- What ho, tiny virgins! It is I, Asperitus! Auspex (meaning a maker of auspices) to the anal intensives and haruspex to the harpies and harridans of the irritating virginal type! I am the dispenser of prophetic utterance and the prognosticator of all that is vile and bitter in doleful December and, indeed, any other month you can name!
Last time we left you, it was the strange and perverted tale of virgins who run with the wolves! What will it be this time? A great deal worse would be a fair bet! And so it is! Naturally, darling virginal types, you're concerned by my dilatory ways. I'm late with the forecast! But, it wasn't just yours! It was everybody's for I do like to be fair and equal in my dealings with the odious wheel of animals known as the Zodiac belt. And the truth is, of course, I was so concerned in the matter of your collective fates that I took a higher than usual dosage and overslept. So, for pity's sake, let us get on with it while a measure of the month still remains.
First, I shall fill you in on what has already happened in case there is any uncertainty on your part. It is my experience that few if any of the denizens of planet earth have the slightest idea of what is going on. Mischievous Mercury moved backwards in nasty aspect to miserable Saturn and you felt moved to give up your Luddite quest and make a new home in a wild mountain retreat. But, by all the gods alive and dead, my tiny virgin misfits! There were dreadful deeds done in a fell and awful manner as ghastly planets cavorted in nasty aspect whilst farting in the cosmic winds.
As you were busily disporting yourself like a forest nymph in the wild, secluded hills, tragedy of tragic proportion overtook the Luddite caravan you had recently abandoned. Marauding Mars and vamping Venus conjoined in unseemly fashion and clashed with narcotic Neptune. And so did ruffians, technologically outfitted by the wallets of capitalism, descend on this simple band of travellers with fire and sword and thus smote these good-hearted (but empty-headed) adherents of the old ways. And since you were without your trusty wooden cell phone (the one with the abacus dialing system), you discover this at the coming of an odious New Moon in silly Sagittarius when Lady Moon clasps mischievous Mercury to her heaving, maternal bosom. You espy the smoke of distant fires!
Egad! You are accosted by a messenger bearing news of the outrage. Eek! And, to add to the misfortune, the poor creature, after running all the way in an un-dyed hand sewn cotton smock (with several layers of appalling undergarments) to inform you of this dreadful assault, tragically, in the manner of Phidippides of long ago, collapses and dies on the hillside.
Yikes and double yikes! The Luddite revival is gone up in smoke! Lugubrious Saturn clashes with cranky Chiron and mischievous Mercury moves forward! Ye gods! Is every plan of yours to save the world destined to bring failure, abject misery and despair? In all likelihood, yes! Ah well! How sad! Never mind!
Thus we find you on a hillside, grieving for lost dreams. You have given the deceased messenger a fitting burial and sit, idly stroking the fur of your favourites, as the great Sol Invicti grinds his way into gloomy Capricorn and your solar fifth house. No wonder your lives are such a misery, my tiny virginal twits! What else could they be with the wretched sign of the goat on the cusp of your house of pleasure and romance! Happy Christmas, by the way!
But what's this? By my little brown bottle, it's another bizarre and supernatural thing. First Pinkie, then little Perky nips you playfully, drawing just a tiny smear of blood. At that moment, the Full Moon rises in neurotic Cancer! The pain of the tiny wounds escalates out of all proportion. Your body is awash with fearsome waves of feeling. You look down and fur is growing from your hands and feet!
Aargh! You look up and howl at the Moon! Eek! You fall from bipedal posture to that of snarling quadruped. Great gods alive and dead, little ninnies! Do you know what this means? You're a werewolf!
Marauding Mars clashes with the idiot god, Uranus and you run wild in the hills with Pinkie and Perky at your side, thirsting for blood! And it shall be the blood of capitalists and technocrats for you are a supernatural being and will have revenge on the naughty world that incinerated the incipient Luddite revolution! Click here for the first exciting episode of Lupus Luddite, scourge of technocracy! Gods, I'm feeling ill and must medicate immediately. Farewell!