Avast, you hair gel swabs! How is everything in the land of ninnies, ning-nongs and noxious nitwits? I do like an update from those in the know. But never mind replying! We have no time for badinage for we must essay the latest from the vile and bitter cup! Prognostications for the month of savage September! And here they are!
Last time we left, you struggled to maintain a mature relationship with a soft toy to which you had sworn devotion. Fierce passions had flared and an ugly incident had seen off furnishings and furniture as well as a large slice of the bonhomie of your home life. What will happen now, my tiny turnips? Is your life fraying at the edges? Is it coming apart at the seams?
Even a visit to the doll's hospital may not mend it. The great Sol Invicti and mischievous Mercury chatter lewdly in anxious, neurotic Virgo and you grudgingly pay to repair or restore the damage from your contretemps with your little woolly Lion, who still refuses to speak to you, by the way. Marauding Mars hobnobs obscenely with the Loony South Node and you lash out on expensive presents to break the ice. Without success! Oh black despair! And sundry other cries of misery and anguish! Mischievous Mercury clashes with Uranus, idiot god, and you regale your loved one with salacious stories of private parts, occult rites and tax collectors. To no avail!
The great Sol Invicti intrudes upon the modesty of idiot Uranus and you perform naughty erotic dances in stockings and suspender belt to inveigle your loved one back to the marital bed. You buy toy gazelles and wildebeest, with concealed pouches filled with fake blood to see if you can bring back the killer instinct to your lifeless woolly Lion. Vamping Venus then grinds a passage (eek) into anal Virgo and you hire a personal trainer and beauty therapist to tend to your loved one's every need while you're out at work, re-mortgaging the house to pay for this extravagance.
But, as a New Moon in wretched Pisces brings a Lunar Eclipse to your solar eighth house, you sink into a sea of tears as the credit card bill arrives. But the soft toy that rules your heart of hearts remains callously unmoved by this suffering. Marauding Mars barrels belligerently into loathsome Libra and you become enraged. Will your obdurate lover give you nothing? Are you condemned to live in a latterday Ice Age instead of the rose-covered cottage of love?
You flounce and stamp about then slam the front door as you leave your home in a fit of pique. You wander about the streets, seething and frothing. You bump into stylishly dressed pedestrians and dare cars to knock you down as you run the intersections while the lights are changing. Mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of dark Pluto, the underworld god, and you rail against romantic love in all its pernicious forms. The busy messenger cavorts obscenely, following in the footsteps of Mars into lily-livered Libra and you argue with yourself over the meaning of love and engage in fisticuffs against your own person to prove a point, giving yourself a nasty black eye. Vamping Venus lustfully disports her limbs before idiot Uranus and you wave your credit card bill, moaning and dancing crazily. The great Sol Invicti grapples with dark Pluto and you sneer about corporations and the international financial conspiracy that has ensnared you with the lure of false romantic love.
Great masticating monkeys and copulating camels! What do you mean by this very public display of lunacy? Are you yet again on the edge of losing your marbles, the special ones made from hair gel and styling mousse with your favourite golden glitter frozen inside? As jolly Jupiter cavorts with narcotic Neptune and a New Moon in vexatious Virgo brings a Solar Eclipse to your house of money, you lose your mind! Astounding but true, my tiny idiots! Though it's not an easy loss to assess, as the gap it leaves is microscopic. You rend your garments! Eek! You quit your job! Aargh! You abandon home and lover, attempting to flee city life and find your way back to the cottage by the river and the bridge of birds that almost took you to Heaven. Ghastly planets bobble and wobble their way into loathsome Libra and you run crazily through the streets, knocking aside the overly polite and shallow people that attempt to obstruct you as you seek again the freedom of the wild.
And what's this? Shriek and double shriek, my fatuous felines! Your pussy paws feel charged with a thrum of power the like of which you have not felt for many a long and maudlin moon. You look down! Egad! Remarkable but true, my wittering ning-nongs! And what do you see! Without knowing why or how you did it, you have donned your mighty boots for the trek that lies before you. Run, pussy! Run! Before the vapid miasma of the superficial city, with its soft toys and mortgages drains all your power. Run in your mighty boots! And where will they lead?
As I'm about to expire from terminal ennui without a sip from my little brown bottle, you'll have to click here next time to find out. However, I'm certain it will be somewhere terribly exciting! In the meantime, hail and farewell, kitty-cats.