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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Salutations, seafood morsels! Last time we left you with a new recipe, a money earning venture to increase your fortunes even further! Dr. Crustacean's soporific custard, an anęsthetic desert that will put the troublesome child straight to sleep, easing the burden of parents about the globe. However, we also left you sound asleep as you had indulged yourself in a bowl of your own product (eek).
So, little nitwits of the nipper! What will we find this time? Why, we'd best consult the vile and bitter prognostications for jaded June and so discover. As mischievous Mercury slithers into your neurotic sign, you awake screaming from your nightmare dreams (induced by the custard) and rush about the place, giving everyone orders and talking about how you feel and what you think (shudder). As marauding Mars clatters into lackwit Leo, you yell loudly and demand that everyone works hard to make you more money than you already have. Vamping Venus gropes the aging bones of gloomy Saturn and you review the list of friends you've loaned money to then ring up and demand to have it back with interest. If they're impecunious, you agree to accept a period of bonded labour including sexual favours and a variety of cleaning services, especially in removing the difficult rings you get after using the bathtub. And what's this? Why, it's the great Sol Invicti, cleaving in unseemly fashion to the bosom of Uranus, idiot god. There's good news, my little tikes! It seems the hitmen you hired to resolve the family legal disputes have been efficacious, though the cost of the contracts will have to be offset against the payouts you might otherwise have made. A ghastly Full Moon casts a chill necrotic light in your house of work and health. Thus you will either be successful in business due to your handling of co-workers or catch a cold that gives you a problem with your joints. A foreign co-worker may be difficult, excitable or have a religious experience whilst on the job. You then spend a deal of time on the phone, dealing with overseas communications or in-laws. You also hire a Swedish private detective to track down the friends that have been laggard or recalcitrant in paying the monies they owe. As ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds, you sack deceitful or evasive workers, experience further problems with your joints and issue instructions to kill anyone that doesn't pay what they owe you. This last is, of course, due to the hideous congress of marauding Mars and grim Saturn in your solar second house of money. And, by my sainted aunt, just when you think things couldn't get worse, all hell breaks loose in the Heavens. The great Sol Invicti clatters into your hideous sign, visiting another Solstice upon an overburdened world. You become full of yourself, eat too much, tell everyone what to do and fight with family and persons in authority. If this differs in some crucial respect from your normal behaviour no doubt an interested party will take note of it. Nonetheless, you're determined that Dr. Crustacean's soporific custard will corner the market and become the 'must eat' dish for irascible infants. As the Loony Nodes forsake Aries and Libra for Pisces (ugh) and Virgo (double ugh), you launch a global marketing campaign to sell the product. But, ye gods and little fishes, vamping Venus slithers into supple yet perverted Gemini and you become socially inept, have affairs, associate with psychics and drug-dealers and begin to live in a fantasy world. The New Moon comes in your sign and you're troubled deeply by dreadful dreams of the kind that came when you first sampled your own product. Great trundling tea-trolleys, my little nitwits of the nipper! Is there a dark force on the loose in your twisted psyche? Are the nasty dreams harbingers of nasty events to come? And are you actually the neurotic mess that everyone believes you to be? The answers to these and any other questions that may trouble you can be found when you click here next month. In the meantime, I'm overcome with ennui and screaming boredom and so must retreat to the shelter of my little brown bottle and my silver tube. Ave atque vale, crustacean loonies! |
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