What ho, boofheads! It has been some time since you heard from me. This lapse (I missed awful April entirely) was due to a hideous bout of ennui that I was forced to endure without proper medication, as my little brown bottle had run dry (eek). But, by the bones of the mad god, I have now refurbished my utensil, recovered from my indisposition and am ready to prognosticate, in the accustomed vile and bitter manner, on the ghastly fate awaiting you.
Yet, after a brief examination of my accoutrements (a thing I do on a daily basis), the fifth knot in my handkerchief is looking rather limp, indicating we are well advanced along the shadowy corridors of malevolent May. Thus, I shall fill you in on recent events before we put the dread cup to your lips. There was a nasty Full Moon in evil Scorpio during which you would have had a surfeit of erotica or argued incessantly over money with persons that were too close for comfort. After that, a ghastly alchemy from the mischievous Mercury, the great Sol Invicti and grim Saturn would have cast a pall of gloom over bullish manse. In an added extra, vamping Venus gorged herself on the lustful attentions of dark Pluto, god of the underworld, increasing your erotic compulsion and adding to your financial woes. As jolly Jupiter cavorted with Uranus, idiot god, you will have become entangled with a 'get rich quick' scheme, devised by a lunatic friend and now stand to lose the little you have left. Vamping Venus slithered into slimy Cancer and you will have strolled the streets with that cow-eyed pathetic look, hoping that passing strangers would be nice and give you food or money. However, as mischievous Mercury groped the nether regions of narcotic Neptune, you will have lost your job, been shunned by all right-minded persons and become very confused about Sweden or your career prospects. As mischievous Mercury (a busy little bee, ain't he) skittered into supple but perverted Gemini, we find you wandering the town, muttering about money, as we return to the present moment.
Pin back your ears, my loathsome bovine twits. For they shall be assailed by the thresh and flail of the vile and bitters, as delivered by moi, Asperitus, the awful auspex! And what's this? Great gods alive and dead, it's a dread-filled horror, launching us into the deepest of the twenty nine hells. Marauding Mars (eek) sticks his rude bit in the nether regions of dark Pluto (ugh) and then batters his belligerent way into the fires of addlepate Aries (aargh).
By my sainted aunt! That's another fine mess the insane gods have got us into! It'll be fisticuffs, firearms, flatulence and rude words for weeks! You just see if it's not, my cloddish loonies! Instanter, persons passing you in the streets turn on you and hurl objects blunt and sharp in your general direction whilst also hurling epithets of an insulting and derogatory nature. The very air resounds with cries of 'fatty', 'brainless' and 'no neck'! And, to make matters worse, a ghastly New Moon comes in your sign with nasty aspects to grim Saturn and narcotic Neptune.
Thus, you suffer a crisis of confidence and run off to live on a vacant block where you dwell in a discarded carton, once used to purvey 'weight loss' pills to a public with more money than sense. You may wish to note that, in most instances, very little money is required to fulfil this formula. After a great deal of huffing and puffing of a lascivious nature between mischievous Mercury and the Loony Nodes, the great Sol Invicti then clatters drunkenly into nitwit Gemini and you count up the last coppers you have to your name, trying to decide whether to buy chips, chocolate or a bottle of fizzy drink.
But then, my tiny turnips, a most fabulous reversal occurs, just as mischievous Mercury slips a quick one into dark Pluto. Your lunatic friend phones you up (in your carton), telling you that the 'get rich quick' scheme has actually got you both very rich. Odds bodkins! Now there's an unexpected thing! A plan of yours that worked!
As the busy messenger slithers into slimy Cancer, you buy a sea green car to transport you from your carton to a new mansion. You also buy a variety of soft toys with peculiar electronic gadgets in them that no decent person would discuss in public. And, of course, you purchase an entire 'fast food' outlet for your personal use. You hire a secretary to write nasty letters to everyone that ever criticised you for being a 'thick-o failure' and lie back upon an aquamarine couch, dreaming of being someone important so you'll never have to pay for sex again, just as jolly Jupiter has illicit concourse with Uranus, idiot god.
Well, my darling twits! It seems that everything goes well for the nonce. But will marauding Mars leap from his hiding place to scorch your bullish buttocks when you least expect it? Click here next time to read a tragic tale of barbecued steak. Ave, boofheads!
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