- Greetings, tiny rulers of buttocks, boutiques and fashionable blouses! Last time, it was fruit, fruit and more fruit as you decided (inspirationally) upon a new path as a sex therapist, in tandem with your antics as a merkin revivalist. And though we had to cut our story short with untimely haste in order to preserve a last measure of good taste, we must perforce return there now for we are called to do so by the onset of the vile and bitter prognostications for manic March. Behold them and tremble, frightful little persons! Your decadent undergarments and affected speech will be no comfort in light of the ghastly times to come.
And, speaking of ghastly times, mischievous Mercury clashes with Pluto, dark lord of the underworld as the month begins and you hang out the sign and launch the publicity for your new career as a sex therapist. 'In search of forbidden fruit' is the title of your press release. You redecorate your home with a 'tropical fruit' theme for the indoor living space, a 'wild berry' theme for the consulting rooms and a 'stone fruit' theme for the garden setting. You hire staff for the practice, including a transsexual who does Carmen Miranda impersonations and a mousy little person who cries all the time. This latter takes no wage but is paid with an unspeakable therapeutic treatment involving raspberries and bananas that even you find faintly repulsive.
In no time at all you have a broad client base, as people with more money than sense are never in short supply, no matter how bad the economic climate. But what's this? Great gods alive and dead, it's trouble! That's what it is! Mischievous Mercury enters arrogant Aries and your solar seventh house. And what happens as a consequence? Why the doughty sons and daughters of the cannoneers are freed from their stretch in stir (the one they served thanks to you) and burning for revenge. In this instance though, it's a dish served hot, for they come marching to your house with fire and explosives and burn you to the ground, ironically using petrol-soaked merkins which they call 'flaming hedgehogs' to detonate the blaze. Eek! How dastardly!
As a consequence, at the New Moon in tear-stained Pisces, we find you reflecting on the new start that became a new ending with lightning speed, with you the devastated lord of all the ashen ruins you survey. The great Sol Invicti and vamping Venus clash with Pluto, dark lord of the underworld, and there a vile recriminations and scarifying scenes with unsympathetic authorities. Much of this is caused by your decision to lodge all the proper complaints clad only in your merkin with a decorative attachment of gaily-coloured fruit. Nonetheless, the law is the law and the officers of said institution carry out their appointed tasks with routine efficiency. Soon these 'cannon barrel' myrmidons are rounded up and called to a conference that allows the victim (you) and perpetrators (them) to meet face to face and thus resolve their differences.
But what's this? Merciful Heavens, say not so! And yet it is. Cosmic cacophony unleashes itself upon a naughty world as the lunatic orchestra of planets plays another of the symphonies of discord for which it is thus far legend. This conference is to happen just as the great Sol Invicti moves to arrogant Aries, casting the shadow of another vile Equinox for you to walk in. Mischievous Mercury turns retrograde in Aries (eek), so this meeting of minds is filled with shouting, confusion and belligerence.
And yet, tiny imbeciles, you have the upper hand, for the law is on your side. Marauding Mars sneaks into Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, and conjoins in unseemly fashion with cranky Chiron. Thus do you lay a proposition on the table for these advocates of the arsenal! Either you will prosecute, suing for reparation for criminal damage and mischief or they will rebuild the Forbidden Fruit Centre and then take a 'six week' course of therapy there under the firm but tender guidance of your merkin-wearing loins and your banana wielding hands.
By my little brown bottle, you have them, my flatulent fur-wearing types! You observe them with a sneer of cold command in your steely eye, knowing that revenge is a dish best served peeled in this instance, and with a little sprinkling of sugar. What will their answer be? Click here next time and see! But if you think that you have won, think again. For mischievous Mercury is retrograde. Farewell for now!