Hooray, hairdressing types! Last time, we left you at home on the range, sitting with your new cowpoke friends, singing cowpoke songs and exchanging pertinent information on knots, whips, spurs and other such outdoor equestrian delights. You had fled to this glee club in 'dry gulch' land to escape a past felony, for you left behind a duck egg blue bathroom and a body buried beneath the tiles there. You had opted for the open air in exchange for the urban claustrophobia of retail, parking, a nitwit public, prattling co-workers, bullying bosses and puerile friends that did not appreciate the virtue of your glorious existence, even though you are in fact a homicidal maniac that kills people because they disagree with you.
Still, everyone has faults, even me! I can't wake up on time, as you will no doubt know, if you have such a thing as a calendar in the 'wide open' spaces. Or perhaps you don't! Perhaps you and your cowpoke friends just read horse dung and thereby keep abreast of important events, such as the days of the week and the Saturday bath.
Anyway, regardless of any calendrical shenanigans, I am late again with the forecast. I was absent in April, malfeasant in May and now I am jaded in June, a good deal of the month having expired. I did get up early, you know! I made a fair start but the strain attending to the rest of the nasty wretches brought me undone. Thus, I had to repine in my bed and repair. But, once again, I am tightly stitched and set to prognosticate in a most vile and bitter manner! Attend me, O loony Lions! This is your fate, beginning as per usual with a brief perusal of the recent past.
Matters groped their way into action with a Full Moon in silly Sagittarius. Thus, you pranced, cavorted and carried on in an imbecilic manner until all of your new cowpoke friends were embarrassed, even though you spent a fortune buying alcohol and food in order to ingratiate yourself with them. As vamping Venus sleazed her way into your lackwit sign, you purchased garish 'cowpoke' clothing, in all the colours of the rainbow, all at once, with an emphasis on gold borders. Thus, you embarrassed yourself further, provoking an argument among the cowpokes as to whether they should bury the clothes after stripping you or before. It was uneasy on the wild prairie about then, little loony Lion types! You began to wonder what your life was about and where it was going when, lawks a mercy, if there wasn't a ruckus in the Heavens to match the ruckus in your head.
A New Moon arrived in supple yet perverted Gemini whilst mischievous Mercury moved into perverse reverse! Thus, creeping unease turned to anxious concern as you declined and fell into a tizzy. You wandered about the place, wittering and whimpering childishly, demanding soft foods and drinks with too much sugar. Even your horse could not comfort you in the accustomed manner. And that is where we find you now, flapping your paws and weeping, uncertain of why you even came to live amongst cowpokes in the first place. After all, you never liked poking cows! Unless it was with a fork and the cow was cooked, cut in strips and served on a plate by your mother! You're missing your friends too! They didn't laugh at your knots and criticize your clothes and hair, at least not to your face. And, what's more, they didn't threaten to bury you like these ruffian types that disdain you though they once did call themselves you're friends. Now, they simply sit at a distance, singing lewd ditties while you wander distractedly on the prairie, agonizing!
Ye gods and little fishes, my loony Lions! Have your dreams of freedom and the 'wide open' spaces turned to dust and ashes in your mouth? But what's this? By my sainted aunt, just as you think you've had enough, you get more of these insidious cosmic influences. The great Sol Invicti roars and clatters his way into your solar twelfth house, a nasty realm of misery, self-pity and despair if ever there was one. Thus does he visit another ghastly Solstice on an overburdened world as he joins mischievous Mercury in an hideous display of unseemly conduct.
You are beside yourself, my little pussy types, as memories of childhood misery, excessive eating and oedema come flooding (snigger) back to haunt you. You roll on the dirt in frantic yet sorrowful jactitation! Your attention wanders! You suffer loudly! You sweat profusely! As marauding Mars batters his way into insufferable Taurus, a nasty little wretch of a cowpoke seeks you out and calls you nasty names like 'fatty', 'stupid hair' and drongo'. Egad! How unkind and yet how truthful! And yet it's just too much for you as you feel you are losing your mind under the assailment of these unspeakable influences. Ah, tiny turnips! If only that were possible!
Great gods alive and dead, is there no end to this round of torment for you? Sadly, it seems not as a second Full Moon comes, this time in the lugubrious sign of the Goat. You rise, weeping hysterically as you head for the hills, crying that you will become a hermit! You will live alone in the wild, seeking saintly visions of a better world than this, a world where you, your coif and your couture are appreciated properly, not made the butt of nasty jokes or the objects of derision by the hoi polloi. Such a world, if it does exist, is surely in your dreams! Click here next time to see if you dare to dream them. In the meantime, hail and farewell, my hairdressing vanities!