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    Aries | Soul Connection | Relationships | Runes | Zodiac


    Click for Last Month  The Carping Conundrums of January 2006  Click for Next Month
    Aries Great galloping galoots, my little nitwits! It's New Year! And it's jittery January to boot, albeit somewhat down the track! Due to confusion over prescription strength, I overslept! Leaving you without the requisite dosage of abuse and excoriating criticism you need to guide you to the doomed dénouement you deserve. Thus, I must immediately prognosticate on your grim future to see what evils the vile and bitter draught will summon for you to imbibe.

    Last time, we left you sulking behind closed doors, a familiar posture for the odious ovine! Let us now adopt a posture of observation and see if we may descry the blossoms of change in the buds of your sullen demeanour, an unlikely development in the orchard of your wretched lives but one never knows, does one! In regard to what we've missed, don't concern yourselves! As it involved cosmic farting in lugubrious Capricorn, you will simply have become more depressed and guilt stricken in the intervene.

    And so it is we find you, as mischievous Mercury inserts his supple digits into the nether workings of Uranus, idiot god and god of idiots. This vile act of lascivious abandon propels you into such a miserable bout of depression that it almost makes you joyful. You decide there and then to write your autobiography. As grim Saturn gropes a backward passage (eek) in Leo and your solar fifth house, it will be a tragic tale of thwarted effort and unappreciated genius as you, the hero, sallied forth into a naughty world only to find failure, despite your sterling character (snigger) and unparalleled ability (guffaw).

    But how can this be, my little addlepates? Surely the SHAG-RI-LA SHOUT is a success and fiscally rewarding to boot! Alas, as marauding Mars thrusts his rudest bit into the private parts of jolly Jupiter, it seems as you closed the door to the pleasure dome (after a severe bout of numbness), the sales of your gratuitous sexual grunting declined. No doubt, some other witless and worthless expression of the cultural barrenness of post-modernism has since replaced it, but into those ersatz corridors of lunacy we will not venture. Suffice it to say, as you sulk in solitary gloom, imminent bankruptcy stares you in the face.

    But, by my sainted aunt, the ovine is neither bowed by adversity nor easily daunted! Let none say 'nay' to this! As the Full Moon comes in neurotic Cancer, clashing with vamping Venus in perverse reverse, you assail the shadows and shibboleths of your inglorious past with the assassin's pen. And, ye gods and little fishes, you finally smash the wall of creative inertia that has so long stood in your way. You write, my august ninnies! Words flow from your pen as leaves fall from autumnal trees or ants advance into raspberry jam. And, in the august standing of your opinion, what you write is brilliant! Hmm!

    So do you, the scribe, begin by telling of those that bore you! Gadzooks! But it's short shrift for mater, pater, the siblings and everyone of an avuncular nature as well! For soon, forsooth, you're gripped by fever, as marauding Mars makes ghastly congress with narcotic Neptune! Thus, you extend your wrath to each varlet, vacuity and vixen that ever rejected you or made derogatory remarks about your person or powers or lumpy brow or disgusting sexual habits. As the great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury gallivant obscenely to idiot Aquarius while jolly Jupiter in morbid Scorpio lacerates the naked hide of narcotic Neptune, you flay the world with the lash of larrikin wit, laying bare dark secrets and betrayals of friend and foe alike.

    Great gods alive and dead, my witless woebegones! You accuse the world of base ingratitude and decry the human race as a vile abortive rooting hog, intent on the destruction of all that is good and beautiful, yourself featured first in an array of beauteous beings despoiled by the churlish embrace of sordid humanity. As a New Moon comes in Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, we find you furiously compiling a first draft of the diatribe of rambunctious against the world. You're set to drive your spiritual Ferrari into the midst of the ravening mob.

    Will this be just another 'head on' at rush hour? Or will the ram's red rage take the world by storm? Click here next time and see. Until then, ave atque vale, horny types!

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