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Astrology Fulla Rompolicious Stoopid For A Planet Packin’ Big Time Frickin’ Crap

divine astrologer promoting eternal radianceSlide thumbnail

Load Up The Booby Doo

About Moi

About Princess Balestra

There Circleth Wispsa Purest Celestial Vapors

I should prolly tellya I keep a toad under my bed who communes with spiritsa the afterlife, but I am not that kinda astrologer.

What in hell am I supposed to use?  A bird cage or sumthin’?  Or mebbe sum amphibbo-beest-specific plastic ark with like a heater, cos toads need that kinda stuff?

(No, waitaminute, that is chameleons.)

Point is, I would not be happy with that arrangement — an’ this has nuthin’ to do with the noise or the mess or the smell, ya understand.

Gotta think about the toad here, despite her absence close up to my stargazin’ spirit havin’ a potentially detrimental effect on my abilityta mix it up with the celestial vapors for the benefita all hoomanity.

I figure she would be happier hangin’ out in a pond with mebbe a buncha other amphibian pals, like mebbe sum noots or sumthin’?

(Do not ask me how this all works; I am not a frickin’ botanist.)

Anyways, so there is jus’ junk an’ shoes an’ kinda storage stuff under my bed right now.  Defo no toads.

Gotta hope that is how ya wannit, cos, yanno, ya gotta endeavor always to be a good person.

An’ to be honest, I ain’t too sure toads got a handle on the mystical secretsa the heavens anyhow, same as cats.

Want my opinion?

Personally I think summa that stuff was jus’ MADE UP.

Yeah, yeah — buncha frickin’ ugly gals slapped squijosa psychedelic mushrooms on sum broomsticks an’ got off makin’ up stories while they jacked their fanjos big time.

“Let’s have sum cats an’ toads an’ rats servin’ as pretend conduits between the mortal plane an’ celestial undulationsa the planets — kinda like Tamagotchis infused with magica ancient talismans.”

*cackle cackle cackle*

Ha!

I can picture the crazy fuckers in their cave right now, wailin’ away, thinkin’ up stoopid names for their imaginary menagerie.  (It has gotta be a cave, cos if they hung out in a barn or sumthin’, their wild cacklin’ mighta attracted the attentiona suspicious farmhands, an’ that woulda been the enda mysticism as we know it.)

So, yeah, forget the toad.

An’ … uhm … ‘part from that, I would describe myself as jus’ a regular person tryin’ to get ahead  on what is by turns a scary ol’ shitballa a planet an’ divine beauty manifested as dreamojuice makesya wanna lick it up till it pulses outtaya ears withya every heartbeat, all kinda honey dribblysum.

That OK?

My Manifold Talents

(I am bein’ mattera fact here, not hoobristic.)

I love so much how technology has made all kindsa stuff possible. Back in the day, folks hadta scratch out their resumes on dried frickin’ pig flesh, but thanksta science, l’il ol Moi can offerya up a real dinky kinda pseudoinfographic gonna tellya in a flash what a total ditz I am.

Tellya, if Neanderthals had figured shit like this, they woulda invented fire hella quicker.

(Actschly, that is mebbe a little cruel. Gotta figure those guys weren’t as dumb as we make ’em out to be cos Neanderthal is way more sophisticated in termsa linguistic construction than Neandertal — even if it takesya longerta scribble it out on pig flesh. Jus’ sayin’.)

Fallin’ Over 85%
Carbonizin’ Pizza 90%
Lewd Bonhomie 65%
Karmic Zen Particulars 92%
Exotic Dancin’ 76%
Lickin’ Stuff I Love 74%
Crap Hair 72%
Goofin’ Out 72%

I got no immediate plans to become abominable, but weird hairs started sproutin’ in places they shouldn’t so that is mebbe a signal that I am morphin’ into sum nightmare creature from a foul dimension — or mebbe jus’ that I should go buy sum noo tweezers insteada wastin’ alla my cash on coffee tastes like a skunk peed in it.

Why My Dinner Parties Suck

Great Tastin’ Food I Remain Singularly Unable To Frickin’ Cook

Don’t ask me what it is. Prolly I shoulda been stacked up with more shit in Taurus or Cancer, but I do not make up the rules. Even crap like spreadin’ butter on toast all sensible is beyond me, which kinda makes me feel like Spidey — all fulla superpowers, yet at the same time perfectly capablea behavin’ like an imbecile. Do not get me started on jam, marmalade or spray-on rubberwear.

PASTA & JUICY MEATBALLS

“Lumpier than sumthin’ slooshed outta the rear enda the sickest cat ever, Princess Balestra’s take on this classic Italian favorite will haveya gaggin’ likeya jus’ bit the end offa sum slug-infested zucchini.”

MELONS

“What could be simpler than scoopin’ the seeds outta a sliced melon without ’em endin’ up all over the kitchen? Answer: Prolly evrythin’.”

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT THIS IS EVEN CALLED

But I would not want no one rubbin’ it on my back without sum kinda submarine attachment hitched upta my bikini.

Get In Toucho

O Delicious Creature

Gotta remember I spend mucha my days an’ alla my nights stickin’ my scrypipe up the Universe’s ass, lookin’ for clues left behind by Fate’s futuresum phantoms, so I am not guaranteedta respondtaya immediately.

(An’ then there’re Terra Firma complications like alcohol, hair, an’ shavin’ my frickin’ legs.)

But ifya got sumthin’ you wanna ask, or praiseya wanna heap on me till I damn near suffocate, or mebbe ifya want me to write sumthin’ forya — sum stoopid pitch or guest post onya blog — then I will get backtaya, prom.

Jus’ gotta bear in mind summa my ground rules…

* I do not offer personal horoscopes.

* I do not switch on Christmas lights in shoppin’ malls.

* I do not offer advice ’bout what to do in the eventa no Zombie Apocalypse, cos alla that schwango is covered in my handy Astro Guides (available soon).

 

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Slow down, you move too fast.

You gotta make eternity last.

Spinnin' around, out on your own.

Lookin' for fun an' feelin' Ploooty.

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