<span class="sdata" title="13"></span> <span class="sdata" title="11, 2017"></span>

5 Reasons Why Noo Millennial Astrology Differs From Owd (Mostly Wooden) Historical Shit

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-13T13:11:04+00:00"></span> |Astro Narrative Rompo, Cosmic Roolz, Illusion, Imaginary Friends, Millennial Shitz, Relationships, Savin' The Cosmos|0 Comments

5 REASONS WHY NOO MILLENNIAL ASTROLOGY DIFFERS FROM OWD (MOSTLY WOODEN) HISTORICAL SHIT

As hoomanity cruises toward 2018, Noo Millennial Astrology stands poised to outstrip its Zeroth to 20th Century sisters in termsa popularity, application & plain ol’ fun.

Tbh, it stands so poised, it is practically layin’ splooshied out on sum polychromatic fuckin’ Yoga mat.

Even the habitually facts-oriented New York Post started runnin’ astrology articles to boost sales.

In their latest offerin’ — “Millennials Are Ditching Religion For Astrology” — they suggest how Western spirityool hipsters’re prolly way more gullible than their Chinese counterparts when it comes to stargazy stuffs cos they got Sil Valley-powered tech delivers ‘em astrology as an app & way more cultural an’ sekshoal diversity makes ‘em intrinsically stoopider than previous generations (though to be fair, the NYP did not offer no tacky starsign keyfobs as free gifts to lure the more practically airheaded Millennials along for the ride).

(2018 Update — The Guardian rolls along also on another fine pre-emptive scoop.)

Question I got as a Millennial astrologer person is what can we all mebbe expect from the unfoldin’ centuries in termsa life-enhancin’ astrology action compared to the thousand years jus’ plunged offa history’s cliff face in a swirlin’ clouda Vikings, Rennayssance art an’ vibratin’ dildos?

Cos it is not like the planets’re gowin’ anyplace beyond the Milky Way anytime soon — less’n hoomanity fucks on the Solar System like it has fucked on most places down here on Terrorized Firma’s ‘sweet virgin ravaged hard in the ass’ environment … an’ pitches the whole planetary dance troupe into Oblivion.

Gotta figure Venus an’ Joopiter gonna spin on an’ kiss up once in a while, jus’ like always — dootifully accompanied by Mars an’ Neptoon an’ Plooto an’ alla their globesy galaxy-stuffs pals.

So … as the Noo Millennium leaves the startin’ block behind an’ stomps headlong into the fyooture, gotta ask … what is gonna happen different?

You Planning On Telling Us Any Time Soon, O Princess? We New Millennium Millennials Lead Astonishingly Busy Lives And We Have No Desire To Inadvertently Court Costly Stress Reduction Therapy Sessions Just Because Your Ramblings Distracted Us From Our Hourly LOLcat Share Fix And We Freaked The Fuck Out.

K, so here is your lame LOLcat.

hairtrigger tigger LOLcat pisses astrology millennials

Satisfied?

Point is, you gotta remember how astrology originally got formulated an’ disseminated back before there weren’t no science to say ASTROLOGY AIN’T FUCKIN’ SCIENCE, GODDAMIT!!!

Tbh, those early astrologers had no clue whether they was predictive geniuses or merely deluded imbeciles in a world packin’ even dumber goobers.

See, cos prolly mosta the truthseekers queuing up outside the star-emblazoned tents an’ wagons centera evry backwater hamlet could read an’ write less good than the weevils crawlin’ around in their fuckin’ pants.

Result?

Any astrologers smiled sweet enough & mebbe had a cat or toad to pet, they could prolly get away with sayin’ anythin’ an’ pass it off as prediction.

Here is mebbe one such scenario…

ASTROLOGER — I sense fortune ahead, maybe even langoustines.

WEEVIL-INFESTED, CRETINOUS LOWLIFE PACKIN’ BENT GROAT — Gee, that’s so swell! But what exactly is a langoustine?

ASTROLOGER (Aside, To Where Hidden Camera Gonna Be In Like 1100 Years) — Hahaha, stoopid frickin’ ditzbrain! How easily do I rob this buffoon of his moolah in exchange for wanton improvisation on a roll!

WEEVIL-INFESTED, CRETINOUS LOWLIFE PACKIN’ BENT GROAT —Hey, I heard that! Plus I’m a GOIL BUFFOON, you impertinent shitbag!

See, back then in the Owd (Mostly Wooden) Millennium, astrology was real easy.

Tellya, I am super envious ‘bout any stargazy types prior to 1781 cos even WAY SMART SCIENCE got no clue ‘bout Uranus, Neptoon or Plooto up till that point — meanin’ dishin’ out natal charts was way less effort, the fuckin’ slackers.

