Ave, awful arachnids! It seems I must speak with you on a matter of great import to you and of no account to me. That matter is the vile and bitter prognostications for savage September. Drink deep of the dread draught, my diabolical demon spawn.
Last time we left, you were lord of all you surveyed as the owner of Café Hell in Casablanca. Dosh rolled in from the sale of the Herring Zombie, the venomous Norwegian cocktail for which you hold the global franchise. You hobnobbed with artists, poets, musicians, social parasites and prostitutes but maintained a bonhomie with all the world. And yet you were collecting antique instruments of torture as you secretly laid the foundations for another cult dedicated to the Prince of Darkness, the infernal ruler that also rules your callous but meaningless existence. There were dark doings in the cellar of Café Hell, my holy terrors! Will they continue this month?
Of course they will! I, Asperitus, the horrible haruspex have pronounced upon it in a suitably pronounced fashion. And, speaking of pronunciation, the ghastly influences begin with a great deal of this as mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti assail each other in lustful manner in the nasty sign of Virgo. Secret words pass among the 'so-called' friends you have and, one by one, the enticement of torture and romance with the devil draws them in to the evil circle of your dastardly doings. Lovers and lunatics gather about you in excitement and anticipation as you, the archfiend, show them how to make proper obeisance to the fiendish god you worship. Ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds in odiferous fashion just as ghastly doings take place upon the earth. You perform rites of such a foul, bloody and outre nature that even those as irritable as myself (and there are few so irritable as that) have no power to describe them or essay even an attempt to do so.
Suffice to say that, as the Full Moon in snivelling Pisces brings a Lunar Eclipse to your solar fifth house, the sinks run red in Café Hell as you swear undying fealty to the evil one, eschewing all others in his name. Eek! How unsettling and morally corrupt! It certes is a story that makes Enid Blyton look like nothing more than a children's writer, even in her chilling masterwork, FIVE GO TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET. That's the one where Dick and Julian train to be sorcerers but Timmy the dog turns out to be the devil in disguise and eats all the children alive as they're barbecued in the lowest of the twenty nine hells. It's a good read really and is also available on a 3D version on dvd, starring a Russian porn queen with an unpronounceable name and breasts the size of Czarist principalities. We watch it in Heaven quite a lot, especially when you don't have wars (snigger) or when the big countries don't bother to invade the weaker ones and exterminate their populations. I believe that you can order a copy of it in the latest issue of the Arachnid catalogue, were you interested.
Hmm! I've wandered off the subject, haven't I! Oh well! Back to the ghastly planets and their nasty flatulent ways! And, by my sainted aunt, what's this? It's marauding Mars, my tiny cretins! Belligerently barreling his way into loathsome Libra and your solar twelfth house. What a revolting development that is! It means your plans will miscarry, you'll bump your head on sharp things, you'll be confused about what you want and you'll have enemies that will work against you secretly. Though, it must be said that such enemies will be identified by their stylish trousers or their elegant underwear, presuming you get to know them that well.
Egad! Here's a 'how do you do' if ever there was one, my odious arachnids! But it doesn't stop there! Oh no! Mischievous Mercury and marauding Mars have a quick one behind the arras and unknown persons begin to say nasty things about you behind your back! Well, I never! And, as if that's not enough, we have a cosmos full of ghastly shenanigans involving the gross encounters of not only vamping Venus and Uranus, the idiot god, but also dark Pluto and the great Sol Invicti! Instanter, your affairs of love and money fall into bitter dispute and disrepair.
Great popping peanuts and masticating monkeys, my darkling neurotics! It's as if the entire universe is getting out of hand! Oh well! How sad! Never mind! As jolly Jupiter then rogers the living daylights out of narcotic Neptune, an extraordinary thing occurs! Eek! What can it be? Well, I'll tell you. You suddenly lose interest in Casablanca, Café Hell, the cult of the devil, the instruments of torture and, in fact, in the whole body of your wretched, meaningless existence. In fact, you have another attack of conscience and self-doubt and again yearn to give up those wicked ways of yours, as wittering indecision grips the very codlings of your personage.
Odds bodkins, my wallowing whippersnappers! What will happen to you now? Where will you go? What will you do? Despite the endless chorus of 'frankly, my dears, we don't give a damn!' that comes from across the globe, I must continue with this waffle until the bitter end of this month of unparalleled savagery.
We find you on your knees, as the New Moon in vexatious Virgo brings a Solar Eclipse to your eleventh house of friends, hopes and wishes. You pray to the elder gods for guidance! And so it comes, as it ever does to those that humbly beseech it. And this is certes a humbling of scorpion pride. The elder gods speak as one and tell you that to extirpate the guilt you feel for all the bad and nasty things you've done, you must learn the ancient art of scrubbing. Egad! A brush of fearsome bristles is the magical gift of the gods on this occasion so the bargain is sealed! It appears in your hand and instructs you to go forth into the world and become a scrubber, cleaning the dirty surfaces of the world until your sins are atoned for. Eek! How common!
As ghastly planets roll into lackwit Libra and your solar twelfth house, you set out with your brush to scrub away the bitter stain of sin. Is your arm strong enough, my mighty types? Or will the ingrained stains defeat even your endless strength and stubborn will? Click here next time and read the next incredibly dull installment of THE SEVEN SORROWS OF THE SCRUBBER, A SCORPION'S BRISTLE! For the nonce, ave!