<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


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


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.


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="11"></span> <span class="sdata" title="09, 2017"></span>

What’s Your Best Star Sign Quality?

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-03-15T20:00:49+00:00"></span>|Cosmic Roolz, Relationships, Star Sign Shit|0 Comments


What’s your best star sign quality?

I mean really?

Think for a sec ‘bout your most redeemin’ astro attribute — yanno, the one word sumsya up to perfection.

I’m talkin’ here about that one killer quality leaps outta evry horoscope or Zodiac summary an’ makesya scream That Is So Me! That Is So Me! That Is So Me!

Evryone got one such star sign quality, Aries to Pisces.

Evryone loves their bestest plus point, evryone revels in its glow, evryone proudly proclaims their #1 personal attribute as THE REASON for their success an’ total dinkiness in all areasa life — from love to luck to money.

But you wanna know what is weird?

(Cos you been around the block enough times to know astrology is totally fuckin’ lame sumtimes?)

Round back on the other sidea the astro equation you are packin’another star sign quality that is mebbe not so good.

Actschlly, this personality feature is more like a no-holds-barred bummer — sumthin’ real bad, sumthin’ real negative, sumthin’ you would never willingly choose to be onya personal team if’n appeared on a lista options handed out by an angel.

An’ you wanna know what is even weirder?

Your best killer star sign quality an’ your most negative star sign quality are THE SAME FUCKIN’ THING.

Yeah, yeah — I know.

It is crazy. It is lame. It is nuts.

But, hey, listen — I am merely a talented astrologer extraordinaire playin’ conduit for this depressin’ nooz, so plz do not blame Moi for the horrifically cruel naturea the Cosmos.

It’s jus’ how it is, K?

My role here is strictly spillsybeansy.

So lemme talkya through this bizarre astro bummer, star sign by star sign, see if I can make sum sensea celestial energies gone batshit.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Aries

Gotta figure Aries is ambitious.

You got sumthin’ outta reach — always — that is so frickin’ cool an’ smart you gotta have it.

You got big ideas, big desires, big yearnin’ needs — an’ alla the firepower gonna make sureya get it.

Who would not admire ambition — the burnin’ passion for improvement an’ advance an’ progress?

In all things?

From better ways to protect the environment to lacier underwear to adornya tinglydanglies?

I’ll tellya who don’t admire ambition — alla the people picked up on howya are so aggressive.

Cos ambition is not like lyin’ around in the Sun, right?

Kinda … sun appears, you throw on a bikini, you lie down, typea thing.

Nah — for ambition to work, you gotta overcome obstacles.

An’ summa those obstacles are people — or the fruitsa their labors.

These people only admire ambition when it is their own!

You try ambition with those suckers, they gonna say you are pushy.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Taurus

I know how it goes with you guys.

Thereya are, bumblin’ along all moosy cowsy in a touchy feely kinda vibe, daisy pokin’ fromya lips an’ a buncha pies inya knapsack, when suddenly your eyes alight on the word TENACIOUS.

Yeah, cos that is so YOU, right?

Stickin’ it out where fainter hearts give up, stayin’ on task long beyond the calla duty, seein’ shit through to the last.

Tellya, you are such a stubborn cunt.

What is it with you anyhow?

Why’dya haveta dig in alla the time an’ be so goddamn awkward?

Sound familiar?

Gotta love a red rag to a bull, I guess.

People say, “we keep reminding plodsy ol’ Taurus how stubborn they are, for sure they will get sick of our nagging and give up.”

Ha! Like that is ever gonna happen.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Gemini

I would wanna focus on flirty.

Kinda tricky, I know, cos flirty don’t stay still long enough to get fixed by a single eyeball, let alone a co-ordinated pair.

It is like pickin’ out a lone gnat in a cloud an’ stayin’ with it as it buzzes around at random.

Tellya, the Gemini flirty deal is so appealin’cos it merges the twinned cerebral fancya investigation an’ curiosity with performance allure.

But unlike Virgo’s measured experimentin’ an’ Leo’s rehearsed showpersonship, Gemini’s flightiness extends superdeep inside.

In essence, Gemini’s flirty freedoms blossom from uncertainty.

It is a positive uncertainty, for sure — but it is also fickle.

How excitin’ and desirable can all these flightsa fancy be if they are not keepers?

Perhaps Gemini is the true custodiana the moment — Time’s eternal improviser an’ lovera all things.

Or mebbe Gemini is jus’ what evryone says — a jumpy, fickle ditz.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Cancer

C is for Cancer, C is for carin’.

Tellya, that person inya life always collectin’ for whales or blind people … organisin’ charity stuff for bankrupt celebs an’ finless dolphins … hikin’ across the Tundra for giraffes in need an’ malnourished goats — so gotta be Cancer.

Fam an’ friends an’ evry creature they feel belongs in their loop — alla these guys get cared for, protected an’ loved, like they are extra limbs or internal organs.

I so love that suprapersonal wellbein’ ethic Cancer got — a selflessness that is kinda almost benevolently vampiric.

But FFS, quit worryin’ willya?

So Amber’s hamster jus’ died an’ she is real upset, but it ain’t no reason for YOU to bawl 24/7 for a week an’ ring Amber evry five minutes to check she ain’t gonna kill herself or nuthin’.

Point is, carin’ comes natural to Cancer — but that don’t make it easy.

Havin’ deep concern for alla these people … an’ their pets … an’ misflappin’ doves in faraway nightmare regimes … is so drainin’.

Concern’ an’ care must jus’ look funny to those upon whom it is bestowed, I guess.

People say, “you don’t need to worry so much about me, sweetie.”

Oh, but Cancer does.

An’ if she stopped carin’ … an’ worryin’, evryone would feel the loss instantly.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Leo

Thing about Leo is how they are proud.

An’ rightly fuckin’ so.

They say — “here’s what I bring to the situation, along with plenty of positive attitude, and here are some things I done a while back that worked out real good.

What is so wrong in taking pride in being a positive person who deploys their skills with supreme generosity to bring about positive results for all?”

(An’ ifya want more on this Leo vibe, roll on over to HERE.)

I will tellya what is so wrong, Cap’n Pussypants.

You are so darn arrogant, you make me wanna puke.

Sun shines outta your ass, an’ nowan else is good enough — tellya, you’re jus’ flashy, showy, ME ME ME.

Dontchya know how offensive it is to the resta us you strut round the place believin’ you can jus’ show up an’ walk shit?

Tellya, that is real insensitive — an’ the only person you trooly are doin’ positive favors for is YOURSELF.

So, yeah — wherein lyeth the boundary between pride an’ arrogance?

Who decides?

Not you, you selfish fucker!

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Virgo

Gotta figure Virgo is real analytical.

Reason they are so smart, so independent, so practically sorted, is cos they realise life boils down to makin’ the best choices.