Time was when all astrologers gotta do was eyeball the Moon for a few secs … an’ they could write out Forthcominge Hooman Historye till 4789.

Today’s astrologers gotta factor alla these noocomer planetary babies into their astro analyses — along with a whole buncha peripheral moons, nodes & miscellaneous schwango.

Do We Detect The Subtlest Hint Of Petulant Rage Bubbling From Deep Within, O Princess?

Tbh, prolly I would not care ‘bout the slacker natal chart deal if’n yesterday’s astrologers didn’t also got zero stylist an’ administration ishoos cozza their total lacka hairdryers an’ need for any kinda organization requires binge-watchin’ sum frickin’ Netflix show.

Aw, but hey — like I promised starta this article, the noo astrological Millennium we all kickstartin’ rn got way more potential than the one began with Jesus an’ a calendar finally kinda gowin’ sumplace positive.

You want my top five reasons for makin’ this proclamation?

K, so here they are…

1) Noo Millennial Astrology Gonna Kiss Way Sweeter On PEOPLE

Coolest deal ‘bout astrology is how it arises from people ‘steada planets.

Remove alla the people from the world in mebbe a Trump vs Kimmee The Nooker Infant-out Scenario, an’ alla the planets’ backstory disappears alongside the predictive potentialities inherent in their sweet, sweet dance.

I dunno, mebbe sum weird noots gonna survive any ‘nook or asteroid or zombies’ Apocalypse moseys along, butchya gotta figure they ain’t gonna be too intrested in Mercury gowin’ retrograde or no kinda waxin’ moons.

An’ what in hell would a Leo noot look like anyways?

Scaly amphibian mother hangs out in a pond got fuck all courageous feline attributes far as I can see — less’n they got a buncha wigs an’ costooms down there so’s they can put on an annual Broadway-style show for alla the other scaly amphibian mothers beached in the mud.

Gotta figure, despite all the croolty an’ brutality an’ discrimination we toleratin’in the world rn, that hooman peoples’re becomin’ more peopler an’ soulful — an’ the artsy, heartsy approach astrology offers by waya delish narrative an’ story stuffs touchin’ sweet on feelo prolly gonna help us all along way better than bein’ chained to the stiflin’, po-faced visiona what contistooted a person for most centuries the Owd (Mostly Wooden) Millennium packed (an’ you can read more ‘bout those lame fuckers in my Sagittarian Firepower post jus’ here).

That is a neato advance, even if nowan don’t actschwlly believe in astrology.

Baseline, a casyool conversation ‘bout what it is to be a TAURUS (for example) could figure as a call to action for sumthin’ more substantial an’ life-changin’.

SAGITTARIUS — So … you’re a Taurus, huh?

TAURUS — Yeah, I guess.

SAGITTARIUS — Prolly that is why you’re stacking the cellulite like a vampire prowls the night hungry for blood.

TAURUS — You suggesting I go see my doctor for a health check?

SAGITTARIUS — I’m suggesting you lose the skin-tight joggers before I wince myself to death.

2) Noo Millennial Astrology Gonna Keep The Sex Hormone Suckin’ Aliens At Bay

Was a time when we figured alla the Aztec an’ Ancient Egyptian architecture was downta mysterious aliens stayed awhile before equally mysteriously fuckin’ off.

Personally, I do not buy that story bcs Wal-Mart.

When discount meets quality with such pro-creatively synthesised finesse, gotta figure any bug-eyed aliens packin’ warp-powered spacecraft an’ pyramid-constructin’ smarts gonna head back down on us for frozen dinners in bulk.

But I been wrong before — a frank admission, I guess, seein’ as how I graduated from Astrology School maxin’ out on predictive credentials bestowed by Mother Cosmosis herself … an’ said skillset is my only passage to a life drenched in Vodka — an’ I would wanna hope that if aliens DID build alla that shit … an’ they ARE comin’ back sumtime soon … they gonna be mighty impressed with how we leveled up their past achievements all nouveau un-crapopla ASTRO.

Keepin’ aliens happy is the same deal as makin’ out real swell in college, job, relationship or fam — if a major leagues Significant Other lovesya, they way less likely to rip offya head, let alone strapya to a weirdsy experimentation table an’ drainya sex hormones out through a hi-tech frickin’ syringe.

Tellya, those aliens gonna look at we Noo Millennial Astrology types an’ say, “how rewarding it is to discover a fundamentally cerebrally challenged race of creatures so creatively dismissive of the truth about their extra-terrestrial origins that they prefer to countenance a romance-stuffed reality based less on bug-eyed ubersavants such as ourselves and more on the exploits of imaginary beings like horse-people packing missile weapons and fish-tailed goats whose permanently dour expressions defy what is anatomically possible from a FACE.”

