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    Go Back  The Sublime Irritations of March 2005   Go Forward
    Gadzooks, little hircine horrors! A benighted universe ruled by insane gods has condemned me to such a fate that even I, Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth, hardly dare speak of it aloud. But I will anyway for that fate is to make prognosticatory remarks in your general direction. Oh well! How sad! Never mind! Worse, in the end, for you than me! So let us begin without further ado! It's manic March, tiny goatish boobies! And these are the vile and bitter prognostications thereof!

    Last time, you were visited by the spirit of the high llama. He urged you to fulfill your quest on behalf of all llamas by admonishing world leaders on the matter of their evil ways and ordering that llamas in captivity across the globe be freed so that you can lead them to the Promised Land. If the llamas are not released, one and all, then woe will fall upon a hapless humankind in the manner of the worst excesses of the Old Testament. Eek! To do this, you were named Moses Goat and given a staff made entirely of llama dung. How fitting! You dressed eccentrically and raced into the street. Mischievous Mercury clashes with Pluto, dark lord of the underworld and you shout in dark sepulchral tones of llama liberation and the march of woeful fate. You upset academics, foreign tourists and the managers of boutique chains with your wild behaviour.

    However, idle and unwashed persons of a feckless disposition gather in your wake and make you a figure of fun by mimicking your actions and words. As mischievous Mercury then moves to arrogant Aries, you lay blows upon these wastrels with your staff of llama dung and shout even more angrily at the heedless populace. Your family runs into the street to remonstrate with you about this eccentric quest. They even question you closely on your failure to work all the hours that god sends and make pots of money in the customary manner.

    As marauding Mars clashes with lugubrious Saturn, your arms are pinned by an elderly relative of a disposition more sour than your own (startling in itself) and you are frog-marched back to the family manse for a full and frank discussion at the New Moon in snivelling Pisces. There you explain to them you received enlightenment in the wilds of Tibet and that your llama spittle enterprise is merely a mask for a mission to reform the world and save the llamas. After the first waves of hysterical laughter die down, they confine you to the bathroom, first removing the sharp objects with which you may attempt escape or try to injure yourself.

    The great Sol Invicti and vamping Venus clash with Pluto, dark lord of the underworld, and you are a prisoner in your home while your jailers seek the papers to confine you more permanently in an institution. Ghastly planets cavort in nasty aspect, farting in the cosmic winds and the Equinox lays its loathsome shadow on the world once more. Mischievous Mercury turns retrograde as the great Sol Invicti enters the belligerent sign of the Ram and your find yourself becoming quite emotional. Egad! What a gruesome proposition! You beat your fists on the bathroom door, railing against this confinement and the purblind nature of your odious relatives who, as marauding Mars enters Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, are in shopping malls across town, spending the profits from the sale of llama spittle.

    However, as lugubrious Saturn goes direct and marauding Mars conjoins in unseemly fashion with cranky Chiron, you realize that greater powers than your puny fists are at your disposal. You raise on high the staff of magic llama poo and utter strong smelling llama spells that freeze your relatives' credit cards. You then ensorcel them hypnotically to return home and release you from this ablutionary thralldom. As a Full Moon comes in nitwit Libra, you have fought your first battle for llama freedom and won. The great Sol Invicti, vamping Venus and mischievous Mercury all conjoin in lunatic Aries and your spirit blazes with a roseate fire. You step into the street again and raise your staff to stop the traffic.

    'Let my llamas go!' you cry in a stentorian voice that shatters shop windows in the adjacent mall and removes the helmet of a passing policeman. Thus is the die cast for Moses Goat! 'The llamas will be freed or there will be a plague upon the world!' you cry. Click here next month and see what happens! Perhaps you'll find matching tablets to go with the staff! Ta! Ta!

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