ALLA YOUR MOON SIGN HOROSCOPES ARE BELONG TO BATS
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?
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, evrywan!
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).
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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