An’ by best, I am talkin’ a perpetually movin’ target no other sign nails quite so good.

Virgo sees practical pathways in all things, like evry decision boils down to DO I PRESS THE RED BUTTON OR THE BLUE BUTTON?

One is gonna save the day, one is gonna blowya up — an’ there is no waya knowin’ which is which … unlessya are superanalytical Virgo.

Virgo sees this problem most evryplace, an’ she is quick to choose the best button to press … an’ move on.

What a pernickety asshole!

What a fussy, do-gooder bitch queen!

Prolly people would not get so pissed off if Virgo were to limit her discriminatory acumen to yanno things.

But in Virgo’s grand & incisive scheme, things an’ people are not necessarily independenta one another.


Star Sign Quality Bummer — Libra

Why do we so love havin’ Libra around?

Gotta be that massively pumped-up diplomacy they got.

Tellya, you got a psychopath needs talkin’ down from doin’ sumthin’ real bad, pull in a Libran, tool ‘em up with a harmonica, an’ a potentially dangerous situation becomes a date at the movies & maybe pizza & afterwards mebbe I show you my chainsaw collection.

Librans smooth all rough edges, grow friendship outta animosity, build bridges where before there existed only the frosty aira antipathy.

Problem is, Libra is so fuckin’ indecisive.

They are that person holdin’ you up in the store can’t quite decide … should I go for the milk chocolate bunnies or the dark chocolate bunnies? … an’ they have been standin’ there for like TEN FRICKIN’ MINUTES gowin’ … milk chocolate bunnies? dark chocolate bunnies? milk chocolate bunnies? dark chocolate bunnies? milk chocolate bunnies? dark chocolate bunnies? … over an’ over an’ over.

Worst part?

They gotta check with the zillion an’ one fuckin’ psychopaths followin’ ‘em around cos they been too diplomatic to tell ‘em all to PISS OFF.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Scorpio

See, I figured it would be a kinda astro trope to pin down Scorpio as passionate, an’ I was gonna roll with intooitive instead — but scorpions are so frickin’ intense I figured they would lash my ass till all eternity if I made lighta their clear an’ present #1 star sign quality.

So, yeah — Scorpio is withya till the bitter end, be you person, project or belief.

An’ not jus’ in a slavish kinda way — Scorpio passion leads from the front.

It is troo, unequivocal, relentless … so intense, it gonna burn on throughya body an’ spirit, an’ scorch on — undiminished — outtaya asshole.

Thing about Scorpio is … ifya get the deal, an’ you are fully onside, an’ you wanna commit 100% to the ride, you got serious motivational sledgehammer firepower stuffs unmatched mostplace else in the Zodiac.

Any slight misunderstandings, momentary doubts, requests for 0.00001% slack downtime evry third November — an’ you got nuthin’ but srs pain comin’ atchya from outta Scorpio’s GUILT BAZOOKA.

When passion is evrythin’, or it is nuthin’— whooooosh! — this is hella too intense for a lotta people.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Sagittarius

Thing about Sagittarius is how they got such broad horizons.

They been plenty places, met up with all kindsa people, an’ reflected real deep on the chill.

That makes ‘em super filosophical — packin’ a broad rangea inputs an’ figurin’ beyond surface interest to wider perspectives mebbe shared by all mankind.

Beholdin’ this bigger picture, an’ seekin’ always to add depth to its panorama (the better to pull on revelations gonna benefit hoomanity), Sagittarius is forever hungry for knowledge an’ wisdom.

Sadly … also fulla shit.

You ever been crushed into the corner in sum bar by a Sagittarian proclaimin’ what is best forya, then you’ll know close up what a pain in the ass practical philosophy for evryone can be.

Jus’ gotta apologize if said Sagittarian was Moi.

tbh, I have given up dispensin’ wisdom in bars cos although what I got really CAN transform lives for anyone wantsta sit down an’ reflect on my stunningly erudite proclamations, most people jus’ wanna talk ‘bout politics, fashion & football … or ogle my titties.

So these days, I jus’ run out in the street, stripped to the waist, yellin’ shit at random…

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Capricorn

Want anythin’ fixed, go find a Capricorn.

Gonna costya, an’ you gotta persuade ‘em your project is worth their time, but if they say YES, whatchya wanna happen is as good as done.

Why so?

Cos Capricorn is super methodical.

For shit to work out, evrythin’ gotta be done right, an’ in the right order, preferably usin’ the best tools an’ resources to hand.

Think it through, plan it out, tool up an’ make it happen, typea thing.

For Capricorn, alla that motivation, dreamin’, wishin’ an’ resolootion don’t matter for shit less’n you can pull on the lever delivers precisely the resultya seek.

This methodical gift Capricorn got is a virtue fulla value beyond measure.

Also … the main reason why they are such a pain in the ass.

They turn even the most humdrum evryday activity into a military operation.

Hang out with a Capricorn an’ you cannot even randomly poop without bein’ given a fuckin’ lecture.

“The key thing to remember about peristalsis, particularly when it comes to trapped wind, is that the rectal sphincter receives a different kind of physioneural stimulus to when you are about to pass a regular bowel movement, so it’s important to think ahead and watch what you eat, particularly carbohydrate intake — of which there are many kinds, all with their own unique considerations to be borne in mind regarding diet and digestion…”

Tellya, when Cappy is on a Bark Instructions roll, I am more than happy to interpret anythin’ they command as an emergency diktat says I gotta poop in their fuckin’ face.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — Aquarius

Alla the keenest quotation meme apps tellya No Man Is An Island.

Forget for a sec how irritatin’ it is to discover mosta the quotations from before mebbe 1995 were so lame in the gender-generous department an’ consider how sooooooo untrue this observation is for most Aquarians.

Tellya, those guys’re so 100% island, they even got frickin’ moats.

Independent an’ totally self-sufficient across the whole hooman endeavor panorama — physical, mental, emotional, spirutyool, sekshoal etc — they are self-contained souls packin’ a higher kinda connection power.

Trooly, they are real people people, fulla genuine concern an’ heart for hoomanity at large.

Jus’ don’t ask ‘em to hang out too personal with like … people.

That would mean they gotta come down offa that invisible levitatin’ cloud they got, an’ quit bein’ so aloof.

It is troo Aquarians got real high minds, an’ mebbe even higher ideals, an’ they gonna go bust out on alla that shit even if evryone else on the planet makes with the spontaneous vaporization deal.

This is independence with an unnervingly alienatin’ feel, an aloofness says how they are considerably specialer beings than evryone else.


Star Sign Quality Bummer — Pisces

Evry Pisces is innately artistic.

Gotta remember here that don’t mean they are all painters cos FFS you ever seen summa their shitto paintings?

I am talkin’ ‘bout how they reside in the world on a metaphorical level, where illusions an’ dreams got voice an’ power gonna transform shit.

Wanna visionary onya team?

