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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Ho to you, my copulating cretins! I salute you and all your crapulous kind! Last time we left, you had decided to give up drinking (snigger) in an effort to escape the odious attentions you were receiving as the face of Horse Lager.
This was a campaign that took you to Sicily as a consequence of your disappointments in the promotion of your plagiarized work, THE GAME'S UP, BURGLAR BILL. This latter was an endeavour begun as a consequence of the disappointments experienced in your efforts to be recognized as Horse of the Yard, one of London's finest. And so on and so forth, rolling along in a state of sea-sickness, brought about by the constant ebb and flow of disappointment and new beginnings. As jolly Jupiter, your ruler, lurks gruesomely in gloomy Scorpio and the seamy confines of your solar twelfth house, what else can one expect? Hidden forces exploding into life while your self-destruct mechanism fornicates with all those persons that secretly hate you or act against you. A long list to work through there! Anyway, we can't sit here all day, immersed in badinage. We must proceed with the vile and bitter prognostications for savage September, the current month if the nine knots in my handkerchief are anything to go by. Mischievous Mercury gropes the private parts of the great Sol Invicti as marauding Mars still hobnobs with the Loony South Node. Thus, your announcement of a 'sobriety' to take effect immediately engenders fierce discussion on contractual law, the possibility of instant physical violence to your person and the threat of vendettas that may last until a fourth generation of your issue has come and gone. But what's this? Egad! Mischievous Mercury makes lewd suggestions to Uranus, idiot god, and it's whispered quietly in your ear that you should make a move towards the back entrance (eek) in order to make good your escape from the rising tensions. The great Sol Invicti rubs his unmentionable bits on the unspeakable parts of the god of idiots and, as dark Pluto again moves forward, you're hustled into a black chariot, given a helmet to wear and spirited away at high speed. It's important to note that the aforementioned vehicular appurtenances are an accustomed form of transport on the roads of Sicily. A severe and primly dressed person conveys you hence (ghastly Venus in vexatious Virgo) and, as a Full Moon in snivelling Pisces brings a Lunar Eclipse to your solar fourth house, you're taken aboard a vessel which instanter sets sail for parts unknown, leaving the shores of Sicily behind. At first, you adapt well to life aboard ship. As marauding Mars barrels belligerently into loathsome Libra, you 'ho, ho, ho' with the rest of the jolly tars as you haul on the bowline, hoist the mainsail and perform a variety of other nautical tasks. However, when you address questions to those in charge as to the purpose or destination of the voyage, you're given the short shrift one could expect from the lascivious grunting of mischievous Mercury and dark Pluto, god of the underworld. And, when you try to chat with shipmates while shivering your timbers or splicing the main-brace (common tasks for the seaman), all you get by way of reply is a comic mimicry (Mercury and Mars locked in lascivious embrace). This is of the sort that comes into play when there is no common tongue, as is the case here. Vamping Venus grapples with the private area of Uranus, idiot god, and you're soon introduced to a wide variety of shipboard sexual practices that redefines all the notions you had of a common tongue anyway. As the great Sol Invicti makes merry with dark Pluto, you again seek explanation as to where you're going and why. However, the stern and unyielding officer of the deck merely plays with his navigational instruments in an offensive fashion, refusing to even acknowledge your questions, let alone answer them. Jolly Jupiter then inveigles narcotic Neptune into an immoral act and so you give up the pledge to abstain and get blind drunk with your shipmates as a consequence of which you pass out. Odds bodkins! Gadzooks! Eek! And other quaint expressions to indicate surprise and alarm! A strange and nasty thing now occurs. As a New Moon in vexatious Virgo brings a Solar Eclipse, you awake to find you're alone aboard ship. By my sainted aunt, that's odd! You wander from forecastle to poop deck but no companion, nautical or otherwise, can you find. Ghastly planets fart in nasty aspect as they float into loathsome Libra but neither friend nor shipmate nor officer will answer your increasingly desperate pleas. Shriek and double shriek, my tiny turnips! You've been abandoned on the high seas by a crew you did not know! Left to sail a ship you're not fit to man! That's a rum do if ever there was one! What will happen now? What mysterious destination is this vessel bound for? Where have the crew actually gone? And what is this absurd drivel about? Should you or any near relative of yours wish to know the answers to these questions, kindly click here next month! And, should the intervening prescription be strong enough, I may well think of something. Ave, my tiny twerps! |
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