Odds bodkins, silly Centaurs! It's you out there! It's me right here! And it's well into jaded June, as I am late again with the forecast. Let's not waste time with pleasantries. Let's on with the business of vile and bitter prognostications!
Mischievous Mercury slithers in slimy Cancer and you gratify your dark desires secretly (thankfully) and in a supple manner with the ghastly media types that have come to secure a hold on your product (eek). You peruse the contracts and fiscal offer for the rights to THE GAME'S UP, BURGLAR BILL, the Victorian crime novel you've turned into a computer game. With marauding Mars in lackwit Leo, you belligerently bargain with overseas folk to publish your own version of BURGLAR BILL in a variety of foreign languages, rewritten with a simple text (of necessity) but with vivid illustrations. You hire and fire several personal assistants as vamping Venus cleaves in unseemly fashion to the wrinkled bosom of ghastly Saturn, finally settling on a practical and earthy type that swears foully and eats vast quantities of beef. The great Sol Invicti ogles Uranus, the idiot god, and you leave your humble bedsit above the internet café and move to more salubrious environs.
Needless to say, Oedipus Rex the wonder dog goes with you, to occupy his own special kennel with central heating and a personal doggy spa. Nothing but the best for those that stuck by Horse of the Yard in the times of trouble! As vamping Venus disports herself lasciviously before jolly Jupiter, you move through the offices of the media types that are desperate for your good favour, due to this sudden rise in status. You secretly note their personal habits and peccadilloes, ready to exact the revenge you promised after their shameful treatment of Inspector Horse so many moons ago.
And what's this? Why, my sorry little twits! It's the Full Moon in your addlepate sign! You laugh and frolic gaily, going for a quick canter around the local cafes, and quaffing more cappuccino than is good for you! Neigh, Inspector Horse! Neigh! Mischievous Mercury displays his ghastly wares in sight of drooling Uranus, idiot god, and you wander the streets, regaling passersby with tales from an unhappy childhood and also making suggestive remarks, unfit for the lips of a member of the constabulary. Vamping Venus lays bare her private parts to narcotic Neptune and you offend pedestrians and workers with this errant frolic. And, by my sainted aunt, as one of your new associates objects and tries to restrain you, you arrest him with your trusty truncheon and march him off to a holding cell (actually an empty office in the building where you're engaged in gainful employment).
Great gods alive and dead, my tiny twerps! What is the meaning of this perverse behaviour? It's as though a mischievous sprite has taken Inspector Horse by the tail and turned the investigative equine all around. But that's not the end of the horror! Indeed no! Grim screeching erupts in the Heavens as marauding Mars clambers upon the aging limbs of miserable Saturn. A bevy of elderly and official-looking persons arrives at your office. It seems they have a legal mission and are come from afar to complete it. Gadzooks! What can it be?
The great Sol Invicti grinds his way to neurotic Cancer, visiting yet another Solstice on a naughty world. The air resonates with the harsh tones of the announcement that the rights to THE GAME'S UP, BURGLAR BILL are held in perpetuity by a home for children in Sicily. And, while the trustees are grateful for your efforts on behalf of the disadvantaged little ones, they've come to collect what's owed, if not by legal means then in traditional Sicilian fashion.
Eek! That will be nasty! All spitting, knives, curses involving the Virgin Mary and odious communications by means of a horse's head! Decapitation is so unnerving! Better to settle legally but, great barking bandicoots, this is a cosmic clout! A heavenly haymaker! Your newfound wealth is kaput in a second. And, what's worse, it's gone to a worthy cause you cannot contest. The Loony Nodes forsake Aries and Libra, moving to Pisces (ugh) and Virgo (double ugh). In trice, you're ousted from a new career and your new digs as well! As vamping Venus tramps like a trollop into supple but perverted Gemini, you're surrounded by enemies at every turn. The new made ones of this recent litigation talk persuasively while the older ones, the media types you've managed to offend and abuse so far, smile the killer smile, that curve of the lip especially designed to operate in the event of a falling star. That's you, my centaur twits! Recently fallen from Heaven!
As a New Moon comes in neurotic Cancer, you're racked with debt. As mischievous Mercury enters lackwit Leo then prepares to move into perverse reverse, the threat of litigation stand like a gallows tree at a crossroads! What will you do, my idiot types! As I'm feeling distracted and unwell, due to an attack of creeping ennui, I must sleep now. Should I awake in time, I will illuminate the frightful consequences that are most likely to be the issue of this travail. Until then, hail and farewell, my idiot quadrupeds!