3) Noodles

This is nuthin’ related to anythin’ much btw — but I reached the point in my writin’ where I gotta go fill up on noodles.

It is a cool strategy works for most stuffs, from caressin’ my regular Monthly Horoscopes into fully erect monolithsa Foretellismo to offerin’ astro insights on “double the drivel” Twitter.

I dunno, there is sumthin’ comfortin ‘bout havin’ a bowla noodles next to my keyboard I can kinda dip in on as I leap from line to paragraph like an enthoosiastic puppy chasin’ astrology’s balls.

An’ mebbe we got an analogy here with how Noo Millennial Astrology gonna work out.

At heart, astrology got structure — a real formal architecture with which it is possible to sublimely fuck.

Prolly back in the day, structure was rolled out more or less straight — I am a prescient harridan in a sparkly cape and you are a spiderweb of uncertainty … so what say I fix up the rest of your life in exchange for moolah and kudos? — but now we can swooshie the architecture around an’ kinda multitask so’s a new blenda prediction delivery can roll all hip an’ swankospanko outta astrology’s juicy vestibule.

I don’t wanna get diverted by no fledglin’ noodlemancy here, but I figure the options we all generated for ourselves as we clambered our way through the Owd (Mostly Wooden) Millennium gotta reflect back to their pointsa historical origin an’ evolve our methodologies sum.

(I jus’ seen a noodle ducky hangin’ offa my chopsticks btw — but in a 1-to-1 consultation, coulda been a metaphorical noose spells big trouble for a payin’ Cancer worrypants.)

More people in the world, more interactions, more stuffs, more waysa bein’ a person got pride — gotta figure alla these evolutions on the themea WHAT WE ALL KINDA ARE & DO gonna feed back into the same ol’ pussycats an’ scorpions an’ balancin’ scales with ever brighter proto-narrative verve.

Ha! Either it gonna be like THAT … or hoomankind chooses to get WAY STUCK bustin’ out on lamestuffs gowin’ noplace.

(That las’ observation was inspired by sum noodle ain’t cooked proper & all globbied together, btw. Jus’ gotta take a pee now before returning to the troo astrological fray for Part 4.)

4) Noo Millennial Astrology Gonna Gush Deeper Into The Wellspringa Life

Prolly back in the day, mysticism manifested merely as a trickle.

It is troo people prolly were more receptive to ideas ‘bout demonic possession an’ shit, but most times all they done was lead tragically miserable lives from which any kinda story but DEATH FAMINE DEATH FAMINE LOUSY UNDERWEAR DEATH FAMINE was real absent.

But today’s stories got more space to flourish on out an’ grow pools an’ oceans fulla supermutable possibility cos they more like a torrent than a trickle.

An’ I guess the deal is … when liquids flow on out an’ re-blend, creative conflux is inevitable.

We prolly only startin’ to see how personal mythology fluxed out on ever-adaptin’ astrology gonna enrich us.

Flipside, gotta wonder what benefits gonna accrue if’n astrology were taken outta the mix.

Tellya, if those Uranus-free Owd-time astrologers turned on the predictive & illustrative faucet way back, the Noo Millennial Astrologers we got springin’ up evryplace from Tumblr to Kickstarter-funded, star-emblazoned tents pitched up in the mall jus’ pulled out the frickin’ hosepipe an’ made with the unrestrained squirtin’.

From brief lives fulla toil came wondrous stories — narrative whirlpools gonna repurpose ‘emselves as waterfalls as life’s wellspring demands sweeter succor.

Plus also … yeah, I peed down my leg ‘fore’n I reached the john.

Prolly next blaaahg post I should leave out the Chai tea an’ strap a bucket to my fuckin’ fanj, I dunno…

5) Noo Millennial Astrology Gonna Inform The Cyborg Revolootion

We all know how the robots’re comin’ — but I would wanna wish always that we ain’t stoopid enough to build faux-persons replace actschwl people.

It is more than jus’ wonderin’ what sum folks gonna do once the expertise firin’ up their livelihoods is taken off ‘em by sum crappy plastic AI-driven slave — an’ I am thinkin’ here ‘bout a loser fyooture where spirityooly alienated persons gotta spend quality bar hangout time with manufactured dinkiness got no IRL brains or heart.

But I figure that kinda Bladerunner 2049 scenario ain’t gonna happen.

That kinda invention an’ convenience may ease us along sumplace cool — like electric toothbrushes are way better than their predecessors, ‘specially ifya need a cheap thrill — butchya gotta figure we are essentially pleasure seekers at heart, an’ without payoff proffers heart up front, seems a barren kinda deal to Moi.

But, listen, we got astrology for cats, right?

An’ dogs an’ hamsters an’ iguanas an’ … the whole damn menagerie.