Hook up with a Pisces, an’ creativity’s exoticest ever embroidery shall adorn thy workaday panties, tellya

Pisces got a transcendent warmth spills out as compassion, a sixth sense links up all kindsa stuff nowan else can see.

Problem is, fishy types spend mosta their time either asleep on the couch or cunted on cocktails.

An’ when they ain’t spinnin’ visions gonna transform the planet, they are unrealistic an’ totally fuckin’ delooded.

Tellya, you are plannin’ anythin’ gonna actschwlly happen, leave Pisces outta the equation.

They are like that dealya got whenever you wanna buy noo heels.

Try the heels on in the store. Go order for half the price online.

So, yeah, go be inspired by Pisces … let her carry your dreams to a higher plane — then fix up a reality check an’ pull outta doin’ sumthin’ real stoopid.

Star Sign Quality Bummer — The Last Word

Jus’ wanna say, this is no comprehensive analysis I got here.

Neither is it entirely accurate … or even fair.

But I wantchya to figure on the most important message here an’ go draw practical wisdom from my expert cogitationals.

See cos alla the best star sign qualities I mentioned are kinda person-centered — virtues bustin’ outta alla the zodiac signs’ individual asses.

Mosta the negatives I mentioned are what happens when people don’t necessarily likeya show up on the scene an’ mess shit up by havin’ a pointa view boutchya mojo.

You get astrological mismatches squarin’ up to differentiate positive star sign quality from negative, an’ the whole value judgement schwango flies offa the scale.

Taurus meets up with Aquarius an’ for sure the bullish gal is real stubborn an’ the Aquarius guy real aloof.

Same goes for fickle Gemini an’ unrealistic Pisces.

(An’ I got more on this Astro Mismatch Deal as it relates to smoochie an’ romance HERE, btw.)

Point always to remember is how YOU are in full controlla your life, an’ you gotta aim always to fix up the best outta your positive traits, talents an’ abilities.

Only problem you got is how hoomankind is supergenerously multifaceted, an’ any grand statement you wanna make invites an inevitable nemesis or mass dissers.

That is whenya gotta decide what to do beyond natural effusin’.

Prolly that is where mosta the coolest life skills reside — howya temper whatchya got in the facea opposition or criticism.

Whatever … this weird Jekyll & Hyde effect is there for alla us, Aries to Pisces.

Same star sign quality, positive an’ negative, dependin’ on POV.

But don’t jus’ take my word for it — I am, after all, merely a filosophically fulla shit Sagittarian loudmouth don’t give a fuck whatchya think.

Go try it out … thought experiment … see if I am right.

Meantime — why not go checkya monthly horoscope?

It is an endeavor both funky an’ fun!

Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="19"></span> <span class="sdata" title="06, 2017"></span>

Saturn Dating Tips

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-26T11:40:14+00:00"></span>|Fate, Love, My Apartment, Relationships|0 Comments


Tellya, Saturn gotta be the loneliest planetary heart.

Cosmos is awash with celestial meetups, good an’ bad, an’ though any kinda opposition involvin’ Plooto gotta feature high stakes pooper power, prolly the worst thing can happen to any planet seekin’ a romantic encounter is to find themselves conjunct frickin’ Saturn!

To hell with love at first sight or Tinder’s random excitement overload — Saturn pops the question early, fixes a liaison makesya wanna flee, then pitches a schedule so suffocatin’ it squeezes alla the O outta fellatio.

Tellya, Mercury to Plooto, those other planets gotta need sum serious Saturn dating tips if’n they gonna survive!

Saturn Dating Tips! Ha! This Is Just An Analogy, Right?

No way!

I am bein’ fuckin’ serious here!

Yanno how it goes urself with the ol’ lonesum — when allya can do is be shufflin’ through cloudy days kickin’ a can along the gutter an’ feelin’ nothin’ but implosive sorrow?

While all aroundya people less ugly an’ talentless an’ givin’ than yourself bag Mr or Miss Utterly Divine & Spiritually Transformational (mebbe even Loaded)?

Imagine havin’ to endure that relentless fate as a barren rock spinnin’ in the void.

*quits typin’ to shed sum tears. ‘specially for Venus cos loneliness is especially cruel to her. *sniff* aw c’mon, quit bawlin’ … composeya self gal… *sniff* tellya, this is worse’n Disney…*

O, Sweet! Is there Anything I Can Do? I Hate To See People Suffer.

Gonna be OK.


But do ya see the problem now?

Mercury, Venus, Mars, Joopiter, Neptoon, Uranus an’ Plooto —all spinnin’ lonesum for amour, all desperate for love’s embrace, all primed to kiss one another soft…


The horror show ring-spinner gonna throw a downer on romance!

Anus-themed breath! Zits all over! Garbage sneakers! Talks shit! Piss stains! Grimy teeth! Weevils alive in ears, nose … dick an’ jyna!

To hell with the Saturn dating tips!





I hear his leaden footfalls echoin’ like collidin’ tombs from the lobby!

Jesus! Hold Tight — Gonna Ring 911

Yeah, an’ call in the fuckin’ military whileya are at it.

They know my apartment of old.

What’s Going On? Sounds Bad!

It’s Saturn!

An’ he is desperate for a date!

Complete with throat-scrapin’ Frenchies!


OMG! Is This True?

Please Say This Ain’t Happening!

Evryone — get to the fire escape!


Elevator is on its way up now — and that can only mean one thing!

Which … Which Is … ?

OMC, Don’t Say It’s True!

Is It Really … Him?

The Scourge Of The Solar System? Crushing Despair Incarnate? The Arch-grinder Of Soul, Enterprise … and Hope?

Spurned By The Planets And Now Prowling The Globe Looking For Love Among Hapless Mortals Such As We?

‘Fraid so.

Worst thing about it is I got an augury jus’ this mornin’ sayin’ he is feelin’ especially romantic reckless an’ HIGHLY LIKELY to charge in here wearin’ only a brown corduroy mankini!

Impeccably ironed!






Title Image c/o Skeeze @ Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="15"></span> <span class="sdata" title="05, 2017"></span>

Astrology Compatibility Apps Gonna Fuck On Your Brain!

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-17T07:40:14+00:00"></span>|Astrolodjinni, Mother Cosmosis, My Apartment, Relationships|0 Comments


So, hey — Mother Cosmosis stopped by my place again at the weekend.

It is always a surprise to Moi (despite my uncannilly accurate astrologer’s  predicto prowess), but there was sumthin’ ‘bout the way her vapors coalesced into view atop my sofa that got me wondrin’ if’n I’d maxed out on MORTAL KLUTZYBOOBSIE.

* Like — was it wise to offer 1920s exercise advice to today’s Capricornian thrusters in their May horoscope?

* Or — was callin’ my recent Stars as Epitaphs blog post a ‘Handy Death Astrology Calculator’ merely hyperbole segued with hoobris?

