Ave, tiny surface-wipers! We left you last time among a clutch of werewolves, at a gruesome gathering presided over by the dark goddess of the forest herself, deep in the mountain fastness of your remote retreat. Eek! How supernatural!
This blood feast had reached fever pitch as a consequence of the recent 'Full Moon' shenanigans where your 'werewolf dreaming' courses were having startlingly successful results with activities of a hirsute and 'throat-tearing' nature. It seemed then that you had found your tribe at last, my winsome woebegones! A blossoming that was seeded long ago with the creation of Pinkie and Perky and the New Luddite movement, though the hand-held machineries of sexual delight have since been consigned to the flames by unbelievers while the two dear ones are now your closest werewolf companions. All that is ancient history and we shall not dwell upon its pleasantries.
Let us instead turn our attention to the month of jaundiced July and the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto. Attend me, nitwit miscreants! For, by all the gods alive and dead, your life is set to change as the seeds of doubt and self-undoing grow inside your fertile bosom and equally fertile mind. On that disturbing note, let us begin!
Mischievous Mercury and vamping Venus slope along like decadents in lackwit Leo and your solar twelfth house, a place of misery and tragic loss. Sigh! And so it is that, as you bandage more and more the very flesh you and your hirsute cronies have damaged, you begin to worry, in the accustomed 'goody-two-shoes' manner. You worry you're not doing a good thing, turning the entire world to werewolves, just to encourage humankind to leave behind the thralldom of machinery and electronics. A laudable motive, yes! But a proper solution! Nay, says the worried mind of the anxious Virgo animal. You look about you at the chaos, with a last bitter thrum of the lust for blood and wild pleasure still in your body and feel the pangs of guilt. Eek! You decide there and then to wrench yourself away from the mayhem and seek the path of purity and humble self-improvement once more. There are simply too many unfortunate body fluids involved in this werewolf dreaming. You elect to spend the money you have made to ferry out your students, send them to healing sanctuaries and so disband this school of mountain madness. Though it leaves you with a pittance, none can accuse you of making off with ill-gotten gains from these praeternatural pursuits.
But shriek and double shriek, my tiny virgin types. It's not going to be that simple, is it! Take the werewolf from the mountain, yes! But the werewolf is still a werewolf. Eek! You have created a beastly race that will propagate at each Full Moon! And you are of that race! As we have come to expect, such grim inner ruminations are brought on by the farting of ghastly planets in the cosmic winds. In this instance, it is grim Saturn himself. Having last month knocked at the door of your solar twelfth house, this grim and ancient devil abrades his passage (so to speak) into lackwit Leo and that selfsame destination. At this very moment, your pangs of guilt become the monstrous and burdensome ache of an entire suffering world, benighted as it is and ruled by insane gods. And yet you take it upon your delicate shoulders. You're overcome, my right-minded little wretches! You make your last arrangements then flee the mountain, wondering how to redress this seemingly irredeemable wrong. But all the time, the ghastly necrotic light of Lady Moon threatens to blaze once more to the Full.
As there are nasty aspects with marauding Mars, you bind yourself so the were-beast within will not be free to roam and prey upon the unwary when Lady Moon shines her light, suitably in miserable Capricorn for a second time. But all the while in those expertly tied knots, you agonize about the other creatures you have let loose upon the world. Having resolved to experiment a little more with the pleasures of bondage when you are not so preoccupied with setting the world to rights, you resolve to face the mission that lies before you. Yes, my little virgin types. You will find a cure for the dread Lupercal.
And, at that moment, the very inspiration you need strikes as mischievous Mercury moves into reverse motion. You recall there is a flower that grows in the high Himalayas. It is named the Mariphasa Lupino Lumino. You read about it in one of those ghastly books in your library on the factual explanation for everything, along with biographies of persons famous for doing useful things and the lives of the saints. Normal people would rather use such writings in the lavatory or to light fires in the wilderness but 'each to their own' as the sages say. Still, idiots say such things as well, so it's often hard to tell the difference. However, I cannot wander off the topic here as we've reached another thrilling climax now that you're about to set out and save the world, reflecting the in-built principles of service native to your sign. Marauding Mars moves to cloddish Taurus and your solar ninth house, clashing with cranky Chiron and lugubrious Saturn. Thus do you decide to set off on a quest to find this legendary flower, bring it back to civilization, cultivate it and so bring its sweet remedy into life till all the werewolves you have created are healed and whole once more.
How laudable! How saintly! And yet how tedious and tiresome! I must rest. Pray don't disturb me until next month when I shall write more of this piffle if sweet anaesthesia gives me the respite and restoration I so truly deserve. Ta! Ta!