Great gaudy gewgaws and terminal insanity! It's you, my two-faced ninnies! And just as I'd awoken early to try and get my job done at the proper time this month. How depressing! In fact, the idea of an early encounter was so depressing I went back to sleep and now I'm late with the forecast. Excreta occurs, as they say!
Enough of that! Last time we left, you were changing lovers like fashionable clothing, profiting from ill-gotten gains and lying your way in and out of every situation you encounter, all further examples of the fifth law of irritation as quoted earlier, excreta occurs! Remember, my tiny imbeciles, that a life lived by the fifth law alone will guarantee you the sublimity of irritation in a thousand years or so. Remarkable alacrity, when one thinks! Enough scintillating converse! Let us rather proceed with the vile and bitter prognostications for joyless July.
But the procession is an unfortunate one, beginning badly and continuing to deteriorate, giving the rest of us joy in anticipation, but giving you nothing to look forward to. Marauding Mars is first cab off the rank as he bails up narcotic Neptune and strips the forbidden fruit from the trembling tree. A raft of the followers of Nhils Carborundum arrive from said philosopher's camp to picket your flat, protesting your untimely exit from their number. Now that's a blast from the past. As mischievous Mercury moves into perverse reverse, the blast gets stronger as they begin chanting in Swedish, odd in itself but, given the disturbing references to nail files, the rasp of futility and the history of Swedish success in tennis, the effect is positively eerie.
You summon the authorities as vamping Venus grossly interferes with Uranus, the idiot god. However, the official view is that, as no law is being broken, there's nothing they can do. And, as the officer in charge hums snatches from Mamma Mia and Waterloo while taking notes, it seems you're flogging a dead horse, expecting service from the force. As mischievous Mercury cycles backward into slimy Cancer, one of the followers presents you with a bill for your time at the camp, claiming you didn't work on their behalf for long enough to pay for your instruction and initiation costs. And, quelle horreur! They include an itemized list of the charges as part of the bizarre Swedish chanting.
By the time the Full Moon glares nastily upon the world from the lugubrious sign of the Goat, you're almost hypnotized and powerless in the sway of the ghastly rasping rhythms. Even the list of Swedish tennis champions gathers a compulsive and seductive power until you find you're executing topspin backhands in your sleep, drop shots during office hours and angled crosscourt volleys during sex.
Odds bodkins! Now there's a truly ghastly thing! And certes, as vamping Venus disports herself in unseemly fashion before the dread gaze of dark Pluto, underworld god, this hypnotic racket ruckus brings a deuce of a row with your new love and incites rage and enmity from strangers. The gallivanting goddess slopes passed the Loony Nodes, slithering into Cancer and you find the bills are mounting up as the claims of the cult are forced upon you and you lose your job for practicing your overhead smash during an important meeting about bus timetables. Thus, it's down the tube with wages and the brilliant ticketing scam.
What will you do, my tiny turnips? You're under the control of a greater power! Even in dreams, the cultish chanting comes to haunt you and a dark figure claims you for powerful, magnificent and perverted sex! By all the gods, that's your favourite kind in every way!
But now what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's not further cosmic clatter to harass you! Sadly it is! Marauding Mars barrels into vexatious Virgo and your automaton tennis antics are out of control as you smash up your residence with the scorching serve and volley game you've developed. Finally, there is a dread development as the great Sol Invicti rolls drunkenly into lackwit Leo. You're ejected from your domicile and forced to wander the streets, chanting incessantly the names of the Swedish tennis champions as you perform topspin lobs and drop shots of a more than passing delicacy.
A New Moon comes in the same odious sign of the Lion and you're a homeless vagrant. Mischievous Mercury moves forward once again and you're forced to beg money to have your racket re-strung, as it's clearly as over-stretched as your nerves! What will you do, my tiny tikes! This is all too much for the human mind to bear! Even I would be shocked at such developments were I not about to fall asleep due to terminal boredom and creeping ennui. Creeping ennui so dreary, I can't possibly continue for I must hie me to the safety of my little brown bottle and my magnificent silver tube. Kindly click here next month if you wish to read more of this egregious piffle. If, in the interim, I have the slightest idea as to what all of it is meant to mean, I shall doubtless convey it to you on my return. Ave!