Hooray to you, my ghastly insectoid types! Last time we left, you were on the path of redemption, armed with a scrubbing brush that was a gift from the gods, in a tedious tale entitled THE SEVEN SORROWS OF THE SCORPION. Two sorrows are so far put to bed. The first scrubbing was to expiate your sorrow for the harm you've caused while the second scrubbing was for the sorrows of the world. Already, it seems a lifetime in the doing but, sadly, there are five sorrows to go.
Let us see if we can reach the target before expiring from creeping ennui! Though it may be argued that cleaning one's colon with a rasp would be less painful than the journey we must make into the last five sorrows, life in an insane universe will rarely grant such mercies, no matter how small. But enough pleasant banter! Let us proceed with proceedings! It is noxious November, a fact well known due to there being eleven knots in my pocket handkerchief. Prepare yourselves, insectoid loons! There are vile and bitter prognostications in the dread cup! So here it is! Imbibe and suffer, nasty types!
Mischievous Mercury slips one into miserable Saturn while moving in perverse reverse and you scrub a particularly nasty and powerful individual almost into the floor to cleanse the ill of his corruption. His was forte was in weapons or pharmaceuticals or the invention of karaoke, or some other such hag-ridden malice that has been set loose in a benighted world already ruled by insane gods. But a shift comes in the tide of cosmic flatulence. Great masticating monkeys and barking bandicoots! What mischief is this that now unfurls its banner? Why, it's the Full Moon in cloddish Taurus, telling you that now you have scrubbed away the sorrows of the world (or as many of them as you can reasonably be held responsible for), it's time to pay for past cruelties and betrayal in relationships. We could be here for some time, you realize, if this process is to be undergone! Eek!
I feel the press of ennui creeping in. Bring me my little brown bottle so I can restore my flagging spirits! Thus, as narcotic Neptune commits serial improprieties with an unspeakable array of ghastly planets, you set out to scrub clean the premises of as many of your past liaisons as are still living, which actually turns out to be not as many as you thought. In some cases, you actually visit and scrub for the living relatives, some of which are apparently your children. Ugh! How much humiliation can one bear! Marauding Mars exchanges obscene acts with mischievous Mercury and hot words explode into the air. But as vamping Venus engages in illicit relations with grim Saturn and jolly Jupiter by turns, you take the long view and the big picture into account and diplomatically resolve these little contretemps without recourse to the usual fatal format. After all, you certainly don't need any extra scrubbing to do!
However, my darling little nitwits, it's about this time, due of course to flatulent influences in the fatuous cosmos, that you begin to lose heart for scrubbing. Marauding Mars gropes the private parts of narcotic Neptune and you begin to wonder why you're bothering to do this, or indeed anything at all. Vamping Venus swans into silly Sagittarius and you start to count the cost of scrubbing for a living as opposed to embezzlement, assassination, funeral direction, cult leadership or any of the more familiar pastimes to which you're occupationally suited. Mischievous Mercury turns direct and you go looking for the nearest god to give back this magical scrubbing brush as you no longer wish to be a scrubber. After all, what's the point of dwelling on the past and always saying 'I'm sorry' or some such idiotic or un-meant offering. And then comes a dread New Moon in your appalling sign, so you decide to stop this and do something else.
As if in answer to your prayers (if such they be), the unspeakable powers of the universe do their best to support you. The great Sol Invicti clatters and bangs into silly Sagittarius, with jolly Jupiter following in hot pursuit, his crapulous bulk shaking Heaven and Earth in the wake of his ghastly passage (eek). Your solar second house comes alive with the light and lust of greed for gold and precious things. You swear there and then to put aside any thoughts of doing good and opt for profit!
Vamping Venus gropes Uranus, the idiot god, and you look to see what funds you have left from your recent dabbling with the Herring Zombie. Marauding Mars angles his appalling projectile at the last soft bit of sober Saturn and you set yourself for professional success such as the world has never seen it before. Your last act is to incinerate the scrubbing brush, just as mischievous Mercury tickles the fancy of narcotic Neptune. You're an insectoid on the rise and nothing will stop you! What horrors lie in wait for those who oppose your will? Click here next time and see! Ave!