Great Heavens, little lunatics! It's time to speak with you again. On the matter of your miserable lives, as it happens. Eek! I'm aghast and flabbergasted! What will I say? I have it! I'll prognosticate in a vile and bitter manner. That's what I'll do!
Here we go then. Are you ready? It is I, Asperitus. The haruspex of harangue, now haranguing you! By the way! Have you ever actually wondered what an haruspex is? Well, of course you have! No doubt you spend your idle moments trying to remember which piece of ungodly furniture has claimed the dictionary to prop its uneven legs. Were you to recall the whereabouts of the multifunctional lexicon, you could seize it and learn the meaning thereof, as grandma's sideboard or grandpa's wardrobe teetered on the brink. Thus, you would discover that an haruspex is skilled in the ancient oracular art of reading entrails to predict the future. Eek!
But how should it be, my tiny lunatics, if it turned out the entrails being read were your very own! Gadzooks! That would be unsettling! And gruesome to boot! And yet, such a thing could be the odious essence of the brackish fluids that fill the vile and bitter cup from which you must drink. And, by my sainted aunt, the cup overflows!
How hideous, you say! Tell me not, you say! But we cannot spare your feelings (snigger) because the influences are nasty. It shall never be said the master of irritation (of the sublime kind) showed favour to any benighted dweller in the kingdom of the insane gods. And so, before one or both of us falls asleep or forgets why we've come, I'd best get on. Lay on, MacDuff! And damned be he (or she) who first cries 'Hold! Enough!'
Last time, you thought you had seen god after losing the will to live. Or was it the other way around? I can't remember. Either way, it's understandable. As the month begins, marauding Mars gallivants obscenely with jolly Jupiter and the New Moon comes in addlepate Sagittarius, clashing with the great Sol Invicti. You sit up in your numbed state, experiencing an epiphany. Eek! And on an empty stomach!
Mischievous Mercury moves direct in evil Scorpio and insight strikes your brain as the hammer strikes the anvil which is a fair description of your mental process at the best of times. Cranky Chiron returns to Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, and you're filled with the light of realization. You think people don't like you because you, in fact, don't like them. They're bothersome and tiresome and always getting in your way and complaining about what you want to do and then complaining after you've done what you wanted to do despite the fact that they didn't want you to do it. This latter applies largely to having sex and hitting, though there are other limited applications you've discovered. Marauding Mars turns direct and you leap from your bed, senses restored, to bash the medical staff that attended you till they give back the money you paid them and leave. Mischievous Mercury enters silly Sagittarius, in ghastly congress with cranky Chiron, and you begin to do peculiar things, little tikes. You rant, rave and leap about in eccentric manner. As vamping Venus enters idiot Aquarius, you call your followers, the rag tag and bobtail of hangers-on, woebegones and wastrels that infested SHAG-RI-LA. You inform them their horizontal services and dipsomaniac inclinations are surplus to requirements as don't like them now you're sober and not using them for sexual gratification. And, in fact, you never liked them anyway!
The Full Moon blithers and blathers in loony Gemini and a storm of protest erupts from the disgruntled. You resolve it with the time-honoured technique of shouting loudly at those of larger build while hitting those too weak or small to hit back. Thus, you clear your Arcadian paradise, crying that you will be a hermit and retire from the world. All this is accomplished as mischievous Mercury gropes Uranus, drooling idiot god, and the great Sol Invicti lurches into Capricorn, visiting another gruesome Solstice on an over-burdened world.
I should mention that marauding Mars, jolly Jupiter, lugubrious Saturn and narcotic Neptune engage in congress so unspeakable I cannot bring myself to speak of it, except to say it's particularly nasty and will bring down a horrible fate upon the tiny pointed heads of the entire benighted human race.
But, by my sainted aunt, that's not enough, is it! Fie upon the human race, say you! You only want to know what's going to happen to you. Well, I'll tell you! Mischievous Mercury ravishes narcotic Neptune and you become horribly psychic. Vamping Venus moves into reverse and you close the doors of SHAG-RI-LA.
But what's this? Egad! It's a New Moon in miserable Capricorn and we must leave you to your fate as you sit in solitude, sulking your life away in a misanthropic manner. Will it last? Will anyone care or notice? And what will you do with no food or sex or red things to play with?
As I'm feeling unwell, I shall stop. Do click here next month, if only to discover if either of us is interested in continuing with this unmitigated drivel. Ta! Ta!