Salutations, idiot types! Last time, we left you on a jet in a storm, confronted by Dike, ancient goddess of justice of the Greek persuasion, and pinioned by her ruthless servants, the Erinnyes. What a revolting predicament! One can only hope it will become worse in time. And, on that very subject, we will consult the vile and bitter prognostications for nasty November and so discover what further travail is set to arrive.
The New Moon comes in morbid Scorpio, groping the aging frame and wrinkled skin of grim Saturn, and your health declines alarmingly as chills and fever wrack your supple limbs and empty head. Mischievous Mercury then disports himself in unseemly manner with Uranus, the idiot god, and the goddess herself looks at you in an unsettling manner. Eek! She speaks in that unutterably dull 'intoning' voice minor deities think is so impressive. Perhaps they should ask themselves why nobody goes to the temples anymore or leaves money at the altar. It's because everyone has lost interest due to the dreary vocal delivery in those interminable lectures the gods love to give when they're just drunk enough to get on a roll without passing out.
Anyway, the upshot of it all is that you can't understand a word she says due to the parlous state of your health. And, as if that isn't bad enough, ghastly planets then take a hand in the business by farting unspeakably in the cosmic winds. At that precise moment, you're transported from the jet you hired to a desolate cliff top by the sea where the storm still rages and wild waves crash on the rocks. Instanter, the Erinnyes chain you to said rocks.
Hmm! This looks promising! And then they tear your clothing from your fever-wracked body. Even better! But just as you begin to feel this may be some new sexual experience you have not tried, they step back, fixing you with their bleeding eyes (ugh) and scaring the last of the living daylights from out of you. Darkness falls, rather heavily, as there is no twilight in this godforsaken wasteland where you are in shackles. Both Dike and her fell servants begin to shriek in a manner most alarming as mischievous Mercury turns retrograde in addlepate Sagittarius and your solar seventh house. But still you can understand no single word of what's being said. It's like listening to yourself on drugs and at a party, except with the whole thing on disc and being played in reverse.
The Full Moon blazes in cloddish Taurus and your solar twelfth house. Eek! What a miserable and nasty place! It's an eerie realm of drugs, dock-workers, artists, charlatans, psychics and liars. No right-minded person would wish to be there! It's almost as bad as being chained to a cliff, on a wild coast, nude and facing the worst storm in the history of the known universe. And, as that's exactly where you are, you should know, my tiny two-faced tikes!
Mischievous Mercury clashes with Uranus, the idiot god, and the great Sol Invicti slithers into the silly sign of Sagittarius. Dike speaks again and this time you understand every word.
"Once upon a time, it was customary to punish the pride of humans by chaining them to such cliffs as these," says Dike. "Then would the gods bid that eagles come to feed on their livers, peck out their eyes and attack a variety of other body parts in a manner to fittingly entertain the gods with the spectacle of mortal misery. However, with the cosmic budget cutbacks, they can't afford eagles anymore so a flock of hummingbirds, with little else to do, is en route to accomplish Heaven's fell purpose."
By all the gods alive and dead, that's a bit rum, if you don't mind me saying so. But that's not the worst of it! No, by my little brown bottle! Not at all!
"It seems high winds have blown the hummingbirds to kingdom come," says Dike.
"So," the goddess continues, "if you wouldn't mind waiting while the minions of Heaven go looking for a flock of larger, fatter hummingbirds, they'll soon get the business of your punishment underway."
Well, I never! In all the years I have witnessed the ineptitude of the gods in Heaven, I have never witnessed anything so inept as this. But that's what it's to be, I'm afraid. Dike and the Erinnyes fly off to the nearest café for a skinny 'cino, leaving you chained to a cliff waiting for a flock of overweight hummingbirds to come and eat your liver. I expect that's where we'll find you still next time. In the meantime, hail and farewell, my two-faced loonies!