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    Scorpio | Soul Connection | Relationships | Runes | Zodiac

    SCATHING SCORPIO...

    Go Back  The Trials and Tribulations of a Spooky 2010  Go Forward
    Scorpio
    By all the bleeding wounds of all the insane gods, it's you, O my tiny ning-nongs, tweeting for a dose of vile and bitters from the doctor! Well, I'm just the medico to deliver, Asperitus the Awful, the bard of baffle, prophet of piffle and certified loony with a certificate to prove it. Lay back upon your couches and ready your hideous insectoid ears to hear the truth!

    It's all up with you right now as depressing Saturn lurks in loathsome Libra (ugh) and your nasty solar twelfth house, the cauldron of misery, vile depression, fears, hidden enemies and secret sorrows. Yet that is not the whole of it, nor even the length and breadth of it, for the wretched god of old age and death shapes to bang the backside and the bollocks or dark Pluto, lord of the underworld that currently twats on and disports himself in the rancid sign of the Goat, hideous Capricorn.

    Lawks a mercy, what a nasty 'to do' there'll be, with grunting, groping and hideous little legs in the air, as two beasts obsessed with control, fight to have it, one over the other. Thus, you'll find yourself under assail from associates, neighbours, siblings, passersby or commuters, whose swipes, sideswipes, head-ons and backhanded comments or double dealings pollute that inner space that is your own sacred domain. And, instead of ordering a body bag, loading a gun or charging the cup with poison, you retreat, a shy (eek), uncertain (ugh) or even inhibited (aargh) individual whose other side is oversensitive and unable to absorb the cut and thrust of normal human intercourse (egad). This is a most revolting development and another fine mess that grim Saturn has got you into, though narcotic Neptune and cranky Chiron in addlepate Aquarius and your solar fourth house haven't helped your confidence at all, creating an identity crisis over familial or personal history, blanketing emotional responses with deception, illicit drugs or insobriety. And, prior to Saturn in loathsome Libra, the old fart was (and will be again) in vexing Virgo, leaving you with only people that can count, worry about health, complain irritably (hmm) or simply be elderly and irascible to number as your friends. No wonder you've no confidence left, odious arachnids!

    And then, by all the gods alive and dead, dastardly December makes it worse, as marauding Mars hits perverse reverse in lackwit Leo, shutting down professional avenues or letting slip the dogs of war. Eek! This latter will be in the form of vile or even violent males that strut and swagger, bullying, enforcing their authority or demanding you take upon yourselves vigorous or testing tasks with objects sharp or blunt. Ye gods and little fishes, is this the bitter truth? Aye, replies the oracle thereof, myself!

    Thus do I prognosticate apace, despite the trembling fears that grip your person in most delicate or private places. By all that's unholy, corrupt or most especially tedious, jittery January arrives, heralding the crash and thrash of 2010 to assail your already tested person. Eclipses eclipse you as nasty Mercury has a digit on the reverse button (ugh)! You confuse arrangements, struggle with communications or directions, argue with siblings or neighbours and jettison your phone and TV as you now believe insidious alien life forms are trying to influence the little that's left of your mind by speaking through these devices.

    Gadzooks! It gets stranger by the minute, don't you think, teeny tykes? Jolly Jupiter, crapulent lord of fortune, squelches his way into tearful Pisces and your solar fifth house, and you retrieve your discarded cell phone and camera to make a documentary on strategies for resistance to the imminent alien takeover. Fractured February then makes it's ghastly mark on this road to Hell. As narcotic Neptune and cranky Chiron engage in gross and radical acts of lust, you have a mystic experience in the bathtub with a plastic submarine and see humanity must embrace the ocean to be saved. As all life returns to the source from which it came, so we return to the sea to rejoin our dolphin ancestors!

    Great gods alive and dead, little tweeters, you've become a spiritual master with a thing or two to say. Awful April cranks up the pace and, as depressing Saturn rolls back to vile Virgo, you hold meetings in public places to announce this vision to the world. You invite all of your elderly friends who listen patiently, constantly check their watches then applaud politely despite not understanding a single word you've said. Mischievous Mercury turns tail once more, this time in tragic Taurus and persons close to you abuse or shun you, sending nasty or derogatory emails and blogging insulting personal remarks about you being descended from the dolphins. However, as cranky Chiron then slithers into snivelling Pisces, you answer your critics by wearing a dolphin mask and twittering in a subaqueous mammalian manner.

    Then it is that, as the merry month of May rolls into the midyear and a slaphappy Solstice, this ichthyic madness erupts like an undersea volcano to spray its loony lava on the world and reign supreme in the routines of your life. Rampant Uranus rages into fiery Aries and you cast aside all past endeavours with work or health to found a school of dolphin wisdom that teaches 'The Dolphin Way'. Jolly Jupiter then waggles his private parts at Uranus, idiot god, and the two join as one (ugh) in the addlepate sign of the Ram. As a clash with crusty Cancer comes in June, you cast aside fear and worry in the passion of this new belief, to fly in the face of an uncaring world by training those willing to live as dolphins under the sea, thus finding protection from the insidious incursion of alien interference by returning to our ancestral home.

    What do you think? Is it every bit as crazy as it sounds? Of course, it is! As I'm suffering from terminal ennui and a complete lack of interest in almost everything, I shall retire to the comfort of my little brown bottle and that lovely silver tube they have here in Heaven. At a later date, I shall return, like McArthur to tell you war is hell and war it is with the insane gods in this benighted universe. Ave atque vale, my twittering subaqueous heroic types!

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