Greetings, seafood morsels! Last time, Mammon, god of money, had taken you under his wing as you were busy becoming a lunatic whilst stranded on a desert isle. And, it is interesting to note that prayers made during your lunacy were actually the means by which the deity of marks, bucks, pounds and yen was summoned, proving indisputably that prayer does work (in certain circumstances). It is also worth noting that the reason for your prayers was the preservation of your last remaining monies, proving indisputably that the gods look after their own (in any and all circumstances).
That covers two of the more meaningful religious issues of the day. Well, apart from the matter of whether it is more pleasing in the sight of god to wash one's hand prior or subsequent to urination. And, on that topic, as I dwell here in Heaven, I can tell you quite frankly that washing the hands is an act one rarely sees performed by any deity at anytime at all. They are in fact a filthy lot and rely on simple magic and miracles to maintain the most basic principles of hygiene. Most practices are of a general sort, i.e. rubbish disposal, receptacles for drink, hell hound faeces, et cetera. Little attention is given to the practice of personal hygiene, except in the case of those deities with obsessive/compulsive disorders. With them, there is a deal of scrubbing and self-flagellation but I am uncertain how hygienic it is.
In all other regards, there isn't much going on here, apart from drinking, eating, drug use, fornication, and, of course, a deal of raucous laughter. Most of this is generated by coarse jokes or throwing things in the general direction of the worthless human species (that's your lot) and hoping for a hit. They run a book on that generally, and also on which of them will get the most prayers offered in any given calendar month. They do the odd bit of intoning and create a thunderstorm now and again, mostly for effect and generally after eating beans. Well, that's about it for Heaven, I suppose. I hasten to add that I am in one of the quieter wings. If you're one of those types that's simply busting a moral gut to get here, you might want to have a rethink. Oh well! I'd better get on with the vile and bitter prognostications for awful August before I lose interest entirely and go back to sleep.
As mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of narcotic Neptune, Mammon, the god of money and your new master, makes a magic spell, chanting in a bizarre tongue, not unlike the one that you invented to pray to the stones. As cranky Chiron has returned to miserable Capricorn and your solar seventh house, you find you're swept up and spirited to your homeland and the family manse in a few short magical moments. Come the New Moon in lackwit Leo, you're breathlessly counting the shekels to discover how you're doing, if there's been any pilfering and if you have enough to buy a new steamboat for the bath as you've lost your old one, along with Bill the snake. As the great Sol Invicti caresses narcotic Neptune in unseemly manner, you find you're stretched financially and must take action soon. You consult with your god who has taken up residence in an airing cupboard, as he apparently prefers things warm and dry. You may be little wet for him, my tiny crab type things!
As dark Pluto, the underworld god, assails vamping Venus, you're soon involved in intense negotiations that will get the 'home circumcision kit' up and running. Marauding Mars grapples with mischievous Mercury while jolly Jupiter slithers into ghastly congress with the loony South Node. After some trial and error with the basic equipment, involving the loss of several sponging relatives (you were beginning to find them tiresome anyway), it's success at last. The art of circumcision will now come at a discount rate to every family home. What a great blow you will strike on behalf of the things you love, i.e. home, family, and the barbed wire fences that protect them. Mammon gives his blessing to the financial side of things as the Full Moon blazes in idiot Aquarius. And, as the great Sol Invicti grinds his way into anal Virgo (eek), a sales and promotion campaign is launched.
It's a massive gamble you're taking, little seafood nitwits. From failed lifestyle guru (remember the pegs of devotion and despite) to failed mesmerist, you seek to market the world's first home surgery kit! Ghastly planets clatter on the highways of Heaven as they rut and grope with anything that has warm blood and breathes. Chief among them is marauding Mars, the war god and patron saint of psychotic belligerence. Will your venture turn the trick, with Mammon's magic and blessing to back you? Or will there be an unexpected backlash that emasculates your project at the point of inception? You'll have to click here next month and see. Toodle pip, my cheerless and moody neurotics!