Toodle pip, tiny tawdry tragics of the posterior persuasion! Last time we left, you were healing your parents of ancient ailments with the adept use of therapeutic fruit, a miraculous modality of wellness you have devised. Herewith, you've found success, due largely to the numbers of those with more money than sense in a benighted world ruled by insane gods. However, not all things are as they seem, as the philosophers say. In some cases, this may be an immense relief while, of course, in others it is merely depressing. And so it is with the fruity interactions with mater and pater. Are they what they seem?
Thus must we embark upon a course of prognostications, vile and bitter, to scry the truth of the current month, which I believe to be fractious February, largely due to the evidence of the two knots tied into my monogrammed cotton handkerchief. Ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds from the outset, masking the truth of all situations with foul effusions. M and P seem changed beyond recognition, no doubt due to the forward motion of vamping Venus. Yet the odd comment on how well you're doing and the occasional enquiry as to your financial state cause you to wonder! Will it turn once more to rows over money, clothes and bedroom linen?
As jolly Jupiter is in gruesome Scorpio, pressed hard against the great Sol Invicti and softly on the flesh of vamping Venus, matters will turn to custard somewhere along the line, custard that is no doubt the perfect complement for the fruit you use. But it's other business that claims your attention for marauding Mars returns to his retrograde point whilst in ghastly congress with dark Pluto, underworld god. Thus, you undertake a particularly deep transformational therapy with a foreign client, involving lime, grapefruit and the innovative use of a thistle. This requires research and your complete involvement. So, as mischievous Mercury enters damp and nasty Pisces, your mind is on your work and not on the conduct of those around you.
Come a Full Moon in lackwit Leo, you're ecstatic with a breakthrough with the thistles. Your client is equally ecstatic, being healed of several conditions that were lifelong troubles and several other conditions the poor creature was completely unaware of until you began your fruity work. You rush to tell M and P of your triumph and check on them as the lengthy and expensive recuperative process you've prescribed is well underway. But what's this? Egad! Gadzooks! Eek! And other quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm. It's marauding Mars, the war god! He clatters into nitwit Gemini as the great Sol Invicti slithers into damp and nasty Pisces, each one groping the other indecently. You find your P is gone! Quelle horreur! It seems he's been rushed to hospital for urgent treatment as a result of a fruity mishap, initiated by your treatment. This can't be! And yet it is, for a summons is presented claiming damages and suing you for all you own. Your very own P is the claimant! Eek!
Mischievous Mercury clashes with dark Pluto, underworld god, and the word 'malpractice' looms large in your vision. And yet the words 'skullduggery and 'deception' loom larger. Is this the revenge of the jilted parent? A New Moon comes in snivelling Pisces and a battle royal is looming in the court, one where you must prove yourself as a therapist of integrity and good practice or the world of healing and fruit in which you dwell must end!
By my sainted aunt, this may not be! 'Say not so, O cruel and insane gods,' you cry aloud! What shall their answer be! Click here next time and discover the dread answer to this ghastly enquiry, tiny posterior loonies! In the meantime, hail and farewell!
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