Gotta figure nouveau body parts is already here — noo hips for old folks got way too athletic in the bendy bumsex sack back in the day, hot noo teeth don’t makeya look like a frickin’ horse, noo heart so’s you can party big time without bein’ labeled a corpse — an’ alla this stuff eventually gonna tech on out all cyborg.

That means … Capricornian synthetic digestive tract for stricto dieters … Cancerian 11th finger for emo guitar players … Taurean 3-speed dick for mebbe Mondays (an’ a 10-speed leather-feel option for the weekend links all supersynapse with same partsa the brain recognise DONUTS as YUMMO).

Tellya, I get noo enhanced body parts when I am 167, I wanna call out their starsign.

Like always, I wanna mix an’ match alla my stuffs for maxo compatibility.

Gotta figure Libran musical boobies gonna perform way different to Scorpio musical boobies — an’ that is beforeya even consider astro-cyborg compatibility match-up potential.

“I so love my Gemini Wit-o-Tonguetm — but it conflicts real uncomfortable with my Poopomatictm Sagittarian asshole flaps.”

“The levitation facility on my Pisces Neptu-tootsietm feet is real cool for buzzin’ around the place, but when I am getting fucked with my legs wrapped behind my head, they throw the circuits in my Virgo UltraDistinguishalyzertm eyeballs an’ my guy shoots off too quick cos he thinks I am cummin’”

“So, yeah, I got me one of those 10-speed Taurean BullyThrustotm cyberdicks, but its inherently beautiful curves simply don’t segue to stylistic perfection with the glass spikes jutting from my PerinealBlitzkriegtm Aquarius ballbag.”

Tellya, if’n the fyooture gonna feature enhanced hoomans bustin’ out on a cyborg ticket, I wanna see astrology-friendly marketin’ strategies — or I ain’t buyin’.

Noo Millennial Astrology — A Minxydizy Astrologer Person’s Expert Summary

Point is, we got sum real important dialogs happnin’ now between generations — more IRL an’ interactive than anyone from any fyooture got touch on what went down centuries past.

Trads, Boomers, Gen X, Millennials, Gen Y, Centennials, Pan-epoch Wankotwazzlers — we all cohabit the current hooman polyblendo, an’ we all breathe stories in & pump ‘em out.

Mebbe our myootyool journey has delivered us to a real flooid point we OK bein’ happy ‘bout — a less fixed perspective than the trad Trad POV, but one pulsin’ out on its own kinda rhythm & roolz.

An’ in this swirla hooman story, gotta figure Leo still gonna be Leo — proudly archetypal kittypops — but her adventures mebbe gonna play out different from way back when her fiercely courageous POV was less ‘bout throwin’ on a pussy hat & more about screamin’ for the right to have a say in the first fuckin’ place.

Prolly sum people figure astrology is loopydoops fantasypants, but it is precisely cozza the imaginary narrative realm over which it holds sway that its intrinsic formality forever discovers excitin’ noo ways to manifest.

Mebbe I will expand on this theme another time (when the planets scowl down upon Moi & say FFS we are so excitingly multimanifestular, we’re quitting the astrology wheelhouse an’ forging ahead as venture capitalists hooked on porn), but for now, be bright & beautiful bunnies to one another asya bibbidy boop your way through the unfoldin’ celestial panorama.

You lose your way, I am always here — closer to your spirityool side than a faithful dog lickin’ on its owner’s face cos it jus’ bit the end offa its own dick — an’ you can come check my Monthly Horoscopes any time … along with Twitter, Tumblr, Medium an’ Buzzfeed (link pendin’).

“Gonna make fertile soil, gotta shit outta more’n one asshole.”

Title Image c/o Coyot @Pixabay

Delishest LOLcat Evah c/o Ian Robinson … also @ Pixabay

Spread the love, slip in the bookmark, mix up the linky.

<span class="sdata" title="9"></span> <span class="sdata" title="10, 2017"></span>

Joopiter In Scorpio, 2017

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-10-10T15:23:12+00:00"></span> |Death, Love, Mother Cosmosis, Motivation, Savin' The Cosmos, Scorpio|0 Comments

WHAT JOOPITER IN SCORPIO 2017 MEANS FOR EVRYONE

Let’s talk Joopiter in Scorpio.

Cos, hey — this is the way it’s gonna be from October 10th till next frickin’ November, an’ I would not wanna thinka nowan skimpin’ on the necessary leatherwear.

Thing is, summa you astro-sensitive types prolly felt this moment comin’ weeks ago.

Joopiter’s ride through Libra has mebbe not fixed up the harmony evryone imagined, an’ now the diplomats’re done with tryin’ to make shit sweeter, gotta figure it is time for the CUNTS.

Want shit fixin’?

Holler for Scorpio!

