Greetings, ghastly types! It is I! Asperitus, aggravating auspex! I have vile and bitter prognostications to deliver. And these are they!
Quiver and quail in your tiny booties and nasty pantaloons as your disport yourselves in the dimmest reaches of your wretched estate! The insane gods that rule the benighted universe are set to launch another assault on your silly personages. And what an assault it shall be, little ning-nongs! Timed for noxious November, the upcoming month, if the eleventh knot in my handkerchief is to be believed! And much of the assailing will be done under the auspices of the hideous Scorpion, ruler of the anus and other smutty devices.
We left you last time, darkly garbed and losing your mind in a gloomy castle you had unwisely purchased with the money you made from your musical success, THE PARROTS OF WIMPOLE STREET. The month begins and further darkling thoughts burden your mind. As mischievous Mercury in perverse reverse gropes the aging bones of grim Saturn, blackness descends as you come to feel all the success you've had is undeserved and your work has no true merit. As this is what the rest of us already knew, the epiphany passes without comment in the circle of the wise. A Full Moon glares balefully on a naughty world from the cloddish sign of Taurus and, depressed about your pathetic achievements, you take inventory of your worth to cheer yourself.
But what's this? Heavens to Betsy! You find all you have is a mountain of debt, due to extravagant personal spending and plumbing problems. In addition, there is a tiny pile of coins, a garish collection of red garments and Italian shoes, a battery operated car (red) and a nastily stained Teddy Bear, the last two being cherished mementos from an otherwise appalling childhood. As ghastly planets cavort in evil Scorpio, committing awful acts upon the person of narcotic Neptune, the air about you swirls, chill and demon-haunted. You become maudlin, tearful! You wish Teddy would talk to you as once he did, a comforting voice when you were small and lost in an infantile world of petty or imagined slights, minor head injuries and a surfeit of sweets. But Teddy will not speak and so you hurl him aside after an indecent act and a series of obscene expletives, as mischievous Mercury assails the nether regions of marauding Mars on his backwards journey. Childhood memories flood in and overwhelm you. Eek!
No wonder that everything you do is a failure for no one loved or cared for you! All they did was make cutting remarks about your wild enthusiasm, natural belligerence, disgusting eating habits and overactive private parts. Soon, my little tikes, you're feeling sorry for yourself and resentful, two of your better-developed life skills. And, in a moment of morbid chagrin, you form a dark resolve! Vamping Venus rages lustfully at the loins of jolly Jupiter and you decide to summon the occult forces that dwell in the ancient manse that is your home. You will use magic to make allies of the demons and, in diabolic company, take revenge on an uncaring world. Egad! You will demand an infernal device and then do something so magical and powerful (you haven't quite decided what) that everyone will be jealous and feel defeated and wish they'd tried harder to earn your affection. But, when they come running to seek your friendship and beg forgiveness, you will spurn them and make insulting remarks, calling them 'stupid' or 'fatty' or 'smelly pants'. That'll show them, tiny turnips!
As mischievous Mercury moves forward, you slink from the bright light of day through the crepuscular twilight to the Stygian gloom of a New Moon in Scorpio and your ghastly solar eighth house, an unspeakable realm of black magic, prostitution and tax-collectors. You chant in an outre tongue, summoning demons with sorcerous incantations that spring to your lips. Of course, you don't actually know any incantations but just make them up as you go along, hoping they'll work. In fact, this is a strategy you employ in every situation in life where you're ignorant of what to do, which is every situation you face. And, fortunately, the strategy works as you're surrounded by a pandemonium of demons, made in all the strange and sulphurous variety in which the creatures traditionally come.
Hoorah, you cry, exulting in your sorcerous powers!
Hoorah, responds a demon chorus, bursting into laughter. You laugh too, the infernal cackle being infectious. As the great Sol Invicti and jolly Jupiter roll into silly Sagittarius, this riot of good humour dispels the gloom. In a trice, you're swept up by the revelry, as you become one of a myriad of flatulent and fornicating fantastical beings. You have sex with comely devils, gorge on hellish food and engage in revolting personal practices. Yet, instead of sour-faced rejection and stern criticism, you're welcomed as a boon companion and even win the farting competition, being named 'malodorous imp' of the month. A fire burns in your brain, banishing the tenebrous darkness of depression! A dazzling realization floods your being! You're not human. You're actually a demon! And this is your tribe!
As marauding Mars clambers into the private parts of grim Saturn, you see the best revenge is to live a good life. Laughter is a magical weapon, given by the demons, and you will make the world laugh. But will it be 'with you' or 'at you'? Click here next time for a further chapter of THE MADNESS OF KING RAM IV. In the meantime, ave atque vale, odious ovines!