* Or even — was it stoopid to confront the guy upstairs an’ demand he fucks quieter?

“What’s the gripe?” I said, as Mother C’s rapidly manifestin’ curves bundled my anxieties to one side.

“We have to discuss the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum! En pointe astrology counsel delivered as a seer-free 99c Android or Apple add-on! Trust me, Princess — the Cosmos and its eternal synchronized dance routine is in danger! And our very existence as horoscope delivery experts is under threat!”

The Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum — A User’s Guide

Turns out the internets have not always existed.

This whacko truth kinda crept up on me while I was ODin’ on movies las’ month.

Recent films got plentya scenes packin’ alla the latest tech — phones, tabs, laptops — but not evry frickin’ scene got reference to the internets.

Superheroes smackin’ one another, lovers gettin’ flusho in the sack, hyperpixelified bunnies hoppin’ their way inta contemporary childhood’s future moral locker — they all got plentya on-screen moments packed fulla lazer-eyed snogsy CGI devoida internets references.

An’ yet, you kinda know alla that 21st Century webular superfunky is hummin’ away in the background, waitin’ to bust out.

Go back in time awhile, seems entire movies’re based on this internets-free pause.

Only it ain’t so.

It is actschly a total internets vacuum cos the internets ain’t there.

Cos ifya were Tom Hanks sneakin’ up on the Nazis in a Virgotastically orchestrated kinda WWII swoop, pants drenched with danger an’ excitement — surely you would selfie the shit outta the show?

“Huddle together, guys. Shame we ain’t got no U-boat looming in the background to make this nightmare panorama look extra dramatic.”

It’s A Fucker!

Tellya, I was a shamed in that instant.

Princessa insights I presoom myself to be, I kinda realised how lame I was.

Thing is, for eons stretchin’ back almost to the dawna time, astrology stuffs have been ladled from the ether by real live astrologer persons.

So … uhm … mebbe it is 1272 an’ you are in the YOOKAY.

I dunno, ridin’ a horse or sumthin’ stoopid.

An’ by the roadsideya spot a weird lookin’ tent.

Wind blows the sigil-mottled fabric open to reveal an even weirder lookin’ guy — an’ you are compelled to dismount an’ go investigate.

“Heya, weird guy,” you say.  “What is gowin’ down in your curious tent?”

Guy strokes his beard and throws you a look. “Actually, I’m a lady. But it is in the nature of the astrology business for its practitioners to sport the mantle of witches — so I slew a wild boar and stuck its wiry hide to my face.”

Astrology?  That a new drive-thru franchise?”

Resta the conversation is confidential, cos it’s at this point that all real live astrologer persons make with the secret astrology chant an’ kinda lure their prospects beyond idle curiosity to the Surefire Horoscope Secret Package retailin’ at JUST $whatevah (though, acourse, back in 1272 evrythin’ was in groats or sickly nephews).

Central problemya got with the Astrology Compatibility App Conundrum is how it factors the real live astrologer person the fuck outta the stargazy equation.

Guy on the horse got the app, he got no need to check out the sigil-mottled tent — or cough up the moolah gonna keep the real live astrologer person in frickin’ cat food.

Misses out on the $350 Suckywucky Bonus also…

How Can We Combat This Astrology Compatibility App Nightmare, O Princess?

All Of Us — Working Together As An Astro-defending Team, Kinda Like The Avengers?

So, yeah — Mother Cosmosis jus’ came out an’ said it.

“The more these wretched astrology compatibility apps proliferate, the fewer real live astrologers there will be. I fear the future may be one where convenience muscles out genuine prescience. It isn’t just retail and factory workers who should recoil in horror at the advance of robots and AI. It is you and I.”

She looked kinda shaken. I fixed her a cocktail an’ flopped down before her feet in my best Lotus, smilin’ like a real drippo. “An’ you want my advice from an internets perspective? That it?”

Her nod told me evrythin’. Ha! Too much frickin’ tequila.

“Thing is,” I said, pullin’ out sum stoopid scifi book I been readin’, “if history demonstrates anythin’ it is how flesh an’ blood people gonna prevail always. Ain’t that the deal with the whole Taurus vibe? Material substance movin’ mountains, kinda thing?”

Mother C looked pensive. “It’s true that hipsters have rediscovered vinyl along with potentially erotic facial texture, I suppose. And I’m heartened to see the return of printed books to the planet’s coffee shops and trains. Are you suggesting the lure of these evil apps is likely to be short-lived?”

“Two things,” I said, helpin’ her out with her drink. “First, you gotta wonder what happens if alla this don’t stop. Losers in this scifi book I read don’t figure no inner thoughts. Evrythin’ they perceive is voiced aloud, kinda the ultimate share.”

“And do they like this?”

“They do not. You should read it.”

Mother C catches the book. Time for a refill.

“Those poor suckers got no secrets,” I said, pullin’ out sum bigger glasses — an’ another bottle. “An’ when the science genius guy fitted their cranial whatevers with ThoughtShare, he figured alla the bad stuff we got would be flushed out an’ alla our finest virtues kinda grown an’ finessed. Only evryone jus’ regressed into a permanent statea STFU. Mankind spawned its own zombie apocalypse.”

Mother C eyed her worm. “What does this have to do with the astrology apps? Are you suggesting they will have a similarly destructive effect on peoplekind?”

“Opposite. I guess people’re havin’ fun right now mixin’ an’ matchin’ love, lust an’ blendyjuicy, starsign tango by starsign tango on sum stoopid app — but nuthin’ ever gonna beat sittin’ in a real live tent askin’ ‘bout sum real live potential fuckfest with sum real live sex bomb in the presecncea sum real live astrologer person — especially if said astrologer person is hot af an’ leavesya with enough cash inya pocket for a decent burger.”

“Do you still have your tent? If I remember correctly, just shortly after I anointed you in the Pool of Celestial Wisdom Unbound, you suggested you’d fly out to Egypt and sell it in exchange for what you coyly termed funtime leatherwear.”

That made me snigger sum!

“Turns out the smarter deal was hirin’ it out at weekends. I got kids’ parties, teen adventure sleepovers, live-in seniors’ secret biscuit eatin’ hideaways. Jus’ gotta warn people not to pull on … yanno …the sash opens up the spirit world & possibly summons Satan.”

Astrology Compatibility Apps — Your Killer Defense Strategy

Solution we came up with was the App 2 Braino Virus.

Here’s how it works…

You pull outya tab.

You check in on CyberScoper.

Robot astrology algorithms match your starsign with nearby hot singles.

Evil death rays leap the fuck outta your tab an’ infectya brain with a killer frickin’ virus.


You guys cool to spread this benevolent fake nooz around sum?

To allaya friends, besties, fam, pets — whatever?

