Greetings, goatish miseries! Last time, you were in the forest, all but overwhelmed in the fecal, the urinal and the flatulent as performed by a bevy of small creatures in a vicinity all too near to your esteemed personage. Such was your depression that you were ready to give up the cosmic behest of planets in your solar ninth house, i.e. the call of the wild, and return, snivelling, to the urban enclosure from whence you came. That was until a tiny forest creature spoke to you. What utterance came from the maw of this smelly thing, we do not yet know, as I had resigned all interest (not that I ever had much) in your wretched fate and returned to the comfort of the night nurse, my little brown bottle.
So shall we set ourselves to discover what supernal gibbering was poured holus-bolus into your shell-like ear, as you lay prone in that rustic realm to which you fled to escape the evil machinations of flagellation cults and family? These latter are, in my less than humble opinion, much the same. However, on with the show, say I! And, as I am the showman, the dread didact that dictates dastardly doom, we shall drink the dank draught of vile and bitter prognostications for the month of savage September. I believe this is the current month, due to there being nine knots in my handkerchief.
As mischievous Mercury grapples with the great Sol Invicti, the feral whispering continues to titillate those tiny little hairs inside your ears, giving you a thrill that almost overrides the stench of the creature delivering them. As marauding Mars still hobnobs with the Loony South Node, the nasty wee beastie punctuates the utterances with nips on the ear lobe and on other, more tender and sensitive parts of your body. Ugh! How horrendous for the hircine! That's you, by the by! As first mischievous Mercury and then the great Sol Invicti assail the private parts of Uranus, idiot god, what began as a chat turns to a Russian novel as the creature shrieks with increasing density and intensity.
You may be wondering by now exactly what is being said, as continuing to listen may well produce nerve deafness. Largely, despite variation and ramification, the substance of it is an injunction that translates from the original 'squirrel' as 'get out of the forest and go back home to the city, you useless, flesh-eating, tree-felling, smelly two legs!' As the Full Moon comes in tears-stained Pisces, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your solar third house, you decide to do just that as you've had enough of being defecated on, urinated on and roundly criticized from a moral standpoint by a squirrel, this being the creature in question. Vamping Venus is rolling lustfully through vexatious Virgo and an earnest in-law has by this time arrived with a lamp to light you home and a water bottle to slake your thirst. As marauding Mars then barrels belligerently into loathsome Libra, you go back to town and immediately found a friendly, humanist corporation, one that will be of benefit in the provision of timber products and woodcraft to give a better life to all, especially the poor.
But there is a dark side to your scheme as you seek to obtain a mandate to fell all the trees in the area where you were, especially those showing signs of squirrel habitation. As ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect in the confines of your solar twelfth house, you scheme secretly to rid the world of trees and squirrels, so offended were you by the tiny creature's tirade. Equally odious planets hobnob in ghastly Libra, giving vent to silent and deadly attacks of flatulence. And so the staff of your new corporation smile and utter humane and sensitive phrases while, in the sheds at the back, nasty axemen sharpen nasty axes while nasty sawmill workers sharpen nasty sawmill blades. Another New Moon comes in vexatious Virgo (ugh! One was too many!), this time bringing a Solar Eclipse to your solar ninth house. You lay nasty plans to denude the wild of its girth of trees and the irritating creatures that dwell therein.
But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's vamping Venus! She has her wicked way with dark Pluto, the underworld god, and then sleazes into loathsome Libra! A representative of those tree-hugging environmentalists has come to urge you to leave the forest be, even though you claim you will only take discarded wood to make works of art and furniture for the poor.
Will your evil plot be exposed? You confront your opponent, seeking to play a hidden hand. Hmm! The creature is beautiful in a most enticing manner.
But what's this? Gadzooks! A look of recognition passes between you. Eek! Egad! Odds bodkins! And other quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. This person was a member of your flagellation cult. Great gods alive and dead, tiny hircine horrors! Do you realize what this means? You've shared whips and thumbscrews, thus forming a bond between you whereby you must tell the truth on pain of further pain and even death. What will you do? Have revenge upon all squirrels and betray the oldest trust? Or leaf your pique behind and bough to the modern madness of the green persuasion?
As I'm wracked with terminal ennui, I shall have to rest. Do click here next time if you believe there's sense to be had from reading any more of this piffle. For the nonce, ave!