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 Asperitus Casting Runes... |
Greetings, my surface-wiping ninnies! Last time we left you on the horns of a dilemma. You and your lover were on a quest to seek the mystic flower (I've forgotten its name and can't be bothered looking it up) that would cure the pair of you of lycanthropy. This, of course, is the werewolf disease that brings a rash of fur, teeth and strangers with torn throats at each Full Moon. However, it's important to note you've devised an enticing bondage ritual that makes the world safe from you at each attack.
Hmm! Having disposed of that fascinating piece of information, we shall resume the recap of your wretched life before I perish from ennui without getting to this month's shenanigans. Shriek and double shriek, my gormless loonies! Just as you were set to step out on your mission to save the world, lo, did the voices of Pinkie and Perky, your werewolf companions and erstwhile lovers, call from the distance. It was certainly a sentimental howling to end the events of jittery January. So what do the vile and bitter prognostications hold for fractious February? Let us consult them and see, tiny whining twerps in well-pressed pantaloons and sensible shoes! Of course, I'm late with the forecast but I will ignore this and suggest you do too. Let it be said though that things are gruesome from the outset. Odious influences cloud the air with unspeakable flatulence as ghastly planets cavort and carry on in a manner no sensitive person would stoop to describe. Suffice it to say, marauding Mars, vamping Venus and a host of other bodies too tedious to name do nasty things that blanket the benighted world in confusion, angst and anger, adding to the confusion, angst and anger that is its constant state. This call of the wild stops you in your tracks, my virginal ninnies. Eek! You're diverted from your purpose, howling back your kinship to the beloveds, calling them to your side. Gadzooks! How can you search out a flower that will destroy them and all their kind? Nay, you say! You will be a werewolf in bondage with your pack and kin for all your days. You deliver an abrupt apology to your lover, take up with your darlings and flee the country (Hull, I think) to seek a new line of work in a new world somewhere. All this is as a Full Moon comes in lackwit Leo. As marauding Mars clatters into nitwit Gemini, you're looking for something new and exciting to do. Thus you take a job driving frozen foods on the Damascus run, amid the troubles of the East. It's serious in Syria. You carry conventional cargo of frozen orange slices, with hidden contraband in the form of catmint cigarettes. Quelle horreur! Dangereux! And herbicidal too! Pinkie and Perky masquerade as faithful pooches, though they are fearsome supernal beasts, as we well know. Sigh! Ye gods and little fishes, it seems this story has gone on forever! Ah, the ennui! The ennui! The great Sol Invicti slithers into damp and nasty Pisces and you find you mix with low and mysterious types that go about armed, curse loudly and smoke more catmint than is good for anyone to do. At first, you enjoy this new, exotic life whilst living in your truck. Eek! How hardy! However, as mischievous Mercury clashes with dark Pluto, underworld god, a magnetic individual that deals in illicit growing of catmint offers you a home to rest your aching bones between the long and grueling road trips to Damascus. It's an old mansion in a distant mountain range that is the backbone of a tiny principality about which little is known. As yet! A deal is made by handshake (a common form of agreement with catmint dealers and growers) and you set out to settle in your new residence, aching for a rest to soothe your weariness away. But, as a New Moon snivels in wretched Pisces, you travel toward this mysterious location with growing unease. Mists gather! Pinkie and Perky growl uneasily! You steady them with a comforting hand but strangers prowl the roadsides of tiny villages that are barely visible in the mist until you flash by. Suddenly, the looming mountains rise up from the distance to confront you and you espy the dark and mysterious mansion you are to occupy, nestling in their shadow. By my sainted aunt, what is to occur in this next chapter of your misbegotten lives? Click here next month and find out. For the nonce, hail and farewell, my anal intensives! |
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