Cos I figure by doin’ so, you gonna be savin’ astrology, savin’ the planet, an’ savin’ lives — startin’ with li’l ol Moi.

Here’s sum linesya can mebbe use next time anyone whips out their tab for a consultation with the Evil Augury Squad…

* Hey, sis — did you know that using an astrology compatibility app can fuck up your brain worse than spice?

* Your thoughts are so beautiful I love hanging them on my ear, but if you keep on fixing dates with that stoopid astrology compatibility app, ima need a bucket to catch your liquified skull contents. Do I gotta repeat that, cosya look real BLANK?

* Yeah yeah — stoopid frickin’ app gonna roastya brain an’ prolly frazzleya tinglydanglies off.

Gotta figure you are sufficiently inventive to think up sum examplesa your own — less’n the processa cerebral decay already got started.

This is how all resistance begins, tellya.

Fake nooz, steady drip, brain by brain.

App 2 Braino Virus.

App 2 Braino Virus.

App 2 Braino Virus…

Title Image c/o FirmBee @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="1"></span> <span class="sdata" title="05, 2017"></span>

How Astrology Gonna SLAY Your Evil Imaginary Friends

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-12T11:51:56+00:00"></span>|Cosmic Roolz, Imaginary Friends, Practical Astrology, Relationships|0 Comments


No childhood misery is more unbearable than whenya got evil imaginary friends.

Those critters tag along till adulthood, you are in real big frickin’ trouble, tellya.

Thing is — where do these guys come from?

An’ can astrology helpya boot ‘em outta your poor, persecuted braino?

Evil Imaginary Friends — The Historical Background

Blame for the rise in evil imaginary friends worldwide in the 20th Century lies solely with J.M. frickin’ Barrie — yanno, the guy wrote Peter Pan?

Barrie was a Taurus, but insteada eatin’ pies all day an’ preservin’ his finest farts in jars, he did that weird thing down-to-earth-&-real-borin’ Taurus types sumtimes do — an’ came up with shit so loopsy doops crazy he coulda almost been an Aquarian or Piscean replicant.

Point is, Peter Pan is fulla imaginary people.

Sum posh London kids an’ their fuckin’ stoopid dog meet up with the boy who gonna live forever, tyepa thing.

But what most people don’t get about this story is how the key imaginary friend is not Pan himself.

He is the one real person in the story — an’ it is Wendy, Michael, John, Hook, Tinkerbell an’ the crocodile who are the illusions.

An’ when the story ends, Pan is wracked by sadness an’ despair cos alla his pals can’t play no more

(Go read the book, then hold it closeta your ear afterya reach THE END an’ mebbe you can hear him weepin’ in the darkness.)

Reason we got so many evil imaginary friends fuckin’ on our souls right now is cozza Pan.

He wanted revenge for losin’ his own friends so bad, he thought up a whole buncha villains to go plague evryone else.

That is the kinda thing wounded people sumtimes do.

But like alla us, Pan is governed by Mother Cosmosis’ Cosmic Roolz.

Know your starsign, you got a handle on alla your evil imaginary friends.

An’ now you gonna learn how to boot ‘em the fuck outta your life an’ get sum peace!

Aries — Evil Imaginary Friends Gonna Bossya Pants Off

Rebellious rompin’ fulla self-servin’ zest an’ verve!

Those are the energies Aries packs in spades.

But Cancer gonna cry if she don’t get her way, an’ Capricorn jus’ gonna stopya doin’ shit you want.

So ditch the fuckers an’ move on, no weepin’.

Taurus — Evil Imaginary Friends Gonna Stealya Toys

Leos think they own evrythin’ — even stuff that is clearly YOURS.

An’ Aquarius thinks all material possessions belong to evryone, regardlessa actual ownership.

Plus, they bust shit jus’ to see how it works.

So getcha baseball bat back offa Leo — swingin’ it round his head & shriekin’ lookit me lookit me — an’ smack him in the teeth with the fucker.

Any luck, he’ll trample Aquarius to death as he quitsya life.

Gemini — Evil Imaginary Friends DO NOT GET YOU

Howya gonna brush upya witticisms ifya imaginary patsies play real awkward?

“I kinda see where you’re coming from,” says Virgo, “but that last quip you made about male genitalia resembling an elephant’s head fails to differentiate between Indian and African pachyderms.”

“Yeah,” says Pisces. “And my imaginary friend said it funnier than you did, you fraud.”

Jus’ show these losers the door.

They got no livesa their own an’ they will walk.

Cancer — Evil Imaginary Friends Won’t Play Doctors & Nurses

Aw…alla your imaginary friends’re so very ill.

Time to snuggle them up warm an’ safe an’—

“LET’S PLAY AT KILLING!” screams Aries, throwin’ off her blanket. “REAL FIGHTING WITH REAL BLOOD!”

You turn to ask Libra for help — but she’s fucked off sumplace to play on her own.

Thing is, you are the ultimate imaginer, so go do sumthin’ don’t figure too much IRL.

Look Aries dead in the eye an’ scream “I hate you!”

An’ mean it.

Those guys play fiery but their feelings are so very easy to wound.

Leo — Evil Imaginary Friends Ignoreya & Form Their Own Clique

It’s that horrid moment whenya energies finally give out, an’ you quit chargin’ around all flamboyant — an’ your imaginary friends don’t applaud.

Worse still, they are sittin’ in the corner snickerin’ to themselves — Scorpio, cos she clearly started the sneerin’ an’ backbitin’, an’ Taurus, cos he is jus’ so stoopid he gonna be led astray by anyone.

Tellya, they don’t want your generous glories, they can haveya pee.

So go find a bucket an’ fill it up.

Then wash their cynical frickin’ mouths out, see how they like it.

Virgo — Evil  Imaginary Friends Don’t Stick To The Rules

“So, let’s be clear. A nuclear fusion rifle is more powerful than a standard ballistic blaster, and both these weapons are superior to the daggers we’ll all be using. But if you’re wearing antigravity armor, you can’t use your dagger because it will rupture the fabric, and if you die from a ballistic blaster wound, you’re out of the game for 30 seconds until you receive medical assistance, which only I can perform — unless we’re playing the imaginary medi-bot rules, in which case—“

“Let’s just finger our cunnies,” says Sagittarius.

“Yeah,” says Gemini, “and post to Snapchat.”

Easiest wayta deal with these abominable Vulgarity Beests?

Think Zen, think grace — an’ walk away.

Libra — Evil Imaginary Friends Think UR A Soft Touch

Uh oh — Cancer an’ Capricorn’re back again.

Aries got real mad with ‘em an’ slung ‘em out.

But they seen how you are so super soft an’ don’t want for any trouble, an’ now they gonna trample onya patch.

Tellya, these guys really hate zany frivolity — an’ they cannot frickin’ sing to save their own tits!

All they wanna do is trudge around playin’ real borin’ evryday stuff — like shops, or actual games don’t need no imagination, like frickin’ Monopoly.

