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Greetings, O my bizarre unbalanced miseries in extravagant trousers with finely tailored buttocks concealed therein! I won't bother to enquire as to how you are, for I know you'll be utterly depressed, wracked by the role of grim responsibility and borne down by a pall of gloom, all because ghastly Saturn has laid his aging bones and knobbly knees hard against the walking shadow of your empty lives by residing in your sign. Erk!
And, though you have the weight of the world on your effete and decadent shoulders, the cosmic horror is not done with for, roiling deep in your solar fourth house lurks dark Pluto, lord of the underworld, spoiling for the crash and bash of rumpy-pumpy with the god of old age, measurement and death. Thus, you'll find you're locked in your room by an older family member (referred to as a parent, I believe), landed with the burdensome responsibility of running the family (ugh) or managing on your own (aargh). Your home may also be invaded by an army of demons from the deepest hell of all the twenty-nine. Heavens to Betsy, my tiny weeping nitwits, what will you do?
Well, I'm glad you asked, as I'm just the vile prognosticator to tell you. You'll entreaty friends to help you cope with these hardships but, sadly, in dastardly December, marauding Mars will turn tail and run backwards in lackwit Leo. Thus, both your friends will have tantrums, go to drama school in Rome, take out their long held frustration by whacking you or by strangling you with that ghastly silk scarf you insist on wearing. A belligerent rival will displace you at the drama club you attend or it will be that no one will invite you to go anywhere or want to see you.
A hideous lunar eclipse on New Year's Eve will put paid to any chance of professional promotion while the road to jittery January 2010 will indeed be tortuous or scored with potholes as the nasty little messenger has his digit on the reverse button (ugh), with tail turned in noxious Capricorn. Egad! Mishaps will assail your domicile as family members witter and whinge, become confused and wander off or don ill-matched night attire. No one will put messages or lists under the properly colour-coordinated magnets on the refrigerator, forcing you to decide (i.e. make up your mind) what you'll purchase when shopping. And, by all the nightmare giggling gargoyles, you'll be so frightened in your demon-haunted abode that purchasing an entirely new set of bed linen, valance and mattress cover included, will be the bottom line necessity (erk).
Great Caesar's ghost, what's this cosmic thunder, O my ghastly ruminative loonies? It's jolly Jupiter, the crapulous lord of fortune, squeezing his corpulent way through the door to the wretched sign of the Fishes, bringing showy or demonstrative foreigners or academics into the workplace or forcing you to go off on an excruciatingly dull training course or a skills upgrade (yawn).
However, there are dark and evil doings to excite you in fractured February. The stench of sulphur, sexual license and corruption draws a demon to your bed for the jolliest rogering you've ever had, all under the auspices of cranky Chiron and narcotic Neptune, clutching and groping in an embrace, both vile and singularly perverse, one that gives a new meaning to intercourse with the nether regions.
As awful April comes and grim Saturn reverses into Virgo, you commute to work on the ferry, employ an abacus for mathematics and count devilish sheep until your demon lover comes again to put you through the agony and ecstasy of this marriage of Heaven and Hell. Mischievous Mercury slips into perverse reverse in tragic Taurus and you slip into the sordid fires of dark passion and insatiable lust. As cranky Chiron drips into wittering Pisces, you plead ill-health in staying home from work and riding hard the peaks of diabolical pleasure. Great gods alive and dead, what will become of you, my trouser-wearing twerps?
Avast, but I'm aghast at the ravening hunger that possesses you, but then the wrack and roll of Heaven itself marks your cosmic cards for doom, further doom and more doom even to follow these earlier doom-laden visitations. Rampaging Uranus, idiot god rattles into addlepate Aries in the merry month of May and you decide to marry your demon lover thus damning your immortal soul like Faustus in the myth, severing old relations and embracing connections infernally new. As jolly Jupiter, the extravagant lord, dances into the sign of the Ram in the wake of idiot Uranus, you summon (eek) a celebrant to perform the ceremony that will leave you with a burning ring (aargh) and a demonic spouse about the house. You move your blood family out, adopt all the haunting demons as your own and prepare for the hellish nuptials.
Egad, gadzooks and other ejaculations that indicate surprise and alarm, it's a pretty pickle you're putting in life's sandwich! Sadly, terminal ennui has overtaken me and I can write no more. Click here in time to discover where this infernal fusing of your spirit with the fires of Hell will lead you, O my ghastly bottom types. For the nonce, it is hail and farewell!
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