Salutations, my seafood miseries! Last time the litany of custard complaint was getting your goat, if I can mix an astrological metaphor. You sold the soporific custard of Dr. Crustacean (that's you) to soothe the ghastly tempers of nasty little children (ugh). You made a great profit with a successful marketing strategy, but all the damnable yellow goo did was give nasty nightmares to the tiny tikes and so disturb further the sleep of all the families of the world.
This, my darling crabby types, is a classic case of the solution being worse than the problem, much like insecticides, cane toads, supermarkets, credit, diet coke, flexi-time, back announcements and all other such idiotic bumbling, perpetrated by humans in their efforts to revise the natural order. It's more likely that, in a benighted world ruled by insane gods, we will die from the cure rather than the disease.
Enough of these pleasantries! Let us proceed with the vile and bitter prognostications for savage September, which I believe is the current month due to there being nine knots in my handkerchief. The great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury cavort in unseemly congress and thus are you inundated by dissatisfied customers. Marauding Mars gropes the Loony South Node and complainants take to waking you up at night by hurling, in through your bedroom window, their letters of concern wrapped around nasty little pebbles. You take to hurling back your typed replies with a water bomb attached, just as mischievous Mercury assails the private parts of Uranus, the god of idiots. As the great Sol Invicti then has his wicked way with the idiot god, the police and the judiciary become involved and you agree to take these annoying persons off your eccentric mailing list on the proviso they agree to use conventional channels of redress.
By the time a Full Moon in wretched Pisces brings a Lunar Eclipse to your solar ninth house, you decide to withdraw your product from the shelves of supermarkets globally till proper research is conducted into its dream-inducing power. As marauding Mars clatters into lackwit Libra and your solar fourth house, you feign acceptance of this setback but then lock yourself in at home, smash the crockery, slash the furnishings, jump on your favourite rubber ducky and throw strawberry jam at the sea green wallpaper. Having got that out of your system, you follow the behest of mischief-making Mercury as he conducts a skittish liaison with dark Pluto, the god of the underworld, then squirts himself into the ghastly sign of partnership, the silly Scales. Thus, do you conceive a brilliant plan that, as the vilely intrusive little messenger copulates with the psychotic war god, you announce to the world at large. You will live on a diet of your own custard for the coming month to prove it does no harm to those that are pure in spirit. Egad!
As vamping Venus sleazes for the favours of Uranus, idiot god, while the great Sol Invicti assails dark Pluto, underworld god, you will also allow a team of psychologists to come and study you, both waking and asleep. There's a petard to be easily hoist upon, especially as you'll have to be hooked up to wires and little machines that will record all of those funny, jerky little movements you make whilst sleeping (and also awake, if the truth be told).
But what's this? Great peanuts and masticating monkeys! It's jolly Jupiter having his crapulous way with narcotic Neptune. Thus, you have a change of heart! And, by my sainted aunt, a massive change it is! You swear to that you'll have done with custard, cranky children, experiments, psychologists, marketing, customer complaints and all such folderol. Instead, you will return to casino and earn money on the turn of a card or the spin of a wheel instead of the dishonesty of business and the world of commerce.
As the New Moon in vexatious Virgo brings a Solar Eclipse, you wind up the business, pay off the underlings and myrmidons and realize your assets. As the great Sol Invicti lollops into lackwit Libra, you organize a 'singles' evening at your home in the vain hope you will find someone imbecilic enough to like you for yourself. As vamping Venus then clashes with dark Pluto, underworld god, you re-hire several of the more svelte and attractive employees you've recently retrenched to people the gathering, in case only the tragically ugly actually turn up to your do. Then as the lustful goddess leers into loathsome Libra, you refurbish your home with a dazzling array of furnishings both firm and soft.
But will your strategy win you love or reveal you for the sad loser you actually are? Click here next time to discover the awful outcome of this tawdry business? In the meantime, ave!