I understand how conflict is real difficult sumtimes, so your way out here is simply to DIE.

Play dead — an’ stay dead.

Cancer ain’t gonna stick around if’n she can’t healya, an’ Capricorn conceivesa death before he is even born, so your faux pallor gonna remind him to go check the latest pension an’ funeral deals on the internets.

Scorpio — Evil Imaginary Friends Demand Eviller Host Buddies

Leo an’ Aquarius stopped by to play.

It was fun for a while but then you got bored.

Leo lies an’ Aquarius believes her an’ it is two against one an’ that is not fair.

Their corpses lie mutilated in a ditch.

Sagittarius — Evil Imaginary Friends Don’t Wanna Goof

Know that fun game whereya writhe around on the floor withya legs in the air, wailin’ all stoopid like sum deranged mule?

Weird thing is, neither Virgo nor Pisces wanna join in with this one.

Same goes for jump up an’ down tillya boobies hurt (dick if ur a guy).

“Let’s sit down at the table,” says Virgo. “We need to make a list of some proper games to play.”

“And let’s do it quietly,” adds Pisces.

Best strategy here is to join ‘em — an’ keep real quiet.

Pretty soon, they gonna be talkin’ to one another, an’ they will not notice whenya tiptoe out the door an’ go do sumthin’ real excitin’.


Capricorn — Evil Imaginary Friends Got No Option

Why lose the able an’ willin’ helpers?

Life’s too important for foolin’ around so the more stoopid assholes you got on your team lightenin’ the load, the better.

So c’mon, Aries an’ Libra.

Knuckle down an’ mebbe tidy the place up.

Fetch drinks, fetch the occasional muffin, fetch any tools or equipment needed.

Smilin’ is optional, but remember, it uses precious energy, so be sparin’.

Hours are 24/7, all 52 weeksa the year.

Zero pay, an’ ifya bust shit, your imaginary bones gonna be ground to IRL dust.

Snap to it! Lickety spit!

Aquarius — Evil Imaginary Friends Think You’re A Crank

Real people can be so unaccommodatin’ whenya inspiration is on a roll.

“I wonder what it would feel like to slice a cucumber in half and scrape the soft part out with my ears.”

Perfect imaginary friend oughta get a kick outta that.

But not Taurus or Scorpio.

“You’re being so wasteful,” says Scorpio. “I hate how you squander precious resources on a whim.”

“Plus also,” says Taurus, “I wanted to eat that cucumber.”

No way these guys gonna lighten up an’ get experimental withya.

So cut ‘em open an’ scrape out their soft parts with sum other protuberance.

These guys are only imaginary, remember?

Pisces — Evil Imaginary Friends Spill Over From Reality

Gotta figure you got a casta thousands gowin’ down in the imaginary department.

People, animals, animated furniture, ghosts — all hoppin’ an’ buzzin’ around a fluffy landscape gonna morph from Jane Austen novel to outer space mushroom planet to elven forest pulsin’ with naked satyrs.

Thenya rememberya cruel Sajjo boss, the Gemini gal from the store don’t likeya, an’ your imaginary world collapses — invaded an’ despoiled by evil phantasms over which you got no control.

You know they are imaginary — jus’ like the little ducky you had bouncin’ onya head a few short seconds ago — butya are helpless.

Saj an’ Gemmo glare from twisted faces — an’ you are complicit in the ugliness.

The more you try to make ‘em go away, the more they leer from a landscape now shrouded in shadow.

Point is, this scenario is precisely why chocolate got invented.

Recent neuroscience shows how eatin’ chocolate soothesya an’ warmsya — alla those chocolate molecules get delivered direct to the synapses inya braino responsible for generatin’ happy sensations.

For Pisces, eatin’ chocolate prompts a kinda imaginary bunny orgasm.

Fluffy creatures — so fun an’ friendly an’ cuddly — bust outta the shadows an’ smother any phantoms summoned from real life.

So, take that, Sagittarius an’ Gemini!

Death by bunny ears! Death by wickle mousey crush! Death by lonesum elephant whose Mom died young but who got a magic trunk!

Yeah — that kinda works…

What To Do Ifya Have No Imaginary Friends, Evil Or Otherwise

Gotta figure kittens come in real handy here.

They are so cool at fillin’ barren holes insideya where lovin’ imaginary friends should be.

Plus, when they get frisky, they go hunt down rodents ain’t actually there.

All you gotta do is catch one

Shareya Story

Ever been on the receivin’ enda sum foul an’ evil imaginary friend?

Shareya story in the comment trail!

Still plagued by monsters?

Let ’em write out why they hateya so much an’ mebbe their confession gonna make with the cathartic healin’!

Prommo, I will respond with sensitivity, discretion — an’ mebbe more lewd fuckin’ around.

Title Image c/o Deedster @Pixabay

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<span class="sdata" title="24"></span> <span class="sdata" title="04, 2017"></span>

Your Definitive Dragon Astrology Compatibility Primer

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-12T11:46:11+00:00"></span>|Mother Cosmosis, Relationships|0 Comments


Wanna reach out to evryone in the Yookay been thinkin’ ‘bout heroic knights — an’ dragons.

See, thing I get asked real often in my capacitya Wise & Allurin’ Astrologer Person Packin’ Max Wise Counsel & Occasional Filth is what is my dragon astrology compatibility?

tbh, I do not mind bein’ asked such lame frickin’ questions, but what bugs me is how it happens all too often when I am takin’ a pee in the mall.*

* In the bathroom, not the actual mall. I may be Sajjo, but I am not an undomesticated voyeur-entrappin’ piss-beest FFS.

Scenario typically goes like this…

I got noo shoes or sumthin’, an’ my bladder is swillin’ with coffee, so I go multitask on the pee & peek deal.

Then, as I am unwrappin’ my shoes, I hear sum gal whisper, “hey, you see Princess Balestra sneak in the cubicle with her magic toad?”

An’ sumone whispers back, “she goes shopping with the toad from her secret sanctum? How cool is that?

Next thing I know, evryone in the mall is scramblin’ to get their heads over the cubicle door like the zombies from World War Z…

toad-free astrologer hits the mall in dragon astrology compatibility mode

Image c/o Brad Pitt an’ his cinema pals.  Gotta figure I am allowed to use this cos it is free promo for the film guys — an’ if it ain’t OK, who fuckin’ cares cos they are prolly zombies IRL an’ therefore totally oblivious to what is gowin’ on.

…an’ they are screamin’ shit like my fish is a fire sign; is that even allowed?

an’ I got weird lumps on my nipples squirting foul-smelling black discharge everyplace. Can you help me? I am a Scorpio!

an’ the inevitable what is my dragon astrology compatibility?

an’ I am like pullin’ up my knickoes real speedy yet dainty an’ makin’ with a 15-minute TED-style lecture, delivered with heels hooked over the rimma the john cos I do not wanna puncture the lid.

