What ho, my knobby-kneed miseries! Last time we left, you were in the 'siege parlous', so to speak. After achieving enlightenment many months ago, you had set out on a quest to liberate llamas across the globe, turning business and politics away from naughtiness and inclining them to spiritual awakening. To do so, you were given a magic staff of llama poo and the name of Moses Goat. In such a guise you brought down plagues upon an intransigent world. However, the lure of filthy lucre and the glamour of fortunes made seduced you back to the altar of Mammon where you betrayed your quest by exploiting llama spittle for profit, marketing same as a nouveau beauty treatment. [See previous months' horrorscopes - ed.]
Yet, in amongst all the riches and the wheeling and dealing, you could not easily put aside your sins. And then the horror of all horrors, the one you most feared, came to pass. A confrontation with the high llama, the very one that admitted you to the meeting of the llamas and entrusted you with this mission. Thus we are come to the dread moment. This is the bitter cup, ghastly goatish types! It is filled to the brim with prognostication of the vilest and most bitter type. Devilish December is the month, Asperitus the acerbic oracle! Drink deep, wretched ning-nongs! Forsooth, it shall be dire!
Jolly Jupiter and marauding Mars grapple obscenely, in a manner to disgust those who have their telescopes trained on the Heavens. So does the high llama set upon you, my wittering ninnies! This kicking, spitting creature is determined on redress for the wrongs you have done and so knocks you to the floor and seizes back from you the magic staff!
Egad! What will you do without the precious talisman that carries your powers and indeed set you up with a lavish win on the gee-gees! Ugh! Perhaps it's time to pay for the improper use of magic. You, above all, tiny cretins, are the ones most familiar with responsibility, guilt, judgement and the turning of the wheel of karma.
Under the auspices of the New Moon in silly Sagittarius and your ghastly solar twelfth house, the high llama wields the staff against you and a dozen llamas appear. And a dozen more! And then a dozen more! Until it's llamas by the gross! Eek! Perhaps not cheaper by the dozen, but certainly damper (the spitting) and more painful (the kicking)! It hardly seems there's room for all these creatures in your abode until you realize you're no longer in that abode but in the strange and mysterious wasteland on the outer reaches of civilization where you first encountered these beasts.
Gadzooks! You've been magically transported to another location by virtue of the magical staff and the high llama's handling of it. What will happen now! Well, I'll tell you! As all manner of ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect, befouling the cosmic winds and extinguishing a number of the more delicate species of flora on several minor worlds, the llamas surround you when mischievous Mercury turns direct. Marauding Mars moves forward and they kick you senseless (a mercifully brief undertaking). As mischievous Mercury re-enters addlepate Sagittarius, they shower you with llama spittle until you're bathed in the stuff and nearly drowning in an ocean of it. And, by my sainted aunt, a miracle occurs!
Cranky Chiron is returned Aquarius, idiot god and god of idiots, dancing wildly the cosmic polka with the aforementioned messenger. Thus does this magical fluid engender a deep and abiding change in your attitudes and values, my miserable goatish types! Jolly Jupiter rubs his corpulence against the wrinkles of aging Saturn and you're a changed little hircine horror! You will put aside once again your quest for money and power. You will only do good in the world.
Eek! The insane gods must have lost the plot at last, if you are the anointed agent of good yet again! Vamping Venus enters idiot Aquarius as the Full Moon blazes in nitwit Gemini! Rainbow lights shine and llamas cavort in a bestial carillon as you wallow in a sea of healing spittle, gifted by these marvels from the world of beasts.
Gadzooks, my knock-kneed tragedies! You know what you must do. You must walk the path again and get it right this time, a lesson writ in the entry of the great Sol Invicti to your own odious sign, one that visits yet another hideous solstice upon an over-burdened world. Vamping Venus moves into perverse reverse as the New Moon comes in your own idiotic sign on New Year's Eve.
Great gods and hairy demons! It's as if you're living the whole thing over again. Is this a second chance? Or is this the highway of an ordained fate that will lead you straight to hell? You look down and the staff of magic poo is once more in your hands. You faint away from the ghastly aroma but with a smile on your dial (a thing hideous to behold, given the stiffness of your facial muscles from under-use). Will you wake in time to do this good that is so often spoken of but very rarely seen? Will I wake in time to tell you what it is that you should do? Will anybody care if either or neither of these humdrum possibilities do or don't occur. Sigh! You'll have to click here next time and to find that out. Till then, my hircine horrors! Ave atque vale!
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