If’n she likesya, she gonna fix shit till what went before makesya gag with regret evry timeya thinka it!

(Course, if’n she don’t likeya, she gonna fix shit HER way. Those are the frickin’ rules.)

Plenty Scorpio action is linin’ up to happen … Sun, Mercury, Venus … but right now, we gotta muse sum on the clarion call to arms from Mother Cosmosis’ most exooberant red-eyed monster.

See, cos Joopiter in Scorpio is kinda … weirdsy.

Precisely HOW Weirdsy, O Princess, Is The Jupiter In Scorpio Deal Of Which You Speak?

“Real fuckin’”, Sweetie.

An’ why so?

Main deal is how Scorpio derives alla her darkly illoominatin’ mojo from Plooto an’ operates in the shadows (typically clad as a gothwraith specterdemon clutchin’ a switchblade) whereas Joopiter dishes his optimistic Nirvanalight an’ cheery bonhomie all kinda fluorescent cumshot over rompy stompy Sagittarius’ brazenly bared buttcheeks … as Nicki Minaj blareth maxo volume from a speaker stack taller’n a frickin’ skyscraper.

Tellya, when Joopiter an’ Scorpio link up as unlikely bedfellows, I would not wanna be the bed.

So we gotta think hard how we gonna derive astro benefit from the onslaught this union gonna bring.

For sure, there gonna be optimism an’ expansion, an’ for sure there gonna be Scorpionic drilldown an’ fixup — but it ain’t gonna feel anyways sweet as no kinda Pisces dissolvin’ in Neptoon scenario … nor even Taurus bumblin’ through Mars in searcha the perfect cupcake.

tbh, the vision first presented itself to Moi was a BIG BALL FULLA JOOPITER smackin’ up against a WEENY BLACK HOLE FULLA VACUOUS SCORPIO … an’ kinda squeezin’ itself insde sumhow.

Monster gas clouds shear offa the Jovian Plusso-Orb as it judders its way into the Abyss, an’ as it descends into the infinite darkness, singin’ away like evry boy bandya ever heard tossed in a blender, Joopiter is squeezed harder an’ harder … an’ crushed smaller an’ smaller … till he is mebbe like THE PEA TRANSFORMED THE PRINCESS INTO A BLEARY-EYED INSOMNIAC, all kinda spinnin’ in the void.

But then I figured this vision got too many sexshoal connotations — so I pulled out my Bethany Wiccasplatz Everscry Crystal Ball an’ called up Mother Cosmosis for advice.

Only she was on a date

Nightmare Scenario! As An Astrologer Of Considerable Renown, That Must Have Been Like The Fortune Telling Equivalent Of Walking In On Your Parents Having Sex With Your Boss And A Random Belly Dancer!

Tell me ‘bout it.

Thing is, Mother Cosmosis is nuthin’ if not polite, an’ the first thing she said after Fuck! Shit! Bastard! was … Shoot!

“What is an appropriate image,” I began, “for explainin’ to my blog readers what the Joopiter in Scorpio vibe gonna bring an’ how they can roll with the weirdsy energies without gowin’ loopzoid?”

“Princess. How sweet of you to call. Right now.”

(At this point, I heard whisperin’, an’ sumthin’ shufflin’ around. Guess at the time I figured it was her cat. Best I can do on the Scorpio deduction front, it seems.)

“In all fairness, it’s not easy to say,” MC continued. “As most astrologers and their devotees are aware, Jupiter’s energies favor expansive ideals in the open whereas Scorpio’s methods favor consolidating practicalities deep within, and these two forces are not easy to reconcile. Have you been visited yet by a vision?

“Yeah. But it was all kinda vibratin’ chocolate egg upya cunny, an’ I figured mebbe I needed sumthin’ smarter.”

“As a metaphor goes, your vision is very much along the right lines,” said MC. “Scorpio does indeed derive much of her power from sexual energies, and a vibrating chocolate egg is the epitome of jovian sentiment, but I believe you would strike the wrong balance between the planetary and the zodiacal by suggesting that the former be consumed by the latter. In addition, reference to a vagina might alienate some members of your audience who might better identify with alternative … Scorpio-themed insertion channels.”

“So what we gonna do?”

“Like I taught you on the very first day we met at Astrology School, you must remember that the PLANET rules the STAR SIGN — and not the other way round. Think of the Solar System like a giant celestial theme park where a dozen select children take it in turns to try all the rides. Each ride is different, and the children have their own preferences also. Sometimes, children —”

“Can I stopya there? Gotta figure mosta my blog readers’re matyoor adults, an’ they mebbe ain’t gonna take kindly to no kid stuff. I don’t wanna patronize ‘em.”