Ain’t gonna cover the fish an’ nipples questions today, but the dragon astrology compatibility conundrum is an easy fix…

Let The Cosmos Abound With Weirdsy Animals

Gotta start at the very beginnin’ — with Mother Cosmosis.

Back in the day, there were no horoscopes or astrologer persons or zodiacs, an’ fuck all in the waya stars — till Mother Cosmosis embroidered ‘em up an’ colored ‘em in.

She coulda gone with a dragon insteada a crab or a lion, I guess — but, see, astrology dragons’re Chinese.

An’ this is where we haveta switch out our science focus from astrology to brute logic.

Ask yourself — in a Cosmos that only moments ago began packin’ stars, whereya gonna find any fuckin’ Chinese people?

There ain’t even no Earth yet.

Truth is, dragon astrology figures a whole eon later, an’ from here flourisheth the whole dragon astrology compatibility deal.

“I am a dragon and my partner is a monkey. Is it against my regal nature to let her lick my asshole?”

“I have the hots for my dragon lecturer and wake each morning desperate to throw myself at his feet and make with the mutually orgiastic writhing. Please help me. I am a dog.”

“Me and my partner are both dragons, and we are desperate not to have dragon kids because we are both so impossibly EVIL. Can you fix us a pig or a rooster? I dunno, cast a spell or something?”

(For the record — I do not take my toad to the mall. I do not even OWN no frickin’ toad.)

Dragon Astrology Compatibility Conundrum Solvin’ Demands No Amphibians — an’ Proffers Only Vile Birds

Answer to these questions is, I am not a Chinese astrologer.

I only fix up the deal with the bulls an’ the rams an’ the fruitbat physiology half-goat half-fish fuckin’ mutants — like in this dinky post HERE.

Pitch me Chinese astrology queries, an’ I am ‘bout as much use as a giraffe advisin’ on limbo dance technique.

It’s real neat those Chinese guys figured on so varied an’ exotic a rostera beasts to illustrate the hooman condition in all its subtlety, an’ mebbe I woulda picked up on alla that with the same zest I got for what my bestie Amy calls the regular buncha stoopid Zodiac crapola — but I srsly do not like roosters.

More specifically, I do not like that scraga flappy wappy flesh hangs offa their throats.

It is like a lost & lonesome labium — or the void ballsacka sum sad eunuch.

Plus, roosters shit evryplace an’ sing real bummed-out songs gonna screwya ears tight insideya skull for wanta silence.

Gotta figure birdkind is real pissed off with ‘em also.

“You do not belong in our excloosively avian gang, vile creatures!”

Listen close — sparrow, eagle, ostrich — they all can chirp that refrain, tellya.

Ahem. You Were Saying … About The Heroic Knights?

Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about that St George guy.

I got no desireta diss a national Saint, nor call into question the pluck an’ spirit shown by Yookay citizens as they maraud worldwide with their own particular branda ultra reserved devil-may-care, but I would wanna suggest kneejerk dragon slayin’ is mebbe a thinga the past.

What in hell they all done wrong?

Yeah, for sure, the dragon in The Hobbit prolly erred too much on the sidea evil — just — but FFS Benedict Cumberbatch!

See, if it had been Moi seekin’ out the dragon hoard insteada Bilbo, things woulda been waaaay different.

First, I woulda made with the tantalisingly revealin’ chainmail bra an’ panties — an’ packed a real sturdy quarterstaff I could grab firmly in both hands.

Then I mebbe mighta sidled upta Sonorous Shakespearean Speako Central an’ whispered, “ain’t it weird how a rooster’s flappy wappy flesh thing is kinda disturbingly insubstantial?” before workin’ the conversation round super tactically till I got my head restin’ sweet in his lap within tongueshota sublime pleasure incarnate.

Thing about the George dragon is, it was real mean.

Women-eatin’ beests ain’t nice.

But that don’t mean any dragons show like tonite inya local neighborhood gotta be evil by default.

Personally, I would always wanna take any flame-spittin’ dragon roarin’ overhead on its own merits.

I am ultra tolerant that way, I guess.

So I got a proposal gonna settle the dragon astrology compatibility conundrum forever, fix up a strategy for how hoomankind could mebbe deal with dragons in the fyooture (kinda like Asimov’s ground rules for hangin’ out with robots), an’ if I can get alla that sorted before my lasagne is done cookin’, I may even showcase my top 10 tips for fruitful masturbation whenya hands’re covered in paint, oil or other substances best kept away from naked flesh.

(Only jokin’ bout that last part btw, but this is the ADD internets an’ I figure summaya might wanna go look at cat pictures rn & kinda needya stimulatory perkies flushin’ out on a juicier option. Welcome back.)

Princess Balestra’s One-Size-Fits-All Plan For Hoomanity (Dragon Section)

Thing is, sum people got hair bustin’ outta places they shouldn’t.

I am not talkin’ gals with unshavable muffs here — jus’ how random wisps an’ tufts kinda feature in hoomankind’s hirsuteness options locker.

You ever done that Lookit What Crazy Stuff I Can Do thing?

First night at college, first sleepover, first noo job social event?

“I can bend my fingers right back to my wrist because I have hypermobile joints!

“My skin is so elastic — see how I can stretch out my cheeks like bat wings!”

“Observe the huge chunks of hair sprouting from underneath my eyeballs like miniature Persian rugs!”


Accordin’ to legend (read fake nooz for real stoopid people before the internets or books), alla these weirdsy hairs belonged to the devil.

Get evryone together had ‘em sproutin’ outta their non-crack flesh an’ — SHAZAM! — instant fuckin’ SATAN!

That kinda got me thinkin’.

What about we all got parta sum celestial dragon insidea us?

Alla us, evry last one?

Beautiful an’ majestic creature ain’t never gonna come together, cos so manya us are either dead or unborn, but I figure potentially she persists as an ever-present lifeforce breathin’ superdraconic energies into one an’ all.

(Gotta figure this never comin’ together deal applied also to the Satan hair scenario, meanin’ he was never ever gonna manifest — which only goesta show how much smarter ‘bout stuff like that we got since the Medieval epoch. FFS, those people were so frickin’ lame!)

When any two hoomans meet up, opportunity always exists for ‘em to hack one another’s inner draco.

An’ the more peopleya got together — sportin’ event, music festival, astrologer-hungry mob in the mall — the moreya gonna hear fluttera wing, feel heata flame, hear musica dragonsong.

Aries to Pisces, we can all zen out on draconic energies without pullin’ in a potentially contradictory viewa the Cosmos involvin’ irritatin’ roosters (an’ frickin’ snakes also — no way am I havin’ no serpent undulatin’ disturbingly round my apartment!) while adoptin’ a broad philosophy sees dragons in a positive light.

