Great heavens and elderly termagants, it's you my ghastly goatish types, waiting upon the thresh and flail of a good old-fashioned dose of vile and bitters, issuing from the giant gob of the prognosticator, nonpareil. That's me, by the way, bard of baffle and the prophet of piffle, Asperitus, the wrack of ages! So have ye come and so shall ye be served!
It's a riot in Heaven and riotous on Earth as we begin, for dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, hobnobs in your ghastly sign, clashing with grim Saturn, your unspeakable ruler, dancing in his most appalling under drawers in the loathsome sign of the Scales. Thus, do you opt for a tried and true blanket solution to your problems that, it must be said, are many, varied and chillingly complex. This clash of cosmic giants wakes in you a ruthless ambition that, no matter who you must kill or how much you must steal, you will control all things in reach, rise above the pack and rule the world, stone-faced, mouth downturned, in a mask of grim depression, features so familiar and repulsive.
Ware now, my little miseries, as you may trip upon your financial feet or stumble over an unfortunate secret deal or liaison, as marauding Mars hits reverse, backing up in lackwit Leo. There'll be corrupt or painful dealings over sex or money and inhibited, disturbed or secretive males. Don't skip on landmines, don't play with knives and the occult and don't rob a bank by drilling into the strongroom, as such endeavours will be doomed to fail. However, you will find embezzlement, backroom beatings and blackmail will work, as long as you pick on weaklings or men with things to hide.
Jittery January 2010 will be a mixed bag, O tiny trollops, as eclipses will decimate personal relations, degrade your appearance or knock what little personality you have out of kilter. Saturn, your grim ruler, shows his buttocks to the world (aargh) by reversing and your plans for world domination will hit the skids, temporarily obstructed by bureaucracy or challenged by smiling assassins, threatening to kill those you love. However, since you love no one, not even yourself, the menace will come to naught. As jolly Jupiter slithers into snivelling Pisces and your solar third house, you will
become uncharacteristically popular for telling jokes, singing comic songs and driving a luxury car finished in a beguiling shade of lavender. In fractured February, this eccentric strain grows for, as cranky Chiron and narcotic Neptune rudely conjoin, you'll buy an object of unusual beauty, spending money for no practical reason (eek). Something strange is afoot, tiny goat-shaped loons!
Money problems ease and you bury the bodies of the slain, as marauding Mars lurches forward once more in manic March but, in awful April, lugubrious Saturn reverses into vexatious Virgo and you begin to regret the path you've taken as guilt sits like a raven on your shoulder. It's not the corrupt fiscal practice, killings and the remorseless pursuit of power you regret, oh no! Rather, it is the jokes, comic songs and the impulse toward things of beauty that racks you with guilt. You agonize, you pray and you even confess to a priest but the frocked fool fails to take you seriously so you buy the church and refit it as a casino, putting him on the streets, in despair of his faith and god. As you sneer at his plight, you see that this inexplicable jollity is actually the perfect mask for your nefarious activity, so you stop feeling guilty. However, there'll be misunderstandings or arguments with lovers, children and agile bigots, as mischievous Mercury fingers his reverse button in tragic Taurus.
But then, O griping things of nasty hoof and curly little horn, the cosmic floor shift rattles up an extraordinary change of gear as Uranus, god of arrant idiocy, totters into brutish Aries. As if the insane gods have judged you and your conduct, you awaken to find your home sliding down a hill, facing in another direction or rising on a bed of fire or a cloud of electrical current to Heaven. Your family will be excitable, distressed, exploded or replaced by alien lookalikes.
As jolly Jupiter, the crapulous lord of fortune rolls in to copulate with Uranus, a distant ancestor, far more fiery and congenial than your miserable self, comes to berate you about the ghastly life you lead. A slaphappy Solstice then rams the great Sol Invicti up the bottoms of dark Pluto, idiot Uranus and grim Saturn, associates and partners, past and present, manifest in spirit and the flesh, bringing a list of grievances and a stern examination of character.
Great farting camels and copulating monkeys, tiny brutes, what will happen to you with all this spiritual and emotional mayhem in the air? As I have neither energy nor inclination to continue, you must wait for a further instalment on your tragic futures and pointless lives. For the nonce, ave!