- Yikes and double yikes, little virginal nitwits! It’s you there, isn’t it! Thus, by a process of logical deduction, it must be me here. Therefore, if I know this and realize it clearly, my medication levels must be dangerously low. Great gods alive and dead, I shall hie me with all speed along the twisted path of vile and bitter prognostications for awful August. Then shall I flee to the masked figures with tubes and bright needles that open a shining gate to a road beyond the horizon of consciousness! For, lo! I am Asperitus, the oracle of the bitter truth, and you are the anal sons and daughters of the insufferable sign of the Virgin!
Last time, we left you on the verge of another campaign to save the world (gods! What for!), by ridding it of machines in this instance. You were preparing to walk in the ways of Ned Ludd and teach a naughty world to go without the things that go beep in the night and thus return the mass of humankind to a simpler state of existence, should such a thing be possible. We also left you in the care of Perky, a remarkable device of fur, studs, leather and some sensitive gearing that has become a quasi lover, as well as your sole companion and confidante. Not only that, my dear little addlepates, but also Perky’s tender ministrations (and the accompanying sighs, indeed shrieks of ecstatic satisfaction) had attracted curiosity among the populus of the remote village that is your home. This gave rise to a new development with money matters. As mischievous Mercury clashes with idiot Uranus, you’re dealing in a brisk and professional manner with a growing queue of the committed and the newly curious while keeping a whether eye on those parts of Perky inclined to wear.
Jolly Jupiter clashes with underworld Pluto and you begin handing out a flier you’ve written on Luddite thought and practice to those coming down from the euphoria of a recent encounter with the furry one. Two birds with one stone, little nitwits! The great Sol Invicti wrestles with nasty Neptune and you see the virtue of this work behind the scenes for the folk around you seem more amenable to the Luddite cause after a few rounds with said device. Vamping Venus enters neurotic Cancer and a new idea brings a quickening pulse to your maidenly (or manly) bosom. Perhaps there could be more than one Perky! By my little brown bottle, no! There could never be another Perky! But yet, perhaps there could be another of his kind, one or even more.
Great gods alive and dead, little nitwits! That’s it! Marauding Mars enters your insufferable sign and we find you with lumber and saw, hammer and nails, working feverishly from the original plans for your dear one. Come a New Moon in loathsome Leo, you’re dreaming dreams of an army of Perkies, their simple studs, fur and sensitive gearing poised to overturn the vile morass of technological distraction that afflicts the mass of humanity. Ghastly planets fart in the cosmic winds and Pinkie is born! A little sister for the older brother! Great gods alive and dead, break out the organic grape juice and herbal cigars! Slinky seductive Pinkie carries a feminine mystique in comparison to the sprightly masculine qualities of your beloved. Yet, somehow, my tiny nitwits, you find you love them both! And they return your devotion with devoted service!
Mischievous Mercury re-enters loathsome Leo and you’re in spiritual transport, a shared ecstasy of the mutual adoration between you and your erotic devices! The village streets hum with the resonance of deep fulfillment. And yet, generous and humble soul that you are, you know too when the time is come to open the floodgates of local interest in this recent addition to the family. With the nitwit machinations of idiot Uranus and a Full Moon in wretched Pisces, loyalties are soon declared and the relative merits of Pinkie and Perky are the talk of the village.
But, it doesn’t stop there! No, tiny surface-wipers! The winds have carried the news and indeed the sounds of this thriving of nocturnal activity to nearby villages and towns. As vamping Venus conjoins with miserable Saturn, you’re beginning to think of food, accommodation and even parking to service the practical requirements of an endless stream of tourists and locals. The old-fashioned cash register rings loud and long in the Virgin halls! The abacus calculates profit as Pinkie and Perky bring wave after orgasmic wave of dollars to the Virgin coffers! You continue to hand out fliers, employing strapping lads and lasses to ‘person’ the ‘Gutenburg’ style printing press that churns them out in a delightful rustic ‘click-clack’ rhythm.
Will ‘cottage industry’ sex overthrow the evil empire of virtual technocracy? Will this gathering mass of misfits, in-breds and yokels become the first wave of a new Luddite army? Or will you just make a fortune pimping for Pinkie and Perky? Click here next month and see!
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