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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Hola, my fiendish articles! How is everything in the realm of unspeakable body parts and the ghastly functions they perform? Incidentally, it's better not to answer that. In fact, it's better not to say anything at all as I don't engage in converse with lesser beings. This, of course, is another way of saying that I don't have anyone to talk to. But then 'talking at' is my preferred option!
Your best option is, in fact, to catch up with the vile and bitter prognostications for the current month which, after counting the knots in my handkerchief, I believe to be jaded June. Last time we left, you were turning into a blackthorn bush, having sworn undying love to a beautiful being of the opposite sex that had been born of a branch, also a blackthorn, one you used to inflict grim thrashings upon your person. Really, my frightful little types, it begins to sound as if you had one too many Herring Zombies (a popular Norwegian cocktail for the terminally depressed) in the bars in Oslo. And, as I'm late with the forecast again, it may be that you've downed more of them than is good for any person while waiting for instruction on what to do with the next month of your life. Let's recap on the cosmic flatulence so far. Mischievous Mercury is slithering through neurotic Cancer so you're trying to tell the stories of your childhood and its bizarre events to someone who is actually a bush and may not speak your language. Marauding Mars is barreling through Leo and, even as you're hardening into timber with each passing moment, you consider going into the liquor trade to market the Herring Zombie worldwide, as there would be many drinkers unable to resist its almost hallucinogenic glamour. Now that we're up to date, I shall prognosticate in a vile and bitter manner. The great Sol Invicti conjoins in unseemly fashion with Uranus, the idiot god, and you're seized with bout of nervous trembling. This then produces eccentric and disturbing gyrations in your stiffening limbs as you try to make love to a branch that's become a human while being a human (open to debate for some) that's becoming a bush. Your confidence in what you're doing ebbs as vamping Venus gropes the private parts of cranky Chiron then moves to reveal what should remain hidden to jolly Jupiter. But what's this? Ye gods and little fishes, it's an extraordinary thing! Your prospective partner (the branch that turned into a human of the opposite sex) is asking for a prenuptial agreement, right at the Full Moon in addlepate Sagittarius! Great barking bandicoots, what is the world coming to! Even in a benighted universe ruled by insane gods, branches that magically transmogrify then witter on about finance and 'who owns what' are an obfuscating turn of events that even barking mad curmudgeons such as myself might be loath to predict. But, as Uranus, the idiot god, interferes with mischievous Mercury you're stunned by a startling revelation. As you had your misgivings about turning into a bush in the first place, perhaps this is an opportune moment to withdraw from the deal. Vamping Venus disports herself in unmannerly fashion and your prospective partner is displeased at this development. But, as the great Sol Invicti grapples with dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, you begin to feel that, deep within your stiffening limbs (snigger), the flow of blood returns and the very fibre of you becomes more fleshy than woody once more. Marauding Mars mounts the aging limbs of lugubrious Saturn to commit a ghastly act of sexual congress and you gather the power of your being and the pain of your recently acquired wounds and exert your mighty will. Slowly you become the odious arachnid once more and the beautiful being withers back into the form of a branch of blackthorn. Egad, my vagrant ninnies! That was a narrow escape! The dark magic of the forest almost had you in its grip, set to steal your spirit and leaf you to die! But the awesome force within you defeated this arboreal assault. As you toss the withered branch aside in triumph, all hell breaks loose in the Heavens. The great Sol Invicti clatters into neurotic Cancer while the Loony Nodes forsake the signs of Aries and Libra, slithering into Pisces (ugh) and Virgo (double ugh). You leave the forest and head back to Oslo in search of a new life. As the New Moon comes in neurotic Cancer, you down as many Herring Zombies as you can, deciding in this state of insobriety to be an artist in a seaside village, perhaps Morocco, and live the life of a beachcomber. And, of course, you'll set up a franchise to sell the Herring Zombie across the world and make your fortune yet again from the misfortune of others, the hapless dipsomaniacs that will be unable to resist the glamour of this dreadful drink. Thus you set your plans, my odious arachnids! But will the insane gods have another plan, one that involves a dose of doom and destruction? And, if the insane gods do have this plan, will they be sober enough to remember what it is and then carry it out? For the answer to this and any piffling questions one might think of in the midst of an attack of ennui, kindly click here next month and see! For the nonce, ave! |
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