Gadzooks, odious ovines! It's time to thrust the dread cup to your loathsome lips, close enough so you don't dribble the contents down your woolly jumper in your usual disgusting fashion. Pucker up, my tiny perishers! This is joyless July and these are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto.
Last time, we left you losing your violets and wondering if your name wasn't actually Ophelia as you tried to badger, by use of the hellphone, the shades of Shakespeare and Enid Blyton. By such mediumistic means, you hoped to channel aid (sorely needed given your native ability) in composing a masterwork, FIVE GO MAD IN ELSINORE. However, despite being a famous psychic with access to the aforementioned hellphone (granted to you by the goddess Telephone), you ended with a crossed line to Hades. The phantom at the other end was none other than your pater, chastising you on the matter of exam results. Eek!
And, by the gods, as the month begins, marauding Mars thrusts (with unspeakable lewdness) his rude bit into the unmentionable bit of narcotic Neptune. Thus, in the aftermath of this infuriating and etheric converse, you are not only enraged but also distracted from your creative urges by this stern critique. You perform eccentric and disgusting sexual acts, giving vent to seething frustration! As mischievous Mercury moves to perverse reverse, you rant and rave about the futility of life. Vamping Venus clashes with Uranus, idiot god, and a woebegone client (doubtless an odious fishy type) comes to seek the solace of your psychic powers. However, as jolly Jupiter turns direct, you blather in obscure occult phrases, enforce odious attentions on the wretch then cast aside this 'wrung out' handkerchief, yet another victim to the selfish chagrin within you that makes you oblivious to suffering of others.
But, by my sainted aunt, what's this? The busy messenger returns to neurotic Cancer and your ranting turns to a character assassination of your parents. You decry their nasty nurturing and blame your string of failures on their foul restraints (tying your hands while in bed, banning all red things from your possession) and their distressing criticisms of your eating habits and your uncontrollable bed-wetting. At the Full Moon in miserable Capricorn, your rage against the machineries of authority knows no bounds. Egad, your ovine fury is fearful to behold! You race into the street, seeking older persons to hit or dispute with, especially those showing signs of frailty or dementia.
And, by all the gods alive and dead, what's this? It's Heaven, exploding in an eructation of foetid flatulence. Vamping Venus gropes her lascivious way from the arms of dread Pluto to a daft encounter with the Loony Nodes! Gadzooks! How unsettling!
And so we find you wandering the streets, weeping and wailing one moment then performing strange activities in the next. You're entirely demented, my frightful little persons, and are thus conducted to your domicile by well-meaning minions of the law! As vamping Venus slides into slimy Cancer, persons visit you at home. However, as you're preoccupied with imprecations to the deity, diatribes against your parents and making that miserable whining sound you make when you can't get what you want, they eat your food, steal your possessions and leave.
And, if you think that's bad, just wait, tiny turnips! Gadzooks, it gets worse! The cosmic gears screech as the marauding war god clatters into vile Virgo. Instanter, you seize your favourite toothbrush, bright red and shaped like a blunt instrument, and begin to scrub the floor, desperately seeking to erase every trace of your parents from the house. Eek!
But then the great Sol Invicti god rolls into lackwit Leo, bringing a New Moon in that loathsome sign and you're possessed by the fiery genius of your spirit. Words spill like liquid gold from your cruel and desperate lips as you channel the fiery wisdom of the Sun. As mischievous Mercury goes direct, you cast aside the hellphone and the wit of Bill and Enid. You alone will write a masterwork to exorcise the demons of childhood. Ram rises, my hideous erectiles! But is it only to encounter another ghastly and depressing detumescence? Click here next time and see. For the nonce, ave!