Greetings, homely spawn of sour sire and truculent dam! Last time we left you betwixt and between. In nasty November, you had set out to find the Crack of Doom and solve the eternal mystery of why undies ride up. However, in diabolical December, you were distracted from this course by a revelation that you were descended from Spanish revolutionary and punk rocker, El Cid Vicious. Thus, you travelled to Hispania to discover your roots.
There we abandoned you, singing to recently discovered but largely unappreciative relatives and anxiously contemplating corn chips from another planet. Where will we find you in jittery January? Let us consult the vile and bitter prognostications that pertain thereto and discover all. Or, at least some! Or, possibly none, leaving us all as ignorant as before, myself of course excepted.
In the meantime, as I'm late with the forecast, we shall recap events from the beginning of the month, more for form's sake than from the conviction that anything of import will have happened to you. As jolly Jupiter and cranky Chiron canoodled obscenely, you will have waddled your way through ghastly domestic situations with hideously opinionated or highly qualified foreign persons. They will have left you to the menial tasks whilst talking loudly and in a grandiose fashion.
As a Full Moon came in neurotic Cancer, you will have cavorted with friends and family, talking over old times and joking about your past campaigns to save the world. Oh how uplifting and, certes, marginally more fun than having an impacted wisdom tooth removed by anal extraction! As vamping Venus slithered into idiot Aquarius, you set yourself to do the thousand and one little jobs that make up the 'wrist-slitting' miasma of daily routine only your sign can think of as useful work. You also dealt with other loonies that favour this sort of behaviour. Together, you probably whistled tunes from Abba Gold as you worked in the time-honoured manner of the indomitable scut, cheerful in the face of interminable drudgery. As mischievous Mercury and the great Sol Invicti met in lewd congress, you began planning your journey of journeys to the Crack of Doom.
Great button-popping panties! You certes are a creature on a fateful path with grim Saturn lurking in the gloomy confines of your solar twelfth house! Ye gods and little fishes! Is there no escaping the heartache and sorrow of a benighted universe ruled by insane gods?
Well, not really, no! The only sane choice is to aspire to the nirvana of sublime irritation and find a sympathetic doctor. Hola, the little brown bottle! Hola, the silver tube! In the meantime, we are back in the present moment. A lamentable thing really but what can one do!
Thus will I prognosticate in a vile and bitter manner to cover the balance of events. Marauding Mars rams his rude bit into the underworld of dark Pluto and you will take a crash course in foreign language and custom or you will be sexually profligate and wanton or you will burn down the domicile due to a mishap with fire. It is, of course, possible that these three things all occur at once. You may have the headphones on while you take an I-pod download in mediaeval Spanish but, due to your extreme sexual arousal, the device shorts out, setting fire to the curtains. It may also simply be that you clean your house furiously from top to bottom, say your goodbyes and set out on the journey that will take you to the Crack of Doom.
Mischievous Mercury moves to idiot Aquarius and you make lists and plan your trip. Marauding Mars moves to grim Capricorn and you embark across the stony hills of some distant land, riding on the back of a mountain goat. Though as vamping Venus lustfully leers at narcotic Neptune, you make regular stops to attend to your personal hygiene with the aromatherapy kit you carry with you. Yet, as a New Moon comes in the sign of the hideous hircine (the goat), you find you must prepare for a buttock clenching ride on your beast as there are wild stony tracks and high peaks to cross before you may even look upon the land that is your destination, the land where lies the Crack of Doom. The great Sol Invicti saunters into idiot Aquarius in a vain and selfish manner and life becomes one long grind of daily routine, saddle, food, toilet, saddle, food, toilet, et cetera, et cetera! As mischievous Mercury engages in illicit congress with cranky Chiron, you find you talk to your goat and psychically hearing his responses. Eek! You're talking to the animals, my little do-much type persons!
And what's this! By crikey! It's a rip-roaring heavenly ruckus as jolly Jupiter impales Uranus, the idiot god, on the prong of his trident. Suddenly, the very air is filled with rushing and roaring as of mighty winds. And on those mighty winds, voices carry.
Gadzooks! What's afoot, my tiny loonies? Or should that be 'what's a-hoof'? For all the air about you is filled with the voices of the beasts. Not only the goat on which you're currently mounted (eek) but also the voices of every other beast within the near and far vicinity!
Great giggling gargoyles and damnable demons! Is this a bestial nightmare or a naturalist's dream? What is this sylvan susurration? Is a new world about to open its doors before you have even come to the Crack? Click here next month and see, my surface-wiping ninnies! In the meantime, hail and farewell!