Mother Cosmosis sighed. “The problem with adults let loose in theme parks is that they often show up inebriated and throw up all over the rides. Neptune and Venus can bear the stains, but it’s murder cleaning vomit off Saturn’s rings.”

“Point taken”

“My main argument is that whoever takes rides on all the various planets isn’t necessarily happy with them all, and in the case of Scorpio strapping herself in for a roller coaster ride atop Jupiter — vibrating chocolate egg teasing away at her intimate parts or no — you must bear in mind how this will feel to her.”

“The egg or the ride?” (Wish I’d selfied my grin there.)

“Both. This Jupiter/Saturn period from now until next November is both experience-as-is and memory-to-be — and Scorpio feels both intensely. Any changes taking place now will become part of her personal narrative forever, so we must consider closely what they will be. Might I suggest that you imagine you are at heart an intensely secretive person … truly protective of the things you hold dear because your keen senses have demonstrated, over and over, how life is so much more dangerous than others perceive or believe … and now you must be exposed to the full glare of the world as you are lofted high into the clouds and plummeted deep into the faux Abyss on rails of shimmering steel — as the camera catches your deepest fears as a commemorative photo … or mug … or T Shirt … or (in its Jovian exuberance) showcases the entire ride live on your every social media outlet … beams images and screams to the phones of all your friends … and enemies—”

“K, I get it.”

“Does that give you enough to help you out there with your blog? I’m … rather busy at the moment.”

(This is when the penny dropped for Moi on the date deal. I figured I heard the cat again, but it was sum gal’s voice whisperin’ please can we order the sweet course? I really wanna go back to our room and lick you into submission jelly. Plus, the clouds parted in my crystal ball an’ I beheld an unfamiliar cleavage.)

“You fuckin’ sumone?” I said.

“That is perhaps not the best way to sum up the Jupiter in Scorpio dilemma,” replied MC, “even though — bizarrely — it is.”

Tellya, a glowa pride oozed right offa me at that point like a shivera pure horror.

Coolest part?

As my Wiccasplatz crystal ball powered down the celestial vapors, I swear I heard Mother Cosmosis mention sumthin’ about takin’ chocolate eggs upstairs to our room in a carry out…

So, What Should We Expect From This Jupiter In Scorpio Period, O Princess?

For sure it is gonna depend onya individyool star sign — an’ I will mebbe cover developments as they unfold over in my regular Monthly Horoscopes, my occasional Tumblr Frippery Blaaahg, my actyool OFFICIAL Prinno B Blaaahg, or fuckin’ Twitter — but for now, gotta think how Joopiter gonna crank up the Scorpio vibe.

Joopiter MAKES BIGGER an’ MULTIPLIES.

He EXAGGERATES, ADDS ON an’ GROWS OUT.

For signs got more immediate affinity with this kinda exposure — Aries, Sagittarius — result is an obnoxiously IYF fuckin’ bloodbath.

For Scorpio, alla this rompolicious growth gonna happen behind the scenes.

Gotta figure this comin’ period till November 2018 gonna witness plenty unseen subterfuge as the Underworld expands its horizons.

This mean evil gonna be unleashed an’ devils come bustin’ outta the faucet whileya are peelin’ avocadoes in a snowflake haze?

Mebbe — butchya gotta figure the risk is there for that kinda shit always.

rn, prolly evryone gonna wake up slowly to WHAT IS ACTSCHLY IMPORTANT. To them.

You mebbe had glimmers, hunches, clues — but now there gonna be no escape.

Scorpio realization is manacles — either the “if necessary” or “FFS, Yes Please!” varieties.

Problem is, this kinda realization don’t meanya are in any position to make with the necessary fixin’ immediately, an’ it is here that the Joopiter/Scorpio deal is truly kinda lifeline refashioned from noose.

A deep (an’ mebbe lustily dirty) journey begins tamara for which nonea us may be prepared.

But Scorpio packs killer inner resourcefulness, an’ as Joopiter GROWS her an’ EXPANDS her energies, alla that real important shit — far off, impossible, heart’s Wanna Wanna Do-or-Die desire — gonna be reeled the fuck in an’ made to happen … even ifya eyeballs gotta bleed to fix it.

We ain’t pussyfootin’ now.

Joopiter in Scorpio is a noose … a lifeline … a lasso.

Trickya got right now is to follow through to the bitter end on alla the important stuff, dig deep an’ discover inner grit gonna transform the mess ain’t gowin’ away.

Life or death, lasso or noose, kinda thing.

ULP! Is That The Best Shot At Optimism Your Innately Positive & Jupiter-inspired Sagittarian Astro Wisdom Can Muster, O Princess?

Fuck off!

Title Image c/o uno smart mashup twixt

Hypno Art @Pixabay … an’ TBIT @Pixabay.

Spread the love, slip in the bookmark, mix up the linky.

