Tally ho, my little yoicks! Last time we left, you were boarding a magic bus. But was the last stop, your final destination, to be paradise or hell? Of course, there may have been a story attached to this outrageous tripe but I can't actually remember what it was and I'm too vain and arrogant to consult my notes or ask some passing loon.
Thus, let us dispense with logic and the pursuit of meaning. In that way we shall be free to consult the prognostications of a vile and bitter kind for the month of fateful February, assuring us that the wretched tale we laughingly refer to as your life will continue, whether it makes sense or not. A right and proper thing, when one thinks! If one does! Unlikely in your case! Now let us proceed before I fall asleep and wake again to find it is manic March. As you will no doubt have divined that, being tardy folk yourself by and large, I'm late with the forecast yet again. It is so important to be consistent, I think.
Thus, we begin with a predictable recap. A Full Moon laid her chill, necrotic gaze across the wasteland of this vile earth from the sign of loathsome Leo. Thus you will have held forth on life, love and how fabulous you are at a godforsaken watering hole in a remote part of town, entertaining your idiot friends by laughing at your own jokes. Foreigners may have been involved, or outspoken academics. No doubt this will have been during a meal or toilet break whilst travelling on the magic bus. As a deal of revolting energy in tear-stained Pisces then made its presence felt, your family may have wondered briefly where you were before they got on with the important business of the day, such as clipping toenails, darning socks and cleaning the lint out of the washing machine. The great Sol Invicti then held lewd congress with narcotic Neptune and you will have admired a passing pedestrian or tried to translate the street signs you passed into Swedish in order to alleviate the tedium of travelling in a bus. That may well bring us up to date.
And now we're in the present, I must warn you that the upcoming business in the Heavens is of an especially nasty nature. Great gods alive and dead, tiny cretins! We must bear with the rampage of jolly Jupiter, the crapulous lord of fortune, as he obscenely engages with vamping Venus and the Loony Nodes in a disgusting cosmic ménage a trois. By my sainted aunt, what will happen to you with all this going on?
Well, I'll tell you! You will lose your job for your laggard behaviour, as riding on a magic bus doesn't really count as an excuse for not arriving at work. Your family will be evicted from their home for flooding it by mismanaging the exercise of cleaning the lint from the washing machine in a most damp and idiotic manner. You will then drive everyone else off the bus by telling salacious stories and crude jokes and laughing in the idiotic and uproarious manner that just makes people want to kill you.
As the New Moon comes in Aquarius, sign of the idiot god, the bus makes a stop to take on new passengers and, great barking bandicoots, if it's not your ghastly family, looking for somewhere else to live now that the ancestral home is inundated with rising damp. Egad! What a revolting development! Of course, a bun fight begins instanter as vamping Venus luridly lures dark Pluto, god of the underworld, with her concupiscent conduct while the great Sol Invicti slithers into tear-stained Pisces. Emotions boil over. The past is brought up. It's a rancorous ride, my tiny turnips. The conductress joins in these tantrums, tearing her long red hair and swearing while the driver threatens to throw you all off the vehicle if you don't stop misbehaving.
But then, by all the devils in the lowest of the twenty nine hells, the last cloud of cosmic flatulence descends, engulfing you, your family and the worthless life you're living in a toxic miasma. Marauding Mars barrels belligerently into idiot Aquarius and the magic bus collides with a coach, carrying a tour party of Swedish Abba impersonators. Both vehicles are damaged beyond repair as mischievous Mercury batters his way into that same idiot sign by means of the backdoor. A bilingual row erupts, the police are called, your family becomes insulting and abusive and the Abba impersonators begin thrashing you with their wigs and platform shoes, believing the entire incident has been your fault. In an attempt to escape this horde, you are then run over on a pedestrian crossing by an incapacitated person in a mobility cart. Traffic is your current bane, my little centaur ninnies, and clearly this has been the bus ride to hell.
Will things improve as we move from fateful February to manic March? Sadly, as I'm slipping into unconsciousness from terminal ennui and screaming boredom, I am unable to say. Kindly click here next time if this is the sort of drivel you prefer to read. For the nonce, ave!