Ho to you, my goatish miseries! Last time, we left you were in a moral crisis about which plague to inflict on a corrupt and naughty world. The crux of the matter was the means by which the human species might be brought to brook for past offenses without harm to other species. It was also a concern to spare those humans that were not considered offensive in the sight of the insane gods. Good luck in the search for even one, bearing in mind I have attained godhood and am unavailable for consideration! Anyway, as I'm late already (as usual), we'd better get away from this waffle and get on with the piffle that masquerades as astrology but is (in fact) nothing more than a dose of vile and bitter prognostications, pertaining in this instance to the month of fractious February.
Now, as ghastly planets too tedious to name have begun the month by farting in nasty aspects too tedious to recount, we find you in a quandary, my tiny goatish lunatics. You worry and wonder as to the moral rightness of the stance you've been forced into by the llamas. You engage in debates on values and morality with old friends but they soon decide you are certifiable and avoid you by crossing the road when they see you coming. You begin to worry that past actions you've committed may have been hurtful to others and naughty in the sight of the insane gods. You thus become severely depressed (who would notice) and begin to ponder the meaning of life! Hmm! That old chestnut!
You consult religious persons in an effort to seek the truth but only get the usual waffle that is worse even than the waffle you are reading right now. You consult psychics to seek the spiritual meaning of your life but find that you only get from them the same kind of piffle and rot that I write, whilst leaving out the insults. By my sainted aunt, that is depressing!
Mischievous Mercury slithers into damp and nasty Pisces and you wander the streets, talking to yourself in a distracted manner. As the Full Moon comes in lackwit Leo, illuminating the ghastly doings in your solar eighth house, you offer money to occultists, healers, persons in the sex trade and taxation consultants to see if they will relay life's meaning and thus ease your moral crisis. However, this proves unsuccessful and as depressing, in the main, as anything else you have ever done, though one tax consultant provides interesting counsel about writing off llama spittle profits against llama dung disposal fees. And, adding further layers of depression, you realize this may be as close as you'll ever get to understanding life's meaning. Good grief!
And so we find you, guilt stricken over the ills you have caused! Eek! Wandering the streets bereft of sane and reasonable conduct! Ugh! Crying vainly to the Heavens (bootless cries, I believe they're called) as to the meaning of it all! Aargh! Ye gods and little fishes but you're in a parlous state.
And what's this? Great gods alive and dead, lugubrious twerps! It's a bad situation set to become worse! That's what it is! Marauding Mars clatters into addlepate Gemini and you're filled with inspiration of a kind that can only be described as dangerously deranged. You begin an exercise regime that will purge from body and spirit all traces of past evil and its consequent guilt. You become an ascetic, fasting, sweating and training each muscle in strength and suppleness. Your body must be a temple to honour the power of life's meaning, though the essence of this subtle doctrine eludes you entirely. That way alone will you be liberated from base intent or motives and will thus be able to inflict plagues in a suitably enlightened manner. The great Sol Invicti clashes with the war god, sliding into wretched Pisces and you sweat and strain with barbells, skipping ropes and punching bags, living on boiled water and plain rice. Eek!
But even this is not enough! By all the gods no! As mischievous Mercury assails the nether regions of dark Pluto, underworld lord, and a New Moon comes in tear-stained Pisces, you decide that no punishment can be adjudged too severe to atone for the evils you have done. Inspiration of a hellish nature takes you in its morose and sullen grip. You will become a flagellant, reviving the darkest practices of the strange cult we still know today by the name of Christianity. Yikes! You will take to the street with a cat o' nine tails and beat your vile body and intractable spirit into due and proper submission to the forces of good. Then and only then will you understand the meaning of life and thus be properly equipped and prepared to bring plagues on the world. Either that or you'll be hospitalized or incarcerated or both. Click here next time to see what happens, my tiny goatish twerps. In the meantime, ave atque vale!
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