Hooray to you, my hircine horrors! Last time we left, you were on the verge of setting yet another plague loose upon a naughty world as you and your new love continued on your mission to liberate llamas across the globe. What will happen this time?
Well, as a matter of fact, I've been thinking about that, my cloven-foot nitwits. In fact, I've been considering your forecast in some depth, after taking the requisite medicines to ease the pain of such a nasty contemplation. And, I began wondering why you're doing what you're doing. After all, this ridiculous quest was generated by an accidental visit to Tibet or somewhere like it, made when you were disillusioned by severe financial losses in Greece after the Olympic Games. And it was conceived under the auspices of Uranus in wretched Pisces.
But what does that signify really? We could account for the presence of the idiot god in your solar third house by making you have arguments at bus stops with persons involved in education or saying clever things after traffic accidents. Or we could give you a nervous tic or twitch or speech impediment that involved dribbling! Or perhaps you could occasionally speak in tongues while on a conference call. But there's certainly no need for this business of running about that planet, doing good works and trying to save the world. There are other inane signs, tailor made for such lunatic endeavours as that. And besides, you can't be wasting time on quests and the like. Jolly Jupiter is in Libra and your solar tenth house so you should be involved in hard-headed negotiations with other business professionals where you lie smoothly or pretend to agree with other points of view in order to get what you want. And, in addition, grim Saturn is in lackwit Leo and your solar eighth house, so you should be getting on with the business of making money, embezzling, defrauding and launching hostile takeover bids. In the name of all the insane gods that rule this benighted earth, what's the matter with you? You're a goatish type, with knobby knees and a nasty stringy little beard! Give up the lunacy of enlightenment and get back to your familiar realm, the kingdom of greed and naked ambition!
Well, with all that said, I suppose we'll have to get on with it. Oh, by the way! I suppose you will have noticed I'm late with the forecast. I could probably say this is so because I've been properly engaged in the study of your future, as I've just indicated. However, this would be a lie, as I actually slept in and forgot about you until now, when a nasty note from the entertainment director here in Heaven arrived at my bedside. Oh well! That covers everything I can think of for this procrastinating preamble. Let us hie to the task, my ghastly goatish types!
It's savage September and these are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. But wait! I suppose I'll have to fill you in on the gap in case anything interesting (snigger) happened to you in the meantime. Jolly Jupiter groped the private parts of vamping Venus and you adopted an effete and exaggerated manner when dealing with persons of standing. You spent too much money on clothing or makeovers, attended a social occasion and had sex at the reception desk whilst waiting to keep an important business engagement when the secretary went to out to send a fax. As dark Pluto, the underworld god, moved forward yet again in your solar twelfth house, you began to have mysterious dreams about foreigners, religious cults and joining the church or the military. As the New Moon came in anal Virgo, you had an argument about religious beliefs with a carping female while caught in traffic and hoped that you'd never see this person again. That brings us back to the present! As mischievous now Mercury clashes with Uranus, the idiot god, you have a minor traffic accident. It involves the critical female you argued with several days ago, proving that no matter what plans we make, the insane gods that rule the benighted universe have other plans! Of course, they're generally too drunk to remember what they are...
You ruminate on the plague you're going to inflict by means of your magic staff of llama poo when vamping Venus moves to gloomy Scorpio and you run into some business cronies. They joke about your new endeavours with llama liberation and wonder if you're down to your last million yet. You smile weakly, knowing it's much worse than that, but laugh along with them, wondering how you're going to carry out your mission and yet get back on song with finance.
But great gods alive and dead, what's this? Why, it's ghastly planets farting in nasty aspect, befouling the cosmic winds with their unspeakable flatulence. Chief of the offenders is marauding Mars, thrusting his rudest bits into the private parts of jolly Jupiter and dark Pluto (eek). This makes a configuration known to astrologers of yesteryear as a yod, the Finger of God. And now, my daft goatish ninnies, that divine but damning digit is pointed right at you! You see there is a means to make money in the long term for the importation of the llama spittle as a beauty product is doing well. What you need is a rapid cash injection to make it grow. An investment with quick returns! Once you have that you can urge your business cronies to invest, increase your holdings dramatically and so return to the top of the money tree.
And what will this scheme for quick cash be? As mischievous Mercury clashes with dark Pluto, underworld god, the idea arrives with a flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, as is often the case with insane ideas when one is watching a film. Except in this case, it's the idiot film of your idiot life, O tiny hircine horrors! You decide to use the magic staff of llama poo to pick a winner at the track. Thus you will make millions! Eek! You're going to use cosmic magic for selfish ends! Egad! And we thought the Goat above all others knew every rule that ever was, is and shall be, from here unto eternity. Oh well! If you're seeking a tragic outcome, goatish things! Seek it in spades, I suppose!
As the madness of greed descends upon you, such madness as blocks out the spirit voice of the head llama and the protestations of your beloved, you devise a cunning plan. You'll back a long shot at the races then manipulate the weather conditions on the day so that all but your nag will flag. As vamping Venus interferes indecently with grim Saturn (perish the thought), you prepare yourself for a magical rite to stir a storm up from some dark and hidden corner of the world. As race day comes, you ride the lightning and send the rain bucketing down to bring success to the ill-favoured creature you have backed. Shriek and double shriek, my knobby-kneed nitwits! The plan works to perfection and you pocket the cash (in a very large pocket). The great Sol Invicti grinds his way to loathsome Libra, foisting another Equinox upon an over-burdened world. You call a meeting of your cronies to discuss the funds needed to make llama spittle the number one global beauty product and yourselves the richest of the rich by doing so. It's just like old times, isn't it! The cut and thrust of business and the business deal! Vamping Venus cleaves indecently to narcotic Neptune and you sell your scheme without raising a sweat. You've got the dream! You've got the dough!
But did you see the second of the yods that bared a withered breast in the Heavens, as grim Saturn, mischievous Mercury and Uranus, the idiot god, sated their ghastly lusts on one another? I expect that you did not. But what you will see is the dread outcome of this if you click here next time. Have you heard the phrase in Latin, 'morituri te salutant'? If not, you should have learned it before you cast the die (and that's a polyglot pun). Ave atque vale, my tiny goatish types!