Asperitus Casting Runes...
Tally ho and yoicks, little air sign ninnies! Fearful February summons you to the usual fatuous machinations and I, Asperitus, oracle of bitter truth, am here to see that you answer the call! Let me be vile (and I am)! Let me be bitter (of that there is no doubt)! Let me prognosticate! And so I do!
Last month, aliens abducted you while the other eleven signs looked on, cheering, and thereby drew up a petition to remove you from the Zodiac belt so as to prevent your return from starry climes! There was talk of anal probes (yikes), breeding programs (double yikes) and the visitation of an impressive alien leader. Let us see what occurs!
Mischievous Mercury and cranky Chiron meeting in your solar eighth house finds you in the midst of the most ecstatic and prolonged bout of sexual transport you have ever known in your miserable airhead lives. By the Full Moon in fatuous Leo, you're sending messages from the stars back to earth, urging a benighted human race to take ship and follow your passage (literally) into the Heavens and become the sexual playthings of your newfound alien friends. Vamping Venus moves into arrogant Aries and this becomes your dearest wish in life, to cavort in this sexual playground of alien and human. As marauding Mars and Saturn harmonize, you begin to understand things about body parts you didn't even know you had.
Come the New Moon in tear-stained Pisces, conjoined in unseemly fashion with revolutionary Uranus, the grand alien poobah takes you back to her/his/its world and introduces you to further pleasure, this time gained via electronic stimulation. However, as marauding Mars clashes with nasty Neptune, you realize that something is wrong.
Oh yes, little air sign nitwits! Nothing is ever quite what it seems in this world! You've not, in fact, been abducted by aliens at all! You're trapped in a weird fantasy world of a nervous breakdown, brought on by overwork, drug-taking and stress. In fact, as mischievous Mercury enters Pisces and conjoins with idiot Uranus, you find you're tied to a bed (so the sex may not be entirely a fantasy). You're being examined by a bevy of medical professionals, learned folk with grave expressions who shake their heads and murmur of your hopeless condition.
Yikes and double yikes, odious airhead things! Can you survive another round of misfortune and misadventure? And what have you done to offend the gods so that every sound you hear is the grim and terrible footstep of the fate that carries their vengeance? Breathing and speaking are two examples of your hubris that come most readily to mind. Stand to attention, empty-headed things! Await my return and the inevitable onset of next month's drivel. Until then! Ta! Ta!