Greetings, hideous hircines! Welcome to jaundiced July and the vile and nasty events that pertain thereto. May they bring you all you deserve!
First cab off the rank is marauding Mars, battering his way into vexatious Virgo. You will hie you to the hills, engage in fisticuffs with foreigners, throw exotic food at academics or attempt to batter your way through legal problems by assaulting your rival lawyers.
But what's this! Great giggling gargoyles, if it's not the New Moon in neurotic Cancer, bringing sweet romance or something approximating it to your house of partnership. As your solar eighth house raises up its traditional stygian darkness, there will be passionate encounters, displays of occult power and of course a quick trip amongst the dead in your local necropolis, to keep in touch with departed relatives and a few less savoury figures that were business associates. You and your loved one then set out on a journey to begin a chariot making business in Corinth whilst running a cold water spa for the hardy or the plainly stupid.
However, one of your charioteers manages to run over your foot, doing damage more than somewhat and leaving your loved one to race to the government offices to get the accident insurance paid before you report the nasty upset. After all, there's no point suffering without making a profit from the agony! You soon recover when the cheque arrives and spend your time getting ready for the first day of racing in Corinth. You choose to be a charioteer yourself and have a deal of fun cracking your whip and taking dangerous turns in a risky fashion.
As the great Sol Invicti rolls and crashes drunkenly into lackwit Leo, you engage in debauched orgiastic pursuits as is right and proper for a charioteer. You watch acrobats perform, you make secret plans with fiery radicals, you plan a journey to an interesting foreign land and have several dangerous associates assassinated. After that, you make more secret plans and purchase drugs or exotic clothing to wear to your next party.
As I have entirely lost interest in your useless and futile life, I shall retire to the comfort of my little brown bottle and that lovely silver tube they have here in Heaven. Do click here next time if you wish to read more of this drivel. In the meantime, hail and farewell, my ghastly goatish types!
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