Greetings, scrofulous ovine types! No! Do not thank me for coming! I take no joy in being here, on this voyage without solace and without end! O seas of suffering! O rivers of relentless misery! O lakes of the lachrymose and ponds of parlous perturbation!
Yet someone must bear the burden of intercourse (eek) with the wretched lower orders (that's you) on the matter of life's misery and all other such nastiness and inconvenience. Tragically, this burden falls to me, as I lie abed in here Heaven, contemplating the nine infinitudes of irritation. Yes, tiny insults to the olfactory! In the hurricane 'thresh and flail' of impatience, I have been your lamp. Through the wild storms of your worst decisions (how many, ye gods, how many), I have been your rudder! Into the doldrums of desuetude and grim despair where you toyed lewdly with inaction and defeat, I have followed the clack and clatter of foetid hooves as you tottered along the decks of the ship of life, determined yet to make a drama and a fiasco of every simple thing.
Last time we left, you were cowed and beaten but in the final moment lifted up by grace and miraculously rescued from the wretchedness of yet another bad idea turned even worse in action. Will you now make a pig's ear of redemption just as you have of every other thing that you have ever done? Let us fill the dread cup to the brim, drink the vile draught and drown ourselves in prognostications so bitter they would curdle milk at fifty paces and frighten small children with their unsuitable appearance. Attend to me, ovine loons! I am Asperitus, the ghastly giggling guru! And you are the fluff in life's belly button! The bumps on the head of an idiot, telling a tale full of sound and fury signifying nothing!
Righto! Off we go! Jaded June begins with a fiery Full Moon in silly Sagittarius and we find you flying through the air at unnerving speed, hair windswept, eyes rolled back with fear, though your bladder performs in a manner best not described. Suffice it to say, you're wrenched from all that is familiar by this angelic rescuer and are soon deposited in strange and foreign climes, amidst what appears to be a welcoming committee, as vamping Venus leers lustfully in lackwit Leo. Wild erotic dance is danced! Laudatory orations are orated, though all in a foreign tongue with equally foreign gestures! It is, after all, a thing with foreign persons that they gesticulate and it certes pleases you, my little fol de rols, my fardels, to be smiled on, even if it is in a language you can't understand and with gestures you can't comprehend.
Egad! What's this? Why, my tiny turnips, you're invited to the podium to respond in kind. Hoorah! But you slip on the steps at your ascension, swear vilely and turn red in the face! Gadzooks! That's awkward! Yet the crowd only cheers you adoringly so you begin to dance in the appalling manner familiar to those that know you and avoid you in the ballroom. You also begin to bellow balderdash, as usual! But where once all would be jeers and derision, now the crowd goes wild and cries 'encore'. Of course, the farting of ghastly planets in nasty aspect is to blame for this bizarre turn of events but I can't be bothered remembering their names or doings. Look them up in a book, if you've a mind to!
Suffice to say that, at the New Moon in addlepate Gemini, we find you cavorting before a crowd of admirers, babbling pseudo polyglot hybrid nonsense, though incorporating the few intelligent words you know like 'food', 'drink', 'sex', 'red' and 'gimme'. It's only then, as mischievous Mercury turns to perverse reverse in slimy Cancer, that you begin to wonder what on earth is happening. One moment you were assailed on the street, now you're hailed in triumph, though for what and by whom are both entirely mysterious. You set yourself to ask but your query (eek) drowns in the roaring of the vain and selfish Sun God as he rolls and clatters into the selfsame seafood sign (Cancer), visiting yet another Solstice on an already overburdened world. A feast is laid before your very eyes and everything red festoons the arena of this celebration.
Ye gods and little fishes, it's a true paradise of 'home sweet home' for rampant Ram! But, as marauding Mars bullies his way to cloddish Taurus and you prepare for total immersion in the food and flesh that awaits only your rambunctious entry (eek), a radiant hand is raised to call a pause in proceedings. Though steam comes from your nostrils, you still have the wit to see that it is your rescuer calling a moratorium on your rising lust. Thus, you temporarily master your desires for the sake of politesse. As a second Full Moon comes in gloomy Capricorn, your radiant rescuer bids you listen then speaks aloud in a tongue you can understand, using words of no greater length than four letters. The creature is a shaman, priest and wonder-worker for an ancient tribe of folk, the very ones that laud you. The creature cries aloud that your spirit was born of these folk many lifetimes ago. You have been brought back to take up again the ancient staff of power, for you were, in another life, a mighty ruler and magician among them. All you have to do is say you will carry the staff once more, after which all of the food and fornication you wish will be yours (hoorah), until it comes time for the ritual death (eek).
By my little brown bottle, this is a bit serious, little ram type thingies! Food and sex are good but ritual death generally is both painful and terminal. You turn your head to ask a further question but then slip and fall on your face in the food and flesh! Yikes and double yikes! Does this mean you'll have to die? Ritually! And what is this absurd drivel about anyway? Click here next time if you'd like more. For the nonce, ave!