I salute you, virginal types! It's the month of maudlin May and here I am with the poison chalice to hold up to your virginal lips. Eek! How morbid! Oh well! I'll carry on anyway! The venomous fluid lurking therein is a draught of vile and bitter prognostication. And it's all for you, my darling little surface-wipers! Have at you then with all the gruesome and unspeakable debacles that can be made by the insane gods in any given calendar month (this is quite a few as a general rule). Hear the crash and clatter of the wickedly delicious farting of the deities that will determine a cruel and twisted fate as their gaseous clouds of flatulence blow o'er this globe of earth.
Last time, you were deep in werewolf dreaming as you and your pack transformed to præternatural beasts before the startled eyes of those who'd paid to attend your course on this gruesomely attractive subject. And then, at the next Full Moon, you unleashed the bestial fury of your loathsome band upon these willing students. The results were devastating. The surge of fascinated responses from your victims was gratifying! They lay, bandaged, grateful, recuperating and awaiting eagerly the next dose of loony Lady Moon to see if their wounds would bring the desired transformation they had paid so deeply for, in every sense that the word 'payment' can be understood. Many also were quite taken with the fetching way you growled and disported your wolfish locks as your viciously tore out their throats then expertly bound the gaping wounds. Thus, as marauding Mars slithers into snivelling Pisces, you are beset with bandaged suitors, begging a sniff of your hirsute favours. Eek! What gross moral turpitude is this? When you are on a high-minded mission to save a naughty world from machines and bring people back to the path of the wild!
However, as the money rolls into the coffers from those willing to pay for your feral teachings and the gift of this bizarre transmutation, you put such reservations aside. We'll pass over the predictable cosmic rutting of the ghastly planets and simply say that by the New Moon in cloddish Taurus, you have a three-tiered course of werewolf dreaming, involving diet, exercise programs and simple cosmology with the use of ancient esoteric symbols. You're also taking advantage of the attentions of several of the more comely and hygienic students, under the guise of secret walks in the woodlands to gather wild flowers for healing.
As the unspeakable influences of the lunatic Heavens grow stronger, you soon begin dressing in a lupine manner and encourage your students to do the same. You begin 'howling and growling' classes and offer private tuition in the woods, additional fees paying for the special skills you bring to bear. Egad, my tiny virgin types! How resourceful! Several of your favourite students have mystical experiences of transformation under the expert guidance of your personal instruction. Though, of course, this is transformation to another kind of beast altogether than a werewolf.
As the great Sol Invicti titters insanely in loony Gemini, you take to your tree stump podium with increasing confidence. And, great gods alive and dead, it's time for the acid test, my surface-wiping ninnies! Cometh the Full Moon in silly Sagittarius! Cometh the praeternatural pack! As Lady Moon does rise and shine her chill necrotic light upon the howling masses assembled at your mountain retreat, a miraculous thing occurs! By my little brown bottle, it does!
Attend me, tiny nitwits, and I will tell you what it is! Vamping Venus clashes with marauding Mars. Eek! Lugubrious Saturn wrestles with dark Pluto, god of the underworld. Egad! And, as fur grows and saliva flows and the growling starts in earnest, a nightmare vision of the goddess of old rises up from the dark and twisted branches of the forest deeps where you dwell. It almost seems as if the goddess herself has become a wolf in honour of this ghastly night!
Gadzooks, my fiendish virgin things! What will happen to you now? As I'm feeling unwell and cannot continue without the aid of Morphia and the proper dose of her sister, Anaesthesia, I will ask you to return here next month and see if I am conscious once more. If so, I shall commit further morbid ramblings to the page you see before you. Until then, Ave!