Hail to thee, my little airhead ninnies! Last month we left you beset by witches on a wild heath in Scotland as you had been ripped untimely from your dazzling display of electromagnetic healing and mesmerism (to cure your painful knees) into the eleventh century world of regicide, bloodshed and black magic depicted in Shakespeare's play. There you have become Macbeth as portrayed by the bard, a creature beset by grim fate, marching toward inevitable doom just as Burnham Wood is soon to march toward high Dunsinane Hill.
Great gods alive and dead, this is exciting, isn't it, my little brainless shrimps! It almost makes me wonder what the vile and bitter prognostications for savage September will hold! Why don't we check them and see!
Mischievous Mercury begins the month still retrograde in Leo and your solar seventh house. Thus, we find you as we left you, surrounded by witches who are, strangely, importuning you for money. As you have watched the cartoon version of Macbeth many times on dvd (while you were in prison and bored for the lack of entertainment), you know this isn't in the script.
“Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more,” you cry in your best bardic manner.
The witches however reply in the common tongue, “Pay up or leave, stingy blatherskite!”
Great gods alive and dead, what respect is this for the classical tradition! And suddenly, as mischievous Mercury moves forward once again the mystery clears. After a clarifying interchange, you find you haven't been cast in Shakespeare's play at all! Neither have you been propelled backward to eleventh century Scotland! What you have done is fallen through the floor of the stage where you were performing into the underground establishment directly beneath, to whit, a house of ill-repute known as The Bard's Brothel. Here you can purchase erotic delights with the Shakespearean characters of your choice. For a tidy three-figure sum, you can bone Bolingbroke, violate Viola, poke Portia, lie with Lear, shaft Shylock, maul Miranda (bruising extra), cleave to Cymbeline, fornicate with Falstaff, jostle Juliet, roger Romeo, mount a Montague and even copulate with the entire Capulet family.
The previous, you discover, are merely a few of the many possibilities at the establishment known in the vernacular as 'bonk the Bard'. All this is revealed as vamping Venus enters Leo, bringing to your presence the madam of this establishment. This mysterious and magnetic figure runs the business side of things and occasionally performs herself as the entire cast of the Two Gentlemen Of Verona, or Bottom from Midsummer Night's Dream (ass ears come as an optional extra). Urchin planets rut in the gutters of Heaven! A New Moon comes in the anal sign of the Virgin! Life takes a new turn, my little airheads, as your solar eighth house is activated in unseemly fashion by these cosmic shenanigans. Suffice to say that, as vamping Venus grapples with nasty Neptune, you've sampled two tragedies, three comedies and booked in for all the 'lesser known' early works.
Renewed and invigorated, you return to the theatre stage with your knees entirely healed by some dark magic known only to the occult powers of underworld Pluto and the eighth house. You astonish the waiting audience with this miraculous return. After the show, you arrange to purchase an interest in The Bard's Brothel. In the theatre above, there shall be electromagnetic power unrestrained. In the subterranean chamber, there shall be unrestrained activity of a 'subterranean' kind. The gears of Heaven grind! The wheels of Heaven turn as the great Sol Invicti visits further horror upon the world by entering the unspeakable sign of Libra at the Equinox. Jolly Jupiter follows suit! So too does marauding Mars! The healing of your knees is lauded across the land and your reputation as a powerful occultist sees people speak of you in hushed tones as your limousine passes by them in the streets.
Publishers send you massive advances for your story. Websites are begun to honour your name. As mischievous Mercury clashes with underworld Pluto, we find you in the basement taming the shrew in a manner the Bard never conceived. At the Full Moon in arrogant Aries, fame and success are yours for the taking. Mischievous Mercury moves into odious Libra and you're invited to tour the world and tell of your glorious achievements.
“I owe it all to my beautiful friends,” I can almost hear you saying in the sickening, oleaginous manner characteristic of your unspeakable sign. You're on the pinnacle, little nitwit types. Thus the only way on from there is down. As I'm taking my medication to recover from the insult of your unparalleled success, I shall contemplate with relish your next pratfall from grace as I lapse into the beloved arms of Morphia till this time next month. See you then, vapid creatures of the airhead persuasion!
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