Greetings, my nasty smelling things in crunchy little shells! It is I, Asperitus! I have come to make portentous pronouncements upon the perturbing possibilities of your peculiar peregrinations, as well as pass judgement upon your pernickety proclivities. Avaunt thee, crab type thingies! It is time for vile and bitter prognosticating, insofar as it pertains to jactitating July that is the current month, as I am reliably informed by the staff here in Heaven.
We left you last time on a sea cruise that had begun as a jape, played on you by nasty relatives and nastier friends to honour your birthday. However, as the Sun set on yet another ghastly day in your wretched lives, you smiled benignly, catching up on the gossip whilst secretly plotting a deadly revenge to be wreaked upon those that have offended you. Thus, as the month begins, vamping Venus wraps her soft bits around the knobbly bits of grim Saturn and you consult with infirm elderly folk or depressing fiscal fellows on the matter of reorganizing your finances and altering your will. As mischievous Mercury in perverse reverse makes marauding Mars roar with seminal delight at the prospect of some rampant rogering, you revise business arrangements and investments in order to bankrupt several of your particularly annoying friends by the time you all get back to shore. However, little of this is at all satisfying for you, my weeny sandwich fillings, as the busy messenger is still in perverse reverse in your own exasperating sign. Thus, you trip on ropes and knock your noggin on spars whilst also suffering from stomach upsets due to an insidious combination of seasickness and overindulgence in rich food.
Yet this passes, as all things do, for the busy messenger moves forward again, opening the way to a hideous New Moon in your own appalling sign. This makes a nasty aspect with narcotic Neptune whilst also introducing vamping Venus to vexatious Virgo just as marauding Mars cranks his crankshaft into cranky Chiron, making him even crankier. Gadzooks, my tiny types! Instanter, your vessel is engulfed by a strange smelling mist that makes you feel faint and sends you tottering down to your berth. Once there, you dress in your plainest pyjamas and take a remedy for what ails you, only to find that those aboard are perturbed by the developments and come seeking you out to see if this is a payback for their 'harmless' prank. You swear by your mater's barbed wire bra and Hessian undies this is not so. Yet so parlous are the misty seas you're sailing into that much contumely muttering and disbelief fills the air. They don't believe you, little crabby sods! As the great Sol Invicti then rolls and clatters drunkenly into lackwit Leo, you offer the irritating creatures dosh to go away and leave you alone, as your health is deteriorating rapidly.
But, by my sainted aunt, what's this? Marauding Mars, lugubrious Saturn and narcotic Neptune grip one another's rude bits in unseemly embrace and riotous disbelief erupts below deck as the ship sails on into a poison mist. The money is pocketed but insults and accusations are hurled at you, questioning your motives, your actions and the very values instilled in you by your ancient mater and her cat o' nine tails. Ye gods and little fishes, this may not be, my sad and tragic little crabby types! Vamping Venus hurls herself into perverse reverse and you rise from your bed of woe, gripped by a surge of primordial reversion. You seize that ancient and punitive device (the cat) from the velvet coverings that hold her.
Gadzooks! How fearsome and vindictive! Then it is that, as Full Moon casts a ghastly light in Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, you round up these rancid relatives and conceited companions and put them in irons below deck. You then set yourself to deliver the vilest thrashing ever handed out by Crab to those that have forgot the ancient ways of respect for elders and betters.
Egad, what is this final and terrible eructation for jactitating July? Aargh! It is a nasty encounter of an unseemly kind between the rampant fury of marauding Mars and the gloomy reluctance of grim Saturn. By the giggling gods and dribbling demons, what foul and furious thing will be unleashed thereby, rising from the lowest of the twenty-nine hells? Click here next time and so discover. Ave, my lunatic crustaceans!