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Ye gods, my tiny farting ninnies! It's a New Year! It's jittery January! And it's time to prognosticate in a vile and bitter manner. In fact, the vile and bitters are overdue as I have overslept due to confusion over prescription strength. Thus do I come late upon the scene but, as per usual, unabashed at my own tardiness! And so with a will do I set to the task of the late prognostications.
Last time, you were an enemy of the gods and a friend to hummingbirds. There is a complex explanation for these startling developments. But I must confess I have forgotten what it is. However, should its absence concern you, kindly read last month's forecast and don't bother me with your pettifogging and quibbling! Now, in the intervene, there was a ghastly business in the lugubrious sign of Capricorn. This will have created interest in finance or found you having erotic relations with elderly or infirm persons, depressed occultists or induced you to become a sex slave to a retired financier with a torture obsession. And, as it happens, you will find any or all such options more appealing than having that wretched hummingbird buzzing about your 'lug hole' for even one more infuriating moment.
Thus, as mischievous Mercury inserts his supple digit into the nether regions of Uranus, idiot god and god of idiots, you make a bright resolve. You will set aside the cause of hummingbird liberation (ah tedium!) and go back to a life of bisexuality, marketing, deception, lies, media, secret affairs, with a dash of embezzlement, corruption and graft thrown in to give the salad some mayonnaise. As marauding Mars, jolly Jupiter, grim Saturn and narcotic Neptune all make ghastly orgiastic congress in the Heavens, you eschew the wild places, cast off the rags of the wanderer and return to city climes to seek your fortune.
A Full Moon glowers in neurotic Cancer and you employ the funds remaining from your time as a prostitute, pavement artist, Danny Kaye impersonator and consort with the devil (versatile as ever) to refurbish your image and renew your communication accessories. As grim Saturn cracks the bones of idiot Uranus in a ghastly embrace while jolly Jupiter hobnobs in evil Scorpio and your solar sixth house, you're ready to get back into the work force in search of power, wealth and sex on office desks or behind closed doors. The great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury grind their passage (eek) into Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, to dance lasciviously with Chiron, as the god of old age, illness and death himself (grim Saturn) clings to the gammy leg of the wounded healer.
As a New Moon comes in idiot Aquarius, your racing mind is filled with schemes and dreams, my garishly dressed embodiments of loquacity! But which one will it be? Will you fly to Ethiopia and smuggle large and colourful birds to Lebanon? Will you sell frozen spinach to the Swedes or pepper to Bombay? Will you sally forth to Salzburg and devise a means to textually transmit sexual diseases by cell phone? Or will you hie to Prague and form an acrobatic troupe called the Bouncing Czechs?
As I'm overcome with ennui, I shall take my rest now. Medic, bring me that lovely silver tube you have! And, as for you! Kindly select one of the above options and email your choice to someone who cares. You might also click here next month. If I awake in time, I shall write further piffle on the unspeakable subject of your wretched lives. Ave, my two-faced twits!
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