Toodle pip, my piscatorial nightmares! How are your private parts? For god's sake don't answer! Do not believe for a moment that I'm remotely interested in the welfare of that unspeakable geographic wasteland. Perish the thought! The question was merely rhetorical, intended only to re-establish threadbare plot line of the unmitigated drivel I've been writing under the flimsy mantle of astrology.
As you may or may not remember, your special area (eek) was possessed by a demon, the child of Asmodeus, one who sits high in the ranks of beings of infernal extraction. Thus, charged with the unbidden presence of occult power, you had contemplated every possibility, from becoming a time lord (like Doctor Who) to being ruler of the world (in a disused railway siding in a remote mountain fastness). You settled in the end (so to speak) for having sex with everyone willing person in possession of the physical equipage, requisite for the congress of concupiscence. As the presence of a demon in your heartland (so to speak) had made you praeternaturally attractive, body fluids were being exchanged with ecstatic regularity. And, as marauding Mars entered arrogant Aries and your solar second house, your services were on sale to the highest bidder. However, ghastly planets in lackwit Leo had cast a grim shadow in the corridor (so to speak) of your house of health.
As we are now up to date with recent doings, we shall proceed those upcoming. Prepare yourselves with fear and trembling, my tragic fishy things! It is jaundiced July and these are the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. The mad mix of money and infernal appetite sees you living life with wild ferocity. You move to the South Pacific at the New Moon in neurotic Cancer and your solar fifth house. You devote your days to pleasure, as folk come from across the globe to taste the infernal delights of your special brand of mediumship. You live on asparagus and beans, farting soundlessly and becoming more possessed with each passing moment.
This is due, of course, to jolly Jupiter's odious antics in your solar eighth house, a ghastly place of excess and dark doings if ever there was one. But still, dark shadows lurk in the corridor (so to speak) of your solar sixth house. Can you hear the creak of ancient knees in the vestibule of success? Listen closely, piscine types! It's all about to come apart in the sad and tragic manner to which you are entirely accustomed.
Aargh! Can you not hear the grind and clash of ghastly planets in the Heavens! It is none other than grim Saturn, abrading a ghastly passage (so to speak) into lackwit Leo. Shriek and double shriek, tiny wittering galoots! Your workload is about to be increased beyond the measure of sanity or reason. N.B. if you do manage to think of anything about this that may be described as sane or reasonable, do email this site and it will be removed at once.
Now, back to the story of your wretched lives! Great Caesar's ghost! Your grim ruler has upped the infernal ante! Prophetic messages issue from your nether regions during congress, guiding with obscure prophecies the lives of those who seek out the demon in your private parts. Hard work indeed! By my little brown bottle, as the Full Moon comes again in the miserable sign of Capricorn, you become the Organ Oracle, a sexual soothsayer, popularly known as the 'bard of bonk' and the 'harbinger of hump'!
But what's this? Why, it's just as I predicted! There are dastardly doings at work in the gutters of Heaven for, as you stretch out on your libidinous couch, quaffing asparagus and delivering the goods, mystic things occur in your pacific paradise. Mischievous Mercury turns retrograde in Leo, clashing with narcotic Neptune. This ghastly phenomenon brings a ghostly hand that inscribes the words 'Mene, mene tekel upharsin' on the wall. How biblical! It's a warning from god! A kind of moral graffiti!
You're shocked, little fishes! Asparagus turns to ash in your mouth. The words of prophecy fade. All sensations of pleasure drain from your body. Your demon is distracted. Clients question! Servants snigger! As vamping Venus enters anal Virgo, a plain individual approaches, enjoining you to give up this hellish traffic and seek angels instead. At that moment, marauding Mars enters cloddish Taurus, clashing with cranky Chiron and grim Saturn. Your back locks in spasm. Eek! The demon flies out of you, leaving you transfixed upon your couch. Ugh! And, what's worse, the plain individual shimmers and seems to transform to a creature of loveliness (Venus opposing Uranus, the idiot god). What will happen next?
Alas, I'm tired and wish to take a nap. Click here next time and see if an increase in prescription strength will reveal the drivel of how you find the angels, replacing the piffle of how you were possessed by devils. Until then fishy persons! Ta! Ta!