Great toddling toads and barking bandicoots! It's time to address you on the matter of your wretched lives, nasty goatish things! It is I! Asperitus! Auspex of the awful! Haruspex of hideous harangue!
Attend to me, my ghastly little loonies! This is noxious November and these are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. On the last occasion that we spoke, you returned to the art of flagellation and were set to develop and market a home torture kit, experimenting with everything from pilliwinks to the Iron Maiden in your fiendish endeavours. Will you triumph on the darkling path? Or will you fall beneath the weight of the chains that bind you? We shall see!
Mischievous Mercury is the first cab off the rank and he sinks his noxious bit into the private parts of gloomy Saturn, momentarily lifting the black mood of this ancient grouch. Thus, we find you out of step as a locking mechanism on a pressure Boot you're trying out fails to open, leaving you with a limp, a foul disposition and a nasty clumping sound that announces your imminent arrival. The Boot, by the way, is a nasty torture thing, made of metal plates and screws to savage tiny toes! However, as a Full Moon comes in cloddish Taurus, your ingenuity comes to the rescue as you devise a new recreational sport called 'kick the friend that owes you money up the backside', the Boot weighing in as an incentive for repayment. By this means you recover your good humour and much in the way of outstanding funds.
As mischievous Mercury sneaks a quickie into narcotic Neptune, you finally release the catch with the help of a talented but effeminate locksmith. But, as further ghastly planets engage in further odiferous displays of cosmic farting, you wonder where you're going with the home torture kit, as the design is not complete. Then, by my sainted aunt, joyous inspiration comes to save you! Mischievous Mercury and marauding Mars exchange obscene acts with their rude bits and you and the team come up with new lightweight versions of the Heretic's Fork and the Scold's Bridle, giving parents real options in dealing with disagreeably noisy children, their own or someone else's. Hoorah!
As the busy messenger turns direct and a New Moon comes in evil Scorpio, all is ready for the market. Pre-orders are encouraging, with particular interest in the pressing board and stones. But what's this? Odds bodkins, tiny loonies! All hell breaks loose in the heavens and a great horror unleashes itself upon this naughty world! Where before it seemed success was promised, now it's an avalanche of planets into silly Sagittarius and your solar twelfth house. It should be noted this latter is an unspeakable realm of failure, addiction, self-destruction, psychics and longshoremen. Vamping Venus has already slunk into this den of iniquity, making you more socially inept than usual and inclining you to tortured secret affairs, unrequited love and bitter regrets about the past.
But the horror that is so far come is nothing like the horror that is coming next! The great Sol Invicti rolls his self-admiring vanity into this domain. Eek! You cry aloud in pain but that is not the end of it! Jolly Jupiter launches his crapulous bulk in hot pursuit, bringing a surfeit of anxiety and trembling and causing you to sink to the floor, asking yourself serious questions about the search for truth and meaning in your life! Ugh! How incapacitating!
Of all the agonies in all of the twenty-nine hells, none is greater than contemplation of the meaning of life! Yikes and double yikes! This is living proof that the gods that rule this benighted universe are malevolent and insane. And just when you think you can take no more, crying aloud and prone upon the floor, there is still more to come! Mischievous Mercury jumps the bones of narcotic Neptune while marauding Mars batters the nether regions of grim Saturn, icing the cake of suffering. In the last appalling moment of nasty November, you remember why it was that you began the cult of flagellation in the first place. It was to atone for all the naughty things you'd done. Thus, if pain was meant to be a release from guilt, how can you profit from it with the home torture kit? The agony of this appalling paradox reduces you to utter immobility!
Great gods alive and dead! What will happen to you now? As I have lost interest entirely, due to an attack of creeping ennui, you'll have to click here next time to learn the answer to that question. For the nonce, ave, my nasty little hircine types with knobby knees and little stringy beards!