What ho, goatish miseries! Last time we left you enduring the joys and agonies of your new cult of flagellation, enmeshed in a neurotic 'round robin' of thrash and flail with ghastly persons with whom you are, unfortunately, bound by blood, in more ways than one, given the lash you use. But not only that! We also left you amidst the throes of a most startling revelation. It seems you were beginning to take unwholesome enjoyment in your bloody practices. And the only question was as to whether you enjoyed dishing it out or taking it more.
So much for the vile and bitters for awful April. Now we must consult the vile and bitters for malodorous May and see what the future holds though, arguably, some of it must now be described as 'past' rather than 'future' as I'm late with the forecast. Hear me and tremble, my vile hircine types! It's vile! It's bitter! And it's prognosticatory in nature.
Vamping Venus disports herself lasciviously in addlepate Aries so you'll probably swan about your home in a fetching little red frock (regardless of your sex) when you're not busy thrashing yourself or someone else. Jolly Jupiter gropes the great Sol Invicti and you're in agony as to whether you're truly devoted to redemption or just in love with pain. Given that you're ruled by grim Saturn and the sign of the Goat, the answer's obvious, really! But there you are! It's the purblind leading the purblind while you're in charge of social order.
As mischievous Mercury enters cloddish Taurus, you decide to talk to someone that really likes you. With that failed, you decide to do something really interesting (for you, anyway). As this comes while ghastly planets form a grand trine in water signs (how aqueous), you try experiments in thrashing people as they're floating, thrashing people as you're floating and tying people to the bottom of the boat while you thrash yourself on water skis.
As the Full Moon comes in evil Scorpio, you realize you are in fact a sadist and more inclined to dish it out rather than take it. This only increases your sense of guilt! Eek! In a panic, you decide if you thrash yourself even harder, you'll thrash this recalcitrant energy from your contumelious body and rebellious spirit.
And what's this? It's an unspeakable clatter in the Heavens as mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti roll drunkenly into supple but perverted Gemini and your solar sixth house. Thus we find you working assiduously, with the assistance of several family members you especially despise, to devise new and more ingenious methods of torture, most of them involving some rather eccentric stretching and bending.
Ye gods and little fishes! If anyone can find a method of inflicting pain in order to take the pleasure out of inflicting pain, it's you, tiny goatish horrors! After all, you've taken the pleasure out of everything else in a benighted world ruled by insane gods. And, come a New Moon in the idiot sign of the two-faced one, you have it! With the assistance of a few ghastly relatives (who nobly gave limb and life to the grand experiment), you discover the most painful method of inflicting pain. An ingenious method, in the application of which it which it is impossible for either perpetrator or victim to find the slightest shred of joy, regardless of any or all perverse proclivities.
And what's the grim secret of this brilliantly mad device. Why, my miserable maladroits, it's so fiendishly simple only you could have conceived it! For Lady Moon and the vain and selfish Sun god, in renewing their vows of darkness, stand side by side with mischievous Mercury in wretched Pisces, ensnaring the busy messenger in foul shadow as he gropes the private parts of Uranus, the idiot god. Tear-stained Pisces is the sign on the cusp of your house of communication. Thus, the exquisite form of torture in which there can be only pain is you, talking of your views and opinions.
Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! You will speak aloud and in the hearing of all about how you feel and what you think. Great gods alive and dead, have you no mercy in you, evil goatish types! That such misery could be inflicted on a naughty world. The very thought of it makes me reach for my little brown bottle and my silver tube. I must achieve the prone position instanter. I'm too faint and ill to continue. Click here next time! If I've recovered, I shall doubtless write more of this outrageous and insulting drivel. For the nonce, Ave!