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    Click for Last Month  The Fearsome Follies of February 2006  Click for Next Month
    Pisces What ho, fish-faces! We left you last time in burgeoning celebrity as you became, by a twist of fate, the star of THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE, a stirring cinematic masterwork on bladder infections and the feudal aristocracy. What will we find this time? Well, we must consult the vile and bitter prognostications for fractious February, which I believe to be the current month, largely due to the presence of a second knot in my cotton handkerchief. Of course, I'm late with the forecast but I will ignore this all too obvious fact, as you should.

    It seems the influences are rather ghastly from the outset and jolly Jupiter is engaged in unspeakable congress with mischievous Mercury, narcotic Neptune and the great Sol Invicti by turns. Thus we find you yet again having one of your turns, as you wonder who you are. Are you are an actor, playing someone with a bladder infection? Are you actually a mediaeval person with a bladder infection and a sense of dislocation in time and space? Or are you a normal person, temporarily deranged? Whereas the latter part of the third option is undoubtedly correct, the former contains no germ of truth. As for the other options, who would know, my darling piscatorials? Certainly not you, surrounded as you are by the kind of fawning sycophants, martinets and outright lunatics that make up the staff of the industry of cinema.

    The press and crush of such persons is due of course to the press and crush of ghastly planets, farting in the cosmic winds. But, as they are too tedious to name, I shall not name them. By the gods, go out and buy a book if you're that interested! In the meantime, Mercury clashes with psychotic Mars then enters your sign and you begin waffling on like a lunatic but in a grumpy and irritable manner. The war god himself invades the nether regions of dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, and film industry moguls throw tantrums, carry on about how successful the film needs to be and bully all available minions into having sex with them. Suffice it to say that by a Full Moon in lackwit Leo, you're ill with the stress of this. The pressure of being a 'rising star' is more than you can handle. You become exceedingly worried and hire a personal astrologer to tell you what to do. While everyone regards this as a good career move, in practical terms it is no help at all as the wretched creature takes too many drugs, falls asleep halfway through important predictions and makes improper sexual suggestions.

    But what's this? By my sainted aunt, it's trouble brewing in Heaven! That's what! Marauding Mars, psychotic war god, clatters into idiot Gemini and you suddenly feel an urge to behave like a star! You bring young persons to your celebrity van to have profligate sexual congress. As the great Sol Invicti enters your sign, clashing with bumptious, braggart Mars, you throw tantrums, wrecking your dressing room, sacking personal assistants and complaining about the food and the lack of fresh limes to go with your imported mineral water. Mischievous Mercury then clashes with dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, and you beard one of the moguls in his den, shouting and striking out at his underlings.

    As the New Moon comes in your own damp and nasty sign, you find you have become a damp and nasty creature, engaging in such an inflammatory tirade that the very madness of it once again seems to empty your mind of all the pertinent facts pertaining to your identity. No longer are you the overnight sensation of THE PRINCESS AND THE PEE. Nay! You are, in your own mind at least, an ageless and immortal celebrity, a timeless beauty and a living force of nature that will have whatsoever it wishes! Eek! Egad! Gadzooks! And other such quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm! What will happen now, my fish-faced loonies! I feel the mists of confusion and despair closing in about you with relentless inevitability and monotonous regularity. Where will you go? What will you do? Frankly, my dears! I don't give a damn. I just hope that you're ready for your close-up! Ave atque vale, ghastly aquatic tragedies!

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