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    Go Back  The Jittery Journeys of August 2004  Go Forward
    Shiver me timbers, it’s the miserable swabs of the fish-faced variety! Avast, you lubbers! Attend me or I’ll hang you from the yardarm then keelhaul your fishy hides! It’s time for the monthly voyage into the sea of vile and bitter prognostications and this time we set sail for awful August!

    Last month, we did something or other, the nature and meaning of which now eludes me completely. Par for the course really! On another tack, you may be wondering why all the nautical talk! Asperitus, the salty dog, you think! The oracle of bitter truth is become a rover on the seven seas perhaps! Far from it, benighted lunatics! It’s you not me destined for the treacherous briny, a watery grave and a resting place in the locker of Davy Jones! And I am just the jolly tar to tell you how this will come to be, in a swashbuckling tale of muddled mariners, terrible typhoons and perplexing piracy, a tale that will become yet another appalling twist of the remorseless fate that dogs your fishy footsteps. Cast adrift you will be on the endless oceans of a benighted universe ruled by the insane gods of the sea!

    Great gods alive and dead, I remember it now! You were the guru of the cult of the headstand! And, when we left you last time, your devoted followers carried your inverted form to the new home they had found. Mischievous Mercury clashes with idiot Uranus! Jolly Jupiter wrestles with underworld Pluto! The great Sol Invicti cavorts in unseemly fashion with nasty Neptune! The ride is rough, my little garfish of the great wide sea, for it’s gar-gar you are with all this testing travel. What little blood you have is running to your head. Plenty of room there of course, so there’s nothing to worry about in the matter of medical emergencies.

    Vamping Venus sloughs off nitwit Gemini and puts the boat out into neurotic Cancer. Your followers have brought you to the chosen destination, a new home for the headstand guru and the fishy following. And, of course, little twerps, it turns out to be a houseboat! A craft of indescribable beauty to carry you and yours down the rivers of Arcadia itself. In a trice, little miseries, there you are! Legs in the air, riding the gentle swell and preaching the gospel of inverted enlightenment! Thus it is that you take comfort in this sterling vessel that is the new home of the ‘upside down’ persons of whom you are the revered leader.

    Doubtless you’ll remember all this is due to the presence of idiot Uranus in your sign, Uranus being the ruler of reversals of condition. But what’s this, my lunatic nonentities? By my little brown bottle, it’s trouble that’s what it is! And on the horizon what’s more! Marauding Mars moves into anal Virgo while mischievous Mercury turns retrograde in that insufferable sign and a horde of buccaneers storms up the channel, their red-rimmed eyes and evil leers focused on the pleasure craft that is your floating home. Doubtless they salivate nastily (as brigands will) at the prospect of the wealth to be plucked from the fingers of the effete rich that swarm the decks of their intended prize. Actually, it’s not fingers they espy but toes and, initially, they find the sight of all the waving legs off-putting (who would not). However, they steel themselves in manly fashion to the gross moral turpitude required by those who ply the freebooters’ trade.

    Incidentally, the waving legs they espy are due to an especially devout session of inversion at the New Moon in loathsome Leo, as you manifest some startling and hitherto unimaginable variations to the art of the headstand and reveal them to your followers. A horde of ghastly planets farts obscenely in the cosmic winds as a horde of ghastly buccaneers farts obscenely, fouling the air as they grapple with grappling hooks, sweating profusely and heaving, hauling and haroohing in the manner of such villains from time immemorial. Suffice it to say, little fish-types, the felons have you in their grasp before you can say ‘shiver me timbers’ or ‘hoist the mainsail’ or indeed any such piece of nautical jargon that may have be traditionally used to guide to safety those who are set upon.

    But, great gods alive and dead, what’s this? Why it’s a remarkable turnaround! A Full Moon comes in your insufferable sign, with nasty aspects to marauding Mars and idiot Uranus! A wave of fury seizes you, little fishy things! None shall attack you with impunity! A wave born in some furious storm from the darkest hell of the deepest watery caverns of the briny rises up inside you. Sea rage grips you in its feverish embrace as you swirl about furiously on your hands, kicking out with your legs. The graceful wavering extremities that made the dance of the headstand now become lethal weapons that any authoritative body would be proud to register. You single out the biggest, ugliest brute of all and send him, with a drop kick that makes a fearsome thud upon his too too solid flesh, flying across the waves till he comes to grief on a distant coral reef. Of course he is captain of the corsairs and his horde of slightly less ugly freebooters cowers on the deck, aghast and trembling at this awesome display of pedal power.

    Thus does vamping Venus conjoin with lugubrious Saturn and your own followers and the very privateers who lie defeated raise their voices to declare you lord of the pirates and terror of the seven seas. Long John Silverfish shall be your name and great shall be the bawdy tales of dangerous exploits and roistering adventures you will undertake. Enough of the headstand! Let us have a life on the ocean waves with plunder and rapine, and the traditional after dinner snacks of rum, sodomy and the lash that made the British Navy great! Click here next month, me hearties!

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