What ho, my goatish miseries! Last time we left, you were performing bestial acts upon the body of your lover. This was whilst plotting the downfall of civilization as we know it (hoorah) through the agency of plagues (menstruating frogs and flied lice, to name them), let loose upon the world by the sorcerous usage of your magic staff of llama poo. Such ghastly things were done in the cause of llama liberation and as protests at the naughtiness of the world, ideals to which your and your new love are singularly devoted.
Even now you may be bending your hircine frame (eek) and knobby knees (aargh) in further acts of reverential obeisance whilst coupling in the dark embrace of goatish love (love being defined as the willingness for sexual congress with your miserable personage without the use of coin of the realm). Fortunately, I have the remedy of brown bottle and silver tube to ward off further gruesome contemplations of this unspeakable prospect. Let me but take my dose (herein I do) and I shall begin the rant and cant of prognostication, vile and bitter, for jaundiced July, which I am reliably informed by the staff here in Heaven is the current month.
Shake and tremble on your hideous hoofs, tiny goatish things! For nasty are the aspects between ghastly planets that swirl in clouds of cosmic vapour, born from the farting of the insane gods! Tragic is the outcome for you and all benighted humankind, you prisoners on the wheel of animals, known otherwise as the Zodiac belt.
It begins well enough, of course! As great disasters often do! In fact, as a New Moon comes in neurotic Cancer, you swear undying love with your loved one. And, with marauding Mars in Aries, you seal this pact in an unspeakably physical manner, one not fit to be described by sensitive persons with a trace of moral fibre to them. And, as jolly Jupiter clashes with Uranus, the idiot god, you swear you will devote your lives to good (snigger). Once the llamas are free, you will become teachers of high moral purpose in your undying love. You will go about the world, teaching things that need to be taught, to others who need to learn them. Shriek! With Uranus in Pisces and your solar third house, you could make a film about the wonders of education. What do you think? It might be a classical tear-jerker like 'Goodbye Mr Chops', the story of the trials and tribulations of an educator in a butchery school where the young Robert Doughnut managed to look both bewildered and intelligent by turns for the entire length of the film. Or perhaps it could be a work in the manner of the 'Dead Parrot's Society' (subtitled 'This Parrot Is Deceased'), a searing drama about a radical young teacher of zoology and a band of idiot students who take on the establishment and lose. Then there was that definitive work, 'Mr Holland's Anus', a tedious epic with the eponymous leading character so obsessively engaged in the study of his anatomy that either he went blind or his son went deaf. I cannot now remember which! It may have been both! The only true height of tragedy it reached was the fact that the audience was neither.
Anyway, you could make something of that nature for certainly you are so endowed as to be able! At the Full Moon in your miserable sign, you vigorously discuss such propositions during recurring bouts of sexual congress. But then what's this? Quelle horreur! Something dreadful is to occur. I can feel it in my waters! And so it does. Lugubrious Saturn, geriatric one and your dread ruler, moves to loathsome Leo and your solar eighth house. Eek! A ghastly realm of unnameable body parts and sexual betrayal, set to fill the maidenly bosom with terrors beyond description! And then, what's worse, the great Sol Invicti clatters along there too, conjoining in unseemly fashion with the grim one.
A gnarled and malevolent fist hammers at the door of your hircine love nest. Eek! You open wide to find a wizened wizard standing there. 'You!' he intones (wizards do a lot of intoning as I understand it). You shrink back but this is not the end of things! No! Not by a long chalk! Vamping Venus moves to Virgo as mischievous Mercury turns retrograde in lackwit Leo and a bevy (perhaps that should be 'coven') of witches appear at the wizard's back, babbling insanely about 'meeting again', even though they've only just arrived. At least, they're suitably warty and weird.
As it turns out, my little goatish miseries, these are official representatives of WITCHES, WARLOCKS AND NECROMANCERS CHAPTER ALLIANCE (W.A.N.C.A. in the acronym). They've come to rebuke you for the practice of magic without membership or a licence. Your plagues and staff of llama poo have got you into trouble with the dark powers (marauding Mars now in cloddish Taurus, clashing with lugubrious Saturn). How infernal and how sublimely tragic! And, what's worse, if they don't strike you dead on the spot, you may be billed for back membership fees! Eek! There's some real misery for you!
What will happen next? By all the gods, I can't be bothered to talk about it now. You'll have to click here next month and see! Ave, goatish types!