By the great god Gobhole, the ancient lord of bombast! It's you, my little prancing ponies! Gobhole, by the way, is an elder deity with whom you are no doubt appallingly or perhaps even obscenely familiar. He is the god of loquacity, prolixity, verbosity and irritating long-windedness. It is part and parcel of Gobhole's chapter and verse that he only ever ceases talking in order to swallow food or drink, but even then the ghastly creature is not silent. He was born of the hideous union of Pomposity and Grandiloquence. He had one sister known as Garrulous, a backward brother named Taciturn (who could never get a word in) and a younger brother named Apillow whose only gift appeared to be an ability to fall asleep during lengthy speeches. No great boon for humankind but certainly handy at family gatherings.
It is a known fact (I have just invented it) that the ancestors of your odious sign may well be the lost congregation of the worshippers of Gobhole, one that disappeared en route to the sacrificial altar of this garrulous god, located in the Black Mountains of Thrace, near the forest of Verbiage. Though it seems unlikely an enclave of your loathsome selves should actually turn up anywhere on time and in number, this is nonetheless the legend. By the by, should there ever be a plan that the aforementioned phenomenon be repeated, kindly remind me not to be present or in the vicinity.
And, speaking of not turning up, I expect you will have now stopped talking for long enough to notice my absence in awful April and also for a great deal of the current month, malevolent May. Consumed as I was by creeping ennui, I regret nothing, as the sparrow sang.
Let us waste no further time then but proceed with the vile and bitter prognostications as they seethe and simmer in the dread cup. We will of course have a brief hindcast to tell you what has already happened as you may either have forgotten or you may not have properly understood it! A ghastly Full Moon in evil Scorpio at the start will have brought to the surface unspeakable revelations about your private life, exposing dark secrets and hidden enemies. You will have fallen sway to ill-humoured eruptions with your peccadilloes exposed (eek).
After that, ill-health will have followed ill-humour and travel plans, legal action or communications will have failed as mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti in your house of health groped the private parts of grim Saturn in lackwit Leo. You will have had a brief affair or argued over money until vamping Venus slithered into slimy Cancer whereupon you indulged in the fleshpots, overspent and tried to extort or embezzle monies from the family accounts. As mischievous Mercury slipped a quick one into narcotic Neptune, you will have lied about what you were doing, ignored red lights and lied to a parking inspector about having a disability. Mischievous Mercury groped his way into nitwit Gemini and those close to you will have given you short shrift or a tongue lashing.
As jolly Jupiter rogered the bollocks off Uranus, the idiot god, while marauding Mars slapped his rude bit into dark Pluto, you will have had a blazing row at home and moved yourself into the upstairs library in order to get some peace and secretly read your collection of comics. As marauding Mars then thundered into addlepate Aries, you will have turned part of the library into a basketball court in order to drive everyone else in the house out of their minds by dribbling constantly. As the New Moon comes in cloddish Taurus while Mercury plays 'dodgem cars' with the Loony Nodes and idiot Uranus, your family order you to go out and get a job and to improve your behaviour as well or they'll have you put down and donate your brain to science. That's if anyone can find it.
Thus we return to the present and the great Sol Invicti then rolls and clatters drunkenly into nitwit Gemini and you find a new job, working for an associate that constantly tells you what to do so that you end up arguing. As mischievous Mercury then engages in concupiscent activity with dark Pluto while receiving the kiss of death from the March eclipse point, you decide you'd rather move out of home than stay in the awful job your family made you get. Thus, you embezzle monies from the family trust and set off on a mission to see if you really are descended from the lost congregation of the great god Gobhole, lord of bombast. Should you wish to peruse this next chapter of your piffling peregrinations, kindly click here next time! For the nonce, ave!