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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
What ho, bottom types! Last time we left you clutching a copy of A POKE IN THE LIPS NOW, the true prophecies of St John the Bastard, a rare tome you had obtained by some mystical process, that type of thing that usually occurs when you've had one too many skinny lattes. So exciting are the prospects that lie before you, we will waste no time in puling niceties but fly straightway to the vile and bitter prognostications for jaded June.
Attend me, my simpering twits! I am Asperitus, the prophet of piffle, handing you the dread cup from which you must drink the dread drink! Eek! And so on and so forth! Yes, my tiny twerps, so overcome are you by the feel of this esoteric tome in the clutch of your nasty, pasty, sweaty little piggies that you instanter cry aloud with joy, right there in the public street, just as a ghastly Full Moon comes in silly Sagittarius. Thus do you startle several elderly pedestrians, causing one of the number to lose control of a mobility cart and run down persons in a bus queue. Your joyous ululations also cause several minor traffic accidents and trigger alarm systems and time locks up and down the boulevard, attracting the attention of officious officials. These then threaten you with institutionalization, incarceration or a thump round the ear-hole in a back alley unless you move on. Though one part of your nature is an egomaniac bully, the other is an arrant coward, terrified at the sight of your own blood, especially on your good trousers. Thus you race off to visit friends to tell them of your epiphanic find. However, as vamping Venus leers lustfully into lackwit Leo, they simper and carry on in an effete manner, saying such things as 'don't start about the bloody merkin again' and 'your bum looks big in that' at which point you whack them both (there are only two) in the solar plexus with a stuffed rabbit. You then fly to your favourite 'coffee house' bookshop to have your find valued by a bibliophile acquaintance. As the ghastly New Moon in gibbering Gemini arrives, we find you deep in converse with a group of eager students on the matters of St John the Bastard, the merkin and the weighty tome, A POKE IN THE LIPS NOW. Sadly, it turns out the students are actually a Japanese school tour that have come looking for comics and coffee. Yet somehow, in that strange almost mystical way you have about you, the fact that they haven't understood a word that's been said only increases your resolve to act. As mischievous Mercury moves into perverse reverse in slimy Cancer, you decide to revive the campaign to revive the merkin. You contact your old crony, Swedish cinematic icon, Ingmar Iceberg, to see if she will once more roll the cameras on the rising merkin (eek). Sadly, your calls and emails aren't returned. But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's the clatter and crash of the great Sol Invicti invading slimy Cancer, visiting yet another Solstice on an already overburdened world. You quickly found the House of Merkin, your new business, wherefrom you will sell this unusual item of pubic adornment. Marauding Mars batters his way into Taurus and you borrow massive amounts of dosh to get things underway, and you also engage in erotic activity of an unspeakably disgusting nature. You hire old chums from the fashion world to start whipping up the merkins and, as gloomy Saturn wraps his knobbly knees about the soft and yielding flesh of narcotic Neptune, you sit down to write the script of scripts on the life of St John the Bastard and the mystic revelations of the merkin. As a second Full Moon comes, this time in lugubrious Capricorn, we find you burning the midnight oil as you feverishly try every valance you own to find the one that will truly inspire you to write as you've never written before. Not a bad idea, when one thinks (if one does), given the quality of your past efforts! Now, will it be the electric blue, the burnt orange or the rainbow special that will send you soaring! Thus we leave you, rummaging by the light of your nocturnal lamp. Will your wildest dreams succeed, my fabulous fardels? Or will you crash and burn as always, undone by your extravagant lunacies! Click here next time and see! In the meantime, it's hail and farewell to you, my nasty Scales types! |
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