Haroo and hotsy-totsy, my boulevard banditos! Last time, you were caught in a buccaneering contretemps off the coast of Ethiopia. Nasty piratical persons with whom you were not associated attacked nasty piratical persons with whom you were associated. Thus you stood, under assailment and on the horns of a dilemma, rooted to the spot on your foredeck. Eek! Should you fight or run! What will the vile and bitter prognostications for manic March portend? Why, let us drink deep of the dread draught and so discover!
But what's this? Ye gods and little fishes, instanter comes a burst of heavenly horror and cosmic chaos as the Full Moon in nasty and critical Virgo brings a Lunar Eclipse to blight your already wretched lives. Cutlasses, cannonballs and corrosive cursing are hurled in your general direction so you attempt to flee the scene, eschewing involvement with this buccaneering bellicosity. But your drug lord lover espies you then twitches, twists and turns. On the one hand, the evil one brawls with bravos but, on the other, this demon lover begs you to stay. Egad, my little loonies!
You pause, transfixed by the unsettling thought that you will lose this life of money, power and pleasure. Hmm! But then a monstrous fellow with a hook for a hand and a wicked blade between his teeth begins to mount your poop (aargh), making it unnervingly clear you will lose your life if you stay. Thus, you kick the belligerent brigand in the forecastle and, as marauding Mars conjoins lewdly with cranky Chiron, jump in the little jolly boat (or should that be the jolly little boat) and row for your life. After hours of exertion in the aqueous soup of a sea, your strength fails, overriding the final traces of the mind-bending terror that possessed you and ran through every fibre of your being and your undergarments. You look up but see only a horizon that renders the ocean indistinguishable from the sky. Vamping Venus slithers obscenely into cloth-eared Taurus and you find you're alone, alone, all all alone, alone on a wide wide sea with your soul in agony, et cetera et cetera. Mischievous Mercury butters up for another bash in tear-stained Pisces and, being a split personality, the bossy side of 'you' begins behaving like a captain and gives the more compliant side of 'you' nautical instructions. Instanter, it's Master Bates and Seaman Stains playing 'heave away, haul away' in an oceanic opera of seaboard schizophrenia.
By the New Moon and Solar Eclipse in the wretched fishy sign, you surgically cleave yourself (eek) into two separate persons that, incidentally, are both equally odious. And, clearly, you lose something in the process, namely your mind. But by my sainted aunt, little trollops, it only gets worse from there. As the great Sol Invicti roars and belches into addlepate Aries, you fantasize that the two of you are on a boatload of jolly tars and hearty swabs sailing on the briny. Egad! You're jolly deluded in a jolly boat, tiny turnips. You have avid conversations with these imaginary seaman, touching on the finer points of the navigation compass and on the origins of seafaring phrases such as 'avast behind', 'mind the boom' and 'any port in a storm'. And indeed it is this last that instanter becomes germane to your parlous climes. In all the Seven Seas there is no more perilous peril than the peril you're about to face!
Shriek and double shriek, wacky weirdoes! Marauding Mars lewdly rises into the nether regions of narcotic Neptune in idiot Aquarius and the winds rise up around your jolly little boat, as do the seas! Wild weather brings its furious thresh and flail right to your rowlocks. You're in an ocean of doom, little twits, for you have rowed into the passage (eek) of the Roaring Farties, foul and ghastly winds that have their wild, sulphurous origin in some devil's maw of a hellhole in the icy north! Will you be blown up, blown down or just blown away? Click here next time and see, my little sultans of suppleness. In the meantime, it's 'Cast off, Captain Two-Faces!'