Salutations, scrofulous twerps! How is life on the high seas now that you and your drug lord paramour have set sail for the ocean of the sibilant 'S' and a life of a piracy, plunder and the perverted use of the lower deck arm. Eek!
It is, however, important to note the media type (a ghastly worm such as you used to be) and the buccaneer (a ghastly worm such as you now are) do have a lot in common. There is the dependence on a wind of one kind or another (the verbose Gemini) to keep the vessel moving. There are ropes and ladders to climb in order to get to the top, though in buccaneering the higher you climb the less important you are. Socially, they have much in common with the constant use of profanity, engagement in swashbuckling behaviour, immoral activity, illegal earnings, and also deception, theft, gossip and inebriation.
By my sainted aunt, as a two-faced media tyke, you're well trained for the life of a privateer! So what will happen to you now? Why, let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications for the month of fateful February and so discover. At this point, it seems apropos to mention that the month is half gone, as we all are, really. You see, I have trouble getting out of bed but I have even more trouble remembering what it is that I'm supposed to do once I'm up. That's Heaven for you! But at least the sheets are clean, which is a blessing! And, my prescription strength is a constant, plus I have my little brown bottle as a boon companion. What more could an irritable old curmudgeon ask? Quite a lot actually! Better wages for one. The pay in Heaven is crap! And, as for the conditions! Hmm!
I think I'd better stop this and get back to the topic of your worthless lives otherwise I'll forget what I'm doing entirely and call for a cold compress! Looking back over what has happened so far, there was a nasty Full Moon in lackwit Leo to begin with so you doubtless became stuck in an aquatic traffic jam or stalled at an aqueous roundabout. Overdressed persons with big piratical hair will have shouted nasty nautical jibes or they may have hallooed, inviting you to row over for a game of pirate's pillage or keelhauling, both popular entertainments for the swashbuckler. As mischievous Mercury slithered into tear-stained Pisces, you will have engaged in the trade of illicit liquor, lied to officials and laid devious plans for your career as a brigand. As vamping Venus cavorted lasciviously with Uranus, the idiot god, you will have pranced about the poop in peculiar clothing, done your hair eccentrically, argued with people over minor irritations and then forgotten everything that had occurred. But when the great Sol Invicti gained a handhold (eek) with narcotic Neptune, you set sail for distant climes to enjoy the exotic life and learn of the strange and outré customs of folk from other cultures. Ghastly planets too tedious to name then cavorted in nasty aspects too hideous to recount and you fought with the law and other privateers, pillaged innocent folk and odious tourists, making friends and enemies among the mighty and the lowly. Many's the harbour you left behind to the tune of ringing threats as to the awful things that would occur should you once again darken the waters there with your ghastly presence. There was an especially nasty incident when you visited a distant and overly critical elderly relative. What happened is unfit for publication! Let us just say that the funeral took place immediately and you were not invited!
On that note, it seems we're done with the past and thus return to the present, just in time to catch mischievous Mercury, the snotty little beast that is your planetary ruler, moving into perverse reverse in the sign of wretched Pisces! Gadzooks! Now there's a thing! Will you chase your tiny tail about the seven seas? Will you trip over the hawser, splice the mainbrace wrongly or fall into the briny after a drunken argument? Perhaps you'll mistake eight bells for two bells and get up far too early. If this occurs, you might think to wake me so that the forecast for March is done on time! Back to the tale told by an idiot (or actually about one), full of sound and fury, signifying nothing!
As you fumble on the foredeck and amble awkwardly on the aft, your yacht docks on a mysterious and remote part of the Ethiopian Coast. The New Moon comes in the sign of Aquarius, god of the idiots, and you decide to stay awhile. But what's this? Egad! Nasty looking persons arrive at the dock and behave threateningly in the general direction of your person, just as vamping Venus lasciviously exposes her nether regions under the lustful gaze of dark Pluto. At first, you're alarmed, due to your essentially cowardly nature, but then you remember that you're supposed to be a swaggering swab of a brigand so you gesture rudely, swear obscenely and adopt an eccentric pose you believe looks threatening. As the great Sol Invicti teeters his way drunkenly into wretched Pisces, further persons of a more official type approach your vessel from the shore. For a moment there is something off a standoff but then, as vamping Venus blazes a fiery trail into addlepate Aries, the docks burst into wild activity as your crew and the doughty folk on the land greet each other as long lost brothers.
Ye gods and little fishes, tiny twits! It appears your worries were in vain for all about you are comrades and old salts. Your lover appears on deck, giving a felon's blessing to this wild gathering of brigands, bandits and heartless nautical hearties. Such hallooing and backslapping as then takes places gives way to a rumbustious rort as fierce bravos and savage sisters raise hell on the decks of ship, shivering timbers and other such buccaneering boisterousness. But just as you begin to relax into a familiar bisexual inebriation, the Heavens erupt with gunfire.
'Sail ho!' is the cry. Cannons boom and great iron balls (eek) crash and splash. Odds bodkins! What is this bellicose assault upon your vessel? As marauding Mars barrels through the front entrance (eek) of idiot Aquarius while mischievous Mercury batters his way through the back passage (ugh) of that same sign, a fleet of nasty enemies from an ancient feud arrays itself against the fierce folk on your vessel and is, as we speak, blazing away!
By all the gods alive and dead! What will happen to you now, my innocents abroad, my 'at risk' little ning-nongs? As I'm feeling weak, uninterested, screamingly bored and overcome by terminal ennui, you'll have to click here next time to discover if you stain the seas with the enemy blood or soil your undies as you go down to a broadside of ghastly cannon balls! It's an each way bet! But then it always is with you, my tiny two-faced twits. Nonetheless, I'd make peace with Davy Jones if I were you. Just in case! Hail and farewell, my seafaring flatulents!