- Salutations, idiot creatures! Last month we left you, a nitwit on a mission. The mission was given to you by a mysterious being who appeared from the ether, spoke with you and instructed you but refused to have sexual intercourse and will now have nothing to do with you again, which is only right and proper. To restore the merkin was your given duty and spiritual mission.
Besotted by your unrequited love for this being, you determined to set out on this voyage of restoration even though you had no knowledge of the nature of merkins as such. And, while 'ask the audience' will clearly have failed, you will have by now used your 'fifty/fifty' or 'phone a friend' to discover the merkin is a pubic wig or fake hairpiece for the pubis. Marauding Mars clashes with idiot Uranus and you're impatient to be off, yet vamping Venus glides fetchingly into anal Virgo and your solar twelfth house, giving you pause for thought (as usual).
If you're to reanimate public awareness of, nay, adulation for this testicular toupee, it will have to be worn and displayed with appropriate garments. After all, it is an accessory demanding the richest of settings. Fortunately, the racks of clothing brought by the now departed angelic one are still strewn by the roadside. You prance towards them in that irritating manner you have and begin discussing your options (with yourself of course) as the great Sol Invicti conjoins in unseemly fashion with mischievous Mercury. Venus clashes with idiot Uranus and you strip off your apparel with gay abandon (or something quite like it, depending on your proclivities) and begin trying on garments. Nothing seems quite right though! Jolly Jupiter clashes with idiot Uranus and inspiration strikes! You must put on the merkin to get the best effect! And so you do, placing it delicately as the New Moon comes in your lunatic sign, eclipsing from sight the jewel or jewels in your crown. Small mercies fall from the lip of the bitter cup we drink!
The great Sol Invicti clashes with cranky Chiron and you throw a tantrum because you can find nothing that gives that touch of 'savoir-faire' to your stylish and jaunty wearing of the merkin. Mischievous Mercury wrestles with lugubrious Saturn and you get depressed with the array of garments as nothing seems to capture the sensitive, caring 'you' as you wear your merkin in a more sedate manner. Vamping Venus clashes with underworld Pluto and an extraordinary thing occurs!
Great gods alive and dead, it does, little imbecile airheads! A voice inside your head speaks to you! 'Put on the cloak of knowledge,' says the voice. Thus you snatch a rather too ornate (your favourite kind) cloak from the rack and swirl it about your person, revealing then concealing your merkin. Instantly, you're enamoured with the cloak, believing it to be just the thing to allow you and your merkin to be seen to advantage. By my little brown bottle! It's almost as if you were guided to it!
In fact, you were! You dance, frolic and swirl in what you believe to be a fetching manner. As you're in the wilderness, there's no one present to alert you to the cold hard truth or, more properly, arrest you. The great Sol Invicti enters morbid Scorpio while Mercury clashes with nasty Neptune and the voice says the cloak of knowledge is a sacred, thrice blessed garment that will guide you on the journey to restore the merkin's greatness.
The Full Moon comes in cloddish Taurus, bringing a Lunar Eclipse to your solar eighth house. You here decide the voice within is the voice of god and you are now truly to be numbered among the saints, as you suspected last month. Vamping Venus enters your sign and you swirl daintily down the mountainside, cloak and merkin flashing in the breeze, ready to sway the willing populace with the beauty of your saintly mission.
Whether you're ready for what will actually occur, my tiny nitwits, is another matter altogether. Click here next time if you wish to know the awful truth. In the meanwhile, have a happy Halloween, my saintly little ones of buttocks and the balance! Ta! Ta!
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