Odds bodkins, my idiotic bottom types! Parlous was your situation when last we left! Parlous will it be as we return! Attend me, teeny-tiny Scales type persons! For I am Asperitus, baffling bard, doctor of doom and haruspex of harangue! Within the cup I proffer are prognostications, vile and bitter, for the month of obnoxious October, which I am reliably informed is the current one! Drink deep, my loony nincompoops! And pray for the gift of forgetfulness for, doubtless, you will need it!
At the first instance, matters take a turn for the worse as marauding Mars bares his gruesome backside at the world, moving into perverse reverse motion! And this takes place in leaden Taurus and your solar eighth house, a ghastly domain of unspeakable body parts, black magicians, death and taxes! Thus, do you stalk brazenly away from the clutch of dock-workers and ex-friends where we left you last time, returned as you were from your tragic marooning that, as it turned out, never happened anyway.
You make a dramatic exit! What do care you if ex-friends who did not actually like you before now like you less! They were very bad at orgiastic sex anyway, apart from one or two whose cell phone numbers you have kept. It's time to step away from the humiliation of the past, as inflicted on you by quisling comrades. It's time to put aside the guise of water-taxi driver and do something deep and meaningful (that does not involve an anchor). It's time to rise above the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that stripped you of the merkin and sent your 'sexy fruit' therapeutic endeavours to the wall.
As the New Moon comes, bringing a Solar Eclipse to your own tiresome sign, you decide to leave the past behind and set out for fresh fields and pastures new. Well, it doesn't have to be a bucolic destination! Not if you're going to colour coordinate correctly! Mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of jolly Jupiter and you begin to talk about your plans with the other side of yourself, a favourite occupation. The lewd messenger then moves into grim Scorpio and you try to think of ways by which you might earn money again. As vamping Venus enters silly Sagittarius, you ask people you meet in the street if they'd like to finance you in a new and daring venture, the nature of which has not yet been decided upon. To your astonishment, they simply ignore you if they don't actually try to physically assault you.
As vamping Venus clashes with Uranus, the idiot god, several of these bumpkins have the temerity to offer you a job. Gadzooks! Don't they know who you are! You who have worn the merkin! You who have fought the sons of cannoneers! You who have learned the magical properties of fruit! You're simply burning with rage at these further indignities to the person of one that has worked side by side with Ingmar Iceberg, enigmatic Swedish film director and lunatic. As your blood begins to boil, all hell breaks loose in the Heavens. Ghastly farting from the nasty back passages of larrikin planets now delivers noxious miasma, piped through to the paltry denizens of a benighted universe ruled by insane gods (that includes yourself).
Chief among them is the Martian marauder as he forms yet another Yod (you had one last month), a grim configuration that betides woe of nine kinds and is known to astrologers of yore as the Finger of God. And great gods alive and dead what's this? Why, the divine digit gets to work on you right away. Egad, my tiny ning-nongs! It's as if a strange power possesses you! Mars in your solar eighth house is channelling psychic gifts for you to use! As a Full Moon in addlepate Aries brings a Lunar Eclipse to your solar seventh house, you decide that you will put not your trust in others again. Each time you do, they let you down and make mock of your ideals and aspirations. Let them do without you! No more will you rely upon others! Though your sign is the sign of cooperation, there is no one who will cooperate with you, so you will not cooperate with anyone again. The busy messenger grapples in unseemly fashion with narcotic Neptune and you know how you will begin to accumulate funds once more. You simply text those ex-friends that you left behind at the docks, saying that if you don't find monies in your account, they will find the pictures (taken on your cell phone) of the tragic shipwreck and marooning (orgy included) published on the net!
Egad, my little tikes! It's clear the eighth house is living up to its reputation for nastiness, extortion and sexual betrayal. The great Sol Invicti slithers into hag-ridden Scorpio and you check your bank account to find the blackmail fund has got off to a rollicking start. Now, all you need to do is discover how to best invest your capital. As jolly Jupiter, the giggling and inebriated lord of fortune lurches into that same fell sign of death, taxes and the anus (evil Scorpio), you dream your grand dreams of wealth and possessions. As vamping Venus makes improper advances to dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, you consult with a black magician and oracle as you set about developing your newfound psychic powers to know how best to use your ill-gotten gains. But will the Scales who won't cooperate be able to keep it all in balance? Click here next time and see! Ave, my tiny ning-nongs!