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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Tally ho and yoicks to you, precious members of the buttocks brigade! How are your finely turned cheeks this month? Gods, don't answer that! I'm feeling distinctly unwell already! Let us turn our attention instead to the vile and bitter prognostications for morbid March!
There is great satisfaction to be had in them, but only for the connoisseur of irritation and enlightened beings such as myself. Last time, we left you in the midst of success. You came by this commodity whilst living under your bed with smelly, twitching feet and an ill-matching valance, writing astrological forecasts for a woman's magazine. In no time at all, you became a global phenomenon, with secretaries writing your rubbish for you as you, with marauding Mars and vamping Venus in Taurus and your solar eighth house, indulged in a decadence unparalleled since the orgies of Caligula. However, as a Full Moon comes in odious Virgo, cavorting in unseemly fashion with jolly Jupiter and mischievous Mercury, this world of lust and concupiscence comes crashing down around your smelly, twitching feet (even the specialist couldn't fix things). It's health, you see! You miserable wretches! Anytime the insufferable sign of the Virgin is involved, ill-health is going to raise its ugly head. Mischievous Mercury clashes with underworld Pluto and that which was a twitch becomes a spasm. The great Sol Invicti follows suit and that which was an unpleasant odour becomes necrotic stench! Mischievous Mercury enters arrogant Aries and people shout at you, urging you to leave their presence on the instant. Odious planets disport themselves in hideous aspect to one another and specialists run about the place, giving facile diagnoses and charging exorbitant fees. Thus, does money go out as fast as it comes in! Great gods alive and dead! This is grim, my little drivelling imbeciles! Vamping Venus then clashes with mystic Neptune. With your foul stench and spasmodic gait, you could perhaps rent yourself out as a zombie to haunt houses. All your success seems meaningless now that you don't look stylishly idiotic in the accustomed manner, but in a different manner altogether. The Equinox and the New Moon come in arrogant Aries and we find in a tiny cottage, reaping rich reward from your undeserving efforts but little else. The secretaries now work at a safe distance of several kilometres. As the great Sol Invicti wrestles with miserable Saturn, you crash about the place, replacing furniture each week because your spasms cause you to smash everything you touch. It's rather tragic really, when one thinks! Oh well! By my little brown bottle, what's this? Marauding Mars crashes into ridiculous Gemini and clashes with idiot Uranus. A psychic surgeon from a foreign land has heard of your pathetic plight. And, he's heard of your illness as well. He's come to heal you, airhead woebegones! He will enter the subtle dimensions of your physical body (if such can be found) and remove a festering evil he has seen there in a vision. Great gods alive and dead! Have you ever heard of such a thing? You never know! It might be fun. Click here next month and see! Ta! Ta! For now, at least! |
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