What ho, my airhead loonies! Welcome to the month of manic May! Welcome to another dose of prognostications, vile and bitter, from the doctor of doom, Asperitus! That's me, by the way! Open wide your ghastly gobs then shut them tight, swallowing the foul and the fair in less than equal measure!
We begin, naturally, with the foul as mischievous Mercury clatters into lunatic Gemini and gropes the aging bones of ancient Saturn. You instanter develop writer's block, have your credit card frozen and lend your recreational bike to an occultist who rides off and doesn't bring it back. As grim Saturn moves forward, your publisher sends a letter of demand for your unfinished work, your financial provider sends a letter of demand for the unpaid bill and the occultist rings, offering a reading so you can find out what's happened to your stolen bike.
Narcotic Neptune commits a gross obscenity with the Loony Nodes while the New Moon comes in cloddish Taurus and you decide you're bored with your life where you are and will move elsewhere to see if you can make a fortune in a foreign land. You lease a ruined temple in the wilds of Mexico and scurry to catch your plane. As marauding Mars barrels bumptiously into lackwit Leo, two staff from the KNEECAP BROTHERS – FINANCIAL CONSULTANTS take the flight right after you, hoping to catch up and discuss your debts. As the great Sol Invicti and vamping Venus engage in a passage (eek) of obscene behaviour with narcotic Neptune, cranky Chiron and the Loony Nodes, you arrive at the temple in an eagle costume, pretending to be a lunatic, a conceit that doesn't stretch the locals (or indeed the rest of us) too much.
Due to the Full Moon in evil Scorpio and the bellicose arrival of the great Sol Invicti into nitwit Gemini, you once again become Cloud Eagle and perch on the temple walls, making prophetic pronouncements to the rising and setting Sun in the hope that passing strangers will be astounded and give you large amounts of money. Sadly, the locals ignore you (because they think you're a loony) and few travellers come this way as the area is very remote. Thus, as mischievous Mercury gropes Uranus, the idiot god, fiscal prospects look more than somewhat depressing.
However, as two large and obviously psychotic figures arrive at your walls, demanding dosh instanter, the prospects suddenly take a positively fatal turn. The mountainous money-lenders gird their fists with iron and advance on your eyrie, threatening to do nasty things with your pin feathers, just as a warm-up.
Ye gods and little fishes, my tiny airheads, what will you do? As I'm ill with excruciating ennui and terminal boredom, you'll have to come back next time and so discover. In the meantime, hail and farewell, O tiny turnips!
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