Avast, my goatish tragedies, servants of miserable Saturn! Last time you had come to the edge of a precipice and stepped off into space, my loony poltroons! You used the magic of the staff of llama poo for personal gain, winning money at the track in order to finance your llama spittle importation business to become the number one cosmetic corporation in the world! Eek!
So what will happen this time? Why, my minuscule ning-nongs! Let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications and so discover! Chaotic is the chaos that begins the month of obnoxious October as the roaring warrior god (Mars) turns his backside on the world and moves into perverse reverse. He does so in cloddish Taurus and your solar fifth house! Gadzooks, tiny goatish tragedies! Before you can say 'hostile takeover bid', you're back in the world of greed, ambition and high finance. As the New Moon comes in loathsome Libra, bringing a Solar Eclipse to your tenth house of profession, you've put on hold your holy sacred quest and begun to speculate, wheel and deal like the goatish type of old.
In fact, as mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of jolly Jupiter, it seems that you're determined to shackle the llamas rather than free them as you and the business cronies you've inveigled into the game set up spittle farms across the world. Vamping Venus enters silly Sagittarius and you begin the usual round of secret meetings, some involving innovations in the llama shackle while others are concerned with collection troughs and piping. Mischievous Mercury indecently inserts himself into morbid Scorpio and you're into the cut and thrust of debate with friends (snigger) and associates as you hammer out your plans. As the messenger grinds willing flesh against the bones of grim Saturn then heads off for a pert liaison with narcotic Neptune, you're on the knife-edge of decision.
But what's this? By my sainted aunt! All hell breaks loose in the Heavens! Ghastly farting from the nasty back passages of larrikin planets delivers noxious miasma, piped through to the paltry denizens of a benighted universe ruled by insane gods (that's you, my pretties). Chief among them is the Martian marauder as he forms yet another Yod (you had one last month), a grim configuration that betides woe of nine kinds and is known to astrologers of yore as the Finger of God. Your lover confronts you over these dark and evil doings, demanding you give up this devotion to Mammon and return to the halcyon days of llama liberation and the holy sacred quest that brought the two of you together. The cosmos erupts to chaos as a Full Moon glowers in addlepate Aries, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your house of romance while mischievous Mercury lays himself on the rack of the Martian marauder.
An explosive row sends your lover running into the night as you vociferously state your intent to sate yourself with Mammon as has been the custom of you and all the goats that came before you. This is the goatish tradition! The great Sol Invicti slithers into hag-ridden Scorpio and jolly Jupiter, the giggling and inebriated lord of fortune follows at his wounded heels into the domain of the same fell sign of death, taxes and the anus! Evil Scorpio! Success beyond your wildest dreams will come, even if you have to drain the last drop of spittle from every llama in the world to have it in your grasp!
By my sainted aunt, you've reverted to type, my darling goatish pretties! But will the chickens of magical corruption soon come home to roost? Click here next time and see! In the meantime, ave atque vale, tiny goatish things!