<span class="sdata" title="3"></span> <span class="sdata" title="07, 2017"></span>

Alla Your Moon Sign Horoscopes Are Belong To Bats

By | <span class="sdata2" title="2017-07-03T13:20:49+00:00"></span> |Moon Signs, Mother Cosmosis, My Apartment, Savin' The Cosmos|0 Comments

ALLA YOUR MOON SIGN HOROSCOPES ARE BELONG TO BATS

‘Fraid so.

Li’l fuckers crept into my apartment overnight an’ made with the whole BIG TIME THEFT deal — an’ now lunar astrology is toast!

Thing is, when I first graduated from Astrology School, Mother Cosmosis took me to one side an’ warned me this might happen one day.

“Moon sign horoscopes are truly precious auguries,” she said, “and when you are composing them, your initial drafts must always be locked away securely from prying eyes.”

I laughed. “So the trick I pull shovin’ my passport under my panties won’t wash?”

“Indeed not. It’s so important that you guard your moon sign horoscopes with your life lest villains creep in at dead of night and steal them — or worse still, amend them with malign intent, thereby placing the Cosmos and all its inhabitants in terrible danger.”

So, hey — guess which total frickin’ ditz left her last batcha scopes under her bed las’ night?

You Lost The Moon Sign Horoscopes? You Asshole!

I got no excuse, but it has been a busy week for Moi, so lemme try explainin’— Cosmos gonna come crashin’ down on evryone next week, I figureya prolly deserve to know why.

Thing is, I got a call from my agent las’ Monday sayin’ how Portable Restroom Operator Magazine needed a celebrity astrologer for their monthly horoscope column.

“It would be a great opportunity for you,” said Sal (cos that is my agent’s name). “Only problem is they never heard of you.”

“That is the deal with true celebrity,” I replied. “Thinka alla those droids an’ weirdo aliens in Star Wars — the instantly recognizable ones like Jabba the Hutt, Yoda an’ C3P0. Now ask yourself who the fuck are those guys? Tellya, true celebrity demands mystique.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know exactly what I mean — and I figure you could use the money right now. Don’t ask me why, but the portable restroom people want to start with moon signs. Deadline is next Tuesday. Can you fix that?”

“Sure,” I said — then totally forgot about shit till las’ night, mostly cos I was busy scryin’ the heavens for my own regular monthly horoscopes … an’ scrapin this Jamie Oliver monkfish curry offa my kitchen wall after the fucker exploded.

Las’ night was the first chance I got to write stuff out — an’ by 2am my tequila fuel had kinda knocked me out, an’ alla my half-written portable restroom inspired moon sign horoscopes musta slipped offa the bed.

Next thing I know, it is 9am an’ my entire apartment is splattered with frickin’ guano — an’ alla my scopes have vanished.

Surely You Had A Moon Sign Horoscopes Emergency Backup Plan?

Not exactly.

I tried summonin’ Mother Cosmosis on my crystal ball, but I got a problem with the touchscreen right now.

Jus’ won’t frickin’ swipe.

That left either Google or the dog-eared Medieval Miscellany Encyclopaedia I had since I was 6.

Natchrly, it was no contest…

Accordin’ to my encyclopaedia, witches in the Yookay were regularly stalked by bats lookin’ for arcane secrets.

Turns out the reason Henry VIII shut down alla the monasteries had nuthin’ to do with religion an’ everythin’ to do with destroyin’ prime bat territory.

Trash the bats’ most sought-after rafters an’ you got fewer winged critters flyin’ around stealin’ secrets offa witches an’ subsequently wreakin’ mayhem on hamlets an’ castles.

Anyways, point is, the bats ain’t quit on the deal, even though it is 2017 an’ mosta the world’s superexotic esoterica is freely available on the dark web an’ alla the witches have moved on to girl bands an’ porno.

Jus’ my luck, I guess, but las’ night those darn bats came lookin’ for Moi.

An’ now evry las’ membera the hooman race — an’ evry livin’ creature in the Cosmos — is threatened with imminent extinction.

Tellya, those bats amend what I wrote out, an’ their misappropriationa celestial forces an’ energies gonna tear reality apart.

Thankfully there is a solution!

But I am gonna need sum help, K?

Princess Balestra’s Moon Sign Astrology Bat Emergency Solution

If we can assemble 12 select bats — one for each signa the Zodiac — an’ bind ‘em (not with magic or anythin’ cos that is jus’ weird, I was thinkin’ morea usin’ duct tape) then we can reverse anythin’ calamitous they done.

So we need an Aries bat, a Taurus bat — an’ so on, alla the way through to Pisces.

But cos this whole frickin’ disaster centers on moon sign horoscopes, we are lookin’ at moon signs ‘steada Sun signs for these guys,

Y’all gonna help out, you gotta knowya bats — an’ also your astrology.

