Great thundering tea-trolleys and galloping galoots! It's you again, my tiny farting tragedies! Turning up here to read of your wretched lives and the futile nature of existence in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods! On reflection, I suppose there is no better place to come and reacquaint yourselves with the awful truth. For here reigns the bard of baffle, the prophet of piffle and the pasha of pontification. That's me, by the way. Asperitus! Oracle of bitter truth and proponent of the mystic doctrines of sublime irritation!
Last time, we left you with your sense of purpose renewed (through much kicking and spitting) as you turned again to the paths of devotion and the liberation of llamas. As the llamas did the kicking and spitting, one wonders how influential the coercive aspect of the encounter may have been. However, since that time, there has been a gap. In matters concerning health, one is prone to either under-medicate or over-medicate. I incline to the latter and, in fact, did so during the course of the preceding month. Thus, I'm late with the forecast, having missed the onset of New Year and the initial days of jittery January. And, as it happens, a deal of cosmic flatulence occurred in your lugubrious sign during the gap so I will fill it in.
Vamping Venus moved in perverse reverse in goatish climes, ensuring you looked and smelled disgusting as you retraced your steps from the council of llamas. Thus you were either reviled or avoided by every human being (and most beasts) you met along the way. Under other conditions, this would be a happy occurrence, given the merits of chance encounters with the human species or indeed any other. Often, it seems the intent is either to eat one or to communicate with one in some manner, and one is never sure which is worse. As mischievous Mercury gallivanted into your sign, you maintained a continuous stream of talk in the course of your travels, most of which was complaint. That, at least, meets with my approval. We are up to date, I think. Now it is the busy messenger inserts a supple digit into the nether regions of Uranus, idiot god and god of idiots. Thus, on reaching civilization, you buttonhole the first individuals you see and berate them on the matter of the parlous, odiferous straits to which you are reduced. You do so because you have decided that, if you must liberate the world from naughtiness and save llamas, it must therefore be the fault of the world (and everyone in it) for the burden of the task you undertake. Thus, you blame the world for your plight and feel entirely justified in doing so.
As the Full Moon blazes in neurotic Cancer, you are once more Moses Goat, ranting and raving at a general populace that can't actually get near enough to hear what you're saying because of the unspeakable smell that issues from your person. And as for the staff of llama poo! It reeks of magic made in Hell's lavatories! As grim Saturn clutches the corpus of Uranus, the dribbling idiot god, you decide there is only one course to take. Another plague must fall upon a naughty world that will neither heed the words of truth nor recognize the plight of llamas. First it was the menstruating frogs in the rivers. Then it was flied lice. Now, it must be the boiling cattle, if you're to follow the classic order but keep up with the modernist 'compacting' notion in the matter of a mosaic (note the pun) of plagues. Odious planets congregate in orgiastic fashion in the gutters of Heaven; marauding Mars, jolly Jupiter, grim Saturn and narcotic Neptune, by epithet and name! The cadent houses of your solar chart are awash with the ghastly groaning and grunting of cosmic fornication and other random acts of perversity. Thus, do you prepare yourself to cast a spell like no other that has 'ere been cast in the long and tedious history of the benighted Earth! Eek!
But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's the great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury, grinding their passage (ugh) into lunatic Aquarius. Gadzooks! Egad! And other such expressions denoting concern! A thought strikes you, my tiny goatish miseries! And it's not about the cost of the venture. No, indeed! It's an issue of values, a theme that is intimately involved with the second house where the sign of idiot Aquarius lurks in your solar chart! You remember values, don't you? You usually keep them in the back of your mind in case you need to trot them out to win an argument over money or business. Anyway, it strikes you that if you must boil up cows to save the llamas, you'll be killing one species to save another. And that's hardly fair.
Egad! You've hit a moral dilemma, head-on! And, what's more, you're actually thinking about the fate of other creatures while making a decision. In and of itself that is remarkable! Perhaps you could skip the boiling cattle and go straight to the hail! What do you think? But then the hail might hurt the cattle! And other living things too! But if you skip hail too and go straight to the locusts, they'll eat the grass cattle feed on! Eek! This is getting complicated! You might have to attend university and study philosophy to know which plague you can next inflict on the world without doing harm to any of its species. Besides the humans, of course! They deserve it because of their naughtiness and corruption! But, what about humans that aren't naughty or corrupt? Must they suffer too? And is that fair? Ah me! As a New Moon comes in lunatic Aquarius while mischievous Mercury and Saturn wrestle grimly in the Heavens, you worry and wonder, my tiny goatish tragedies! Forgotten for the moment are Moses Goat, llama liberation and the staff of llama poo! It's the horns of a moral dilemma that have pinioned you in a painful place. Eek!
And there, sadly, we must leave you. Suffering! Until next month when the insane gods will have discovered yet another way to increase the quota thereof for you! And for the eleven other ghastly and wretched beasts of the Zodiac wheel as well. For the nonce, ave!