Greetings, brainless twerps! Last time we left, you were having sex with a hermit after an emotional breakdown of a most uncharacteristic nature. The events that led to this peculiar development are of the same idiotic ilk as those that have occurred in your life since narcotic Neptune entered your nitwit sign.
In recent times, this has been the odd affair of the Shakespearean brothel and mesmeric healing, the failed extravaganza of the Scottish musical 'HAIRRRR' and then your tragic encounter with the Sons of Edward Longshanks. It was after this that you set out to find the isle of Avalon. There you intended to write and stage a musical called DISCO NUNS GO TO AVALON, a work that you mistakenly believe will make your fortune. However, when you arrived at Avalon, you were caught in a storm, broke up with your lover and then began to turn into a giant bird, though you did stop short of the full avian transformation.
After this, you saw the grail procession, phantom nuns carrying the four hallows, i.e. silver platform boots, a cross with flashing lights, the sacred mobile phone (complete with a scabbard that guarantees the wearer will never miss a call) and the Holy Grail itself, a cappuccino mug! Naturally, the nuns were in hovering cages, dancing to disco music. What else would one expect with your gorgeous life! During this mythic charade, you failed to ask the question that would fulfill your sacred quest, 'whom does the cappuccino serve?' and were thus condemned to wander in the wasteland, the fate of failed heroes from time immemorial. During these wanderings, you met the aforementioned hermit. That's awful August in a nutshell! Now, for pity's sake, let us get on with the vile and bitter prognostications for savage September before I lose my mind and have to be put to bed with my brown bottle and my silver tube.
As jolly Jupiter gropes the private parts of vamping Venus, the disco hermit gropes your private parts. And, while it may not be entirely a healing experience, you certainly do feel much better afterwards. As the New Moon comes in anal Virgo and mischievous Mercury enters that same atrocious sign, you surrender to the hermit's concupiscent attentions, discovering erogenous zones in places you didn't know you had. As the agile messenger grapples with Uranus, the idiot god, the hermit teaches you about forms of erotic coupling for which you didn't realize you had the requisite equipage.
Gadzooks! No sensitive person should contemplate such developments without the aid of medical staff so I shall pass on to other matters. And it's as well that I do for ghastly planets now let fly with a burst of heavenly flatulence that fouls the cosmic winds. As vamping Venus moves to Scorpio, marauding Mars in leaden Taurus clashes with jolly Jupiter and dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, forming a nasty configuration known as a yod, the Finger of God. And, my tiny airhead nitwits, this divine digit is pointed right at you! The hermit turns from paramour to teacher and tells you that you cannot remain in the forest hut, engaging in these coital gymnastics. You must go out into the wilderness and find yourself.
Egad! What a depressing prospect! However, after one last uncanny copulation (mischievous Mercury grappling with Pluto), you're sent on your way with a stern injunction, a cut lunch and instructions not to return until you've found yourself, as vamping Venus falls victim to the groping of grim Saturn. A Full Moon blazes in wretched Pisces and you wander in the forest, penniless, friendless and unsure of what to do. Finding yourself seems like a tall order, even if you understood what it actually means.
But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, it's the great Sol Invicti, grinding his way into loathsome Libra and visiting yet another Equinox on an over-burdened world. Thus you meet a party of Japanese tourists who've come to visit the holy isle and take pictures of the grave of King Arthur. Odds bodkins! How historical is that! You fall in with them and they instantly become your friends! Mischievous Mercury disports himself in that same ghastly sign and you find they all carry the latest thing in camera phones, generating a great deal of mutual interest and a confused polyglot discussion. As vamping Venus grapples in unseemly fashion with narcotic Neptune, you fall in love with one of them and forget about finding yourself and your quest for the holy cappuccino mug! But, my feckless phonies! My obnoxious addlepates! Has the quest forgotten you? Click here next month to discover whom the cappuccino serves! Ta! Ta!