So here is my handy guide for spottin’ the fuckers, moon sign by moon sign.

Your mission is a simple one.

Get out there an’ round ‘em up, peoples.

Dig out a net an’ go huntin!

Alert evryoneya know.

Twitter. Instagram. Snapchat. Facebook.

Or mebbe even jus’ go visit ‘em in the actual frickin’ flesh for once.

Take photos an’ capture spirityool batty essences.

Then sendya pix to Moi via my contact portal here.

I’ll fix evrythin’ from there, nail this emergency real good.

Right now, here’s what to look for…

Bat Identification By Moon Sign — Your Definitive Guide

Aries — Feisty flapper. Flies into windows. Rarely seen in colonies (that is the bat word for herd or bunch btw). Difficult to tame. Noisy. Will chase motorcycles down the freeway an’ play Russian roulette wingin’ between the wheels. Loves bitin’ shit an’ drawin’ blood.

Taurus — So frickin’ lame it rarely flies an’ cannot be assed to hang upside down. Sleeps on the floor in a heap. Compulsive masturbator. Real soft fur. Reacts abominably when bombarded by flash photography. Can consoom twice its own body weight in candy.

Gemini — Flits so erratically no mathematical formula can define its flight path. Zero sonar capability cos it always got headphones on. Loves shittin’ on people an’ hidin’. Occasionally advertizes lingerie on its wings. Real twitchy. Boss-eyed specimens common.

Cancer — Teaches its young aikido an’ other passive self-defense strategies. Flies sideways. Rolls itself into a ball for protection if attacked. Unusual rangea facial expressions for a flyin’ rodent-beest. Prefers its worms heated up. Confirmed wet dreamer.

Leo — This is the bat lands inya hair. Understands the cinematic powera silhouettes. Mastera the surprise entrance. Larger specimens can suck up spaghetti through their nostrils. Not especially covert for a nocturnal creature. Dangerous if cornered.

Virgo — Statistically more likely to be tagged by environmental scientists — typically in Latin. Always flies straight, but hangs upside down at a jaunty angle jus’ to be different. Licks fur constantly. Spooks cats for experimental purposes. Can count to 1.

Libra — 100% unscary. Regular contributor to Hollywood movies cos it adores make-up an’ costooms. Wide wingspan for its species. Highly sensitive sonar. Will never eat a baby frog. Sleeps with both eyes open. Unusually exotic arterial patterns on wings. Never farts.

Scorpio — Milks the vampire myth for strategic effect. Terrifies insects with sophisticated extortion rackets. Limited telepathy. Real leathery wings. Stands in for ravens at funerals if there are egg sandwiches an’ cocktail sausages. Fully understands its Omen Potential.

Sagittarius — Often seen ridin’ weasels. Never seen inside a bat box. Fountainous pisser. Shows up anyplace — desert, tundra, fuckin’ Moon. Wings often look glued on for a joke. Sumtimes hangs out with birds. Frequently electrocuted by accident. Certified hazard.

Capricorn — Basic nest-buildin’ talents. Kinda ugly lookin’. Hates hooman contact. Prefers to hang out in taller buildings. Flies long distances to follow Libra bats so it can gobble baby frogs. Unusually amorous when it finds a mate — which is typically never.

Aquarius — Believes itself to be a fruitbat, whatever. Folds wings into Origami dragons when nowan is lookin’. Assymmetric claws. Long hair common. Crash lands in soup or beer on a whim. Fucks hairbrushes. Has a thing for toothpaste. Fears spiders.

Pisces — Loves gettin’ lost in the fog. Would prolly fly into a warship’s path to save a dolphin. Attracted to syrup. More curvaceous than scrawny. Mimics cellphone tones at will. Above average radioactivity levels. Loves lickin’ sleepin’ babies.

Let’s Save The Cosmos!

So thereya have it — my best shot at a plan for savin’ the Cosmos.

Nets at the ready, evryone!

An’ be sureta keep the worldwide astrology community up to speed with any sightings by usin’ the #balestrabats hashtag on Twitter & elsewhere like it was sum incantation gonna flesh outya dick or boobies all ultra delicious (or, ifya already got neat lookin’ or meaty tinglydanglies, manifest $500 in online gamin’ vouchers or coupons to blast on seductive undergarments).

Meantime, you want more Zodiac-themed blog posts, why not go check out tombstones an’ bras?

If we are all still here by next weekend, mebbe make time also for FUCK OFF — my most inspirational an’ motivational blog post evah.

Gonna go dig out a matchin’ pith helmet & telescope set offa Ebay.

Let the moon sign bat hunt commence!

Title Image c/o Alexas Fotos @Pixabay.

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