So the Asimov dragon rule would be kinda we are all inherently compatible as hooman beings, so go sweet on one another.

That cool?

But … I Still Get My Asshole Licked, Right? By A Monkey?

Maaaan — ever get the feelin’ you are jus’ talkin’ to your frickin’ self…?

Title Image c/o Josch12 @Pixabay

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

Thing is, this person’s profile page leads with a whole buncha shotsa schloopy snails.

They are so juicy an’ squishy an’ sucksy!

Prolly you could moosh one inya navel an’ get a real cool suck effect. Schloop schlooop schloooooop typea thing.

Go see! They are so cool!

<span class="sdata" title="6"></span> <span class="sdata" title="03, 2017"></span>

The Astrology Compatibility Mindfuckola

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-07-02T18:27:48+00:00"></span>|Blendyjuicy, Choice, Cosmic Roolz, Fate, Relationships, Washing Machine|0 Comments


In the wild an’ wacky worlda astrology, compatibility is the darnedest hot potater, tellya.

Alla that schwango about surefire an’ pre-ordained waysta bag the PERFECT soulmate for the PERFECT life with PERFECT you — is it really true?

Is it really gonna work?

More specifically, are alla those astrological mismatches doomedta fail?

Aw Gosh, I Hope Not! I Am In Such A Mismatch Relationship — And It Is Bliss! Please Don’t Tell Me I’m Being Delusional!

Tellya, textbook astrology compatibility scenarios orbit the internets, their dream solutions lit up by the twinklea the prediction-packin’ STARS.

Aries, you got Leo an’ Sagittarius — for fully flamed on love an’ adventure gonna rock out on verve an’ action.

An’ Taurus, you got Virgo an’ Capricorn — for a long term power duet fulla stability an’ trust gonna lastya.

Gemini, Libra an’ Aquarius can mix an’ match in infinitely intellect-tinglin’ ways, with plentya options for spicin’ up blendyjuicy’s boudoir.

An’ for full-on romance, spirityool bondin’ an’ tenderness, Cancer, Scorpio an’ Pisces make out in mebbe true love’s most expansive aquarium/desert area.

Leastaways, that is the kinda stuff I wrote out in my forthcomin’ Handy Astro Guides — an’ I got no desireta diss my own predictive fortune-dishin’ prowessitude aheada their release.

Hey! Quit Trying To Sell Shit Don’t Exist Yet, Princess! What Do You Think You Are — A Fucking Astrologer?

Hey — I dance an’ do yoga also, so go pick on sumone elseta rideya trope-assed one-trick pony round the Limited Talents theme park.

Point is, while these cosy, ‘single element’ matchups inviteyata tie up their fated certainties all sweet with a big ole booby doo ribbon — an’ even srsly mutant relationships like Taurus-Pisces an’ Gemini-Aries got cool link-up potential — the implication seemsta be that certain other combinations are kinda fuckoed from the outset, an’ ifya are stoopid beyond stoopid enoughta step out in such a maligned direction seekin’ eternal happiness an’ romance, the evil spirits patrollin’ the negative enda Fate’s spectrum gonna pee in a bucket bigger’n Saturn an’ sloosh it all over the bothaya in a surprise tsunami cataclysm whenya least expect it (most notably evry Monday, evry Tuesday, evry Wednesday…).

Cosmic Roolz’re clear.

Ifya are in anya these relationships…

Fixed Fixed — any comboa Taurus, Leo, Scorpio & Aquarius*

Cardinal Cardinal — any blenda Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn

Mutable Mutable — mix an’ match Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces

* though not all four together, cos that would be filth.

…then eternal misery be thine — on a platter, inya face, prolly even swampin’ ya armpits as an irritatin’ rash.

(Yeah, yeah — I know there are special weirdsy rules for polar opposites attractin’, but I am tryin’ to be super scientific here by glossin’ over that to make a pointa fact. It is the way right now in 2017, dontchya know.)

Thing is, life is fulla relationships break the rules alla the time.

See on Facebook where they got mice snugglin’ upta cats?

An’ on YouToob, where they got bear cub meets fawn for first time an’ baby monkey gowin’ backwards on a pig?

Sure, in life’s menagerie, you don’t get the kinda oppositesya see bustin’ outta the zodiac — what in hell would the oppositea a giraffe look like anyway? — but with the right beest whisperer an’ camera crew, most any *impossible!* combo is … possible.

(‘cept for mebbe a python an’ a shark — or an eagle an’ onea them creepy underground salamanders with no eyes an’ skin smoother than a dick pulsin’ out all woody.)

An’ you gotta admit — impossible or curious or plain weird combinations make the world spin sweeter.

FFS! First You Scare Me Into Thinking That My Perfectly Happy Relationship Is Compromised In Some Way — And Now You’re Insinuating That I’m Impossible Or Curious Or Plain Weird. Aaaand You Said I Was Stoopid Beyond Stoopid. Why Should I Read Any Further?

Read? Hey — you’re practically writin’ this thing!

But I guess that is my point.

Cosmic Roolz though there may be, it don’t meanya can’t break ‘em from timeta time — an’ neither does it mean nuthin’ gonna work ifya go break ‘em big time, nor even that no bountiful an’ happiness-packed good can ever come buzzin’ like kissed-out hunny bees from a union hitched up on the edgea OBLIVION.

Gotta figure there’re plentya godawful mismatches out there among people with no clue ‘bout astrology don’t even know how fuckoed they truly are.

“Let’s make out in the woods, where I can stick my tongue in your throat till you howl like a wolf,” says she, havin’ never consulted a horoscope, never checked in on astrology compatibility — an’ never found out she is Sagittarius.

“Fine,” says he, consultin’ a list longer than the Bayeux Frickin’ Tapestry, “but there’s the cleaning to do first — not to mention the administration, the ironing, and planning for our vacation in 2029. So why don’t you go walk the dog for a couple hours, and when everything here is spotless, I’ll wash and iron the bedsheets so they’re spankingly pristine and clean, and we can spend the rest of the day fucking one another’s brains out so hard and so good that this little ol’ place we call home will make the national news as an earthquake zone registering 9 on the Richter scale.”

(Most Virgos are smart enoughta know they are Virgos, but this guy is clearly a relative halfwit in that department.)

Thenya got other relationships pullin’ in some real power whoopee from a union fated to collapse don’t even realise their beautylicious existence depends entirely on rules they got no idea their amour flaunts — kinda like Donald Rumsfeld’s unknown unknowns, only with more provocative undergarments an’ mouth-wateringly curvaceouser insertables.

“Take me from behind! In a costume! Mouthing stream of consciousness gibberish in Ancient Greek!”

“Handcuffed to the ceiling and free swinging like a pendulum — or with the both of us sealed in the leather cocoon I hand-crafted from prime buffalo hide in my secret mountain hideaway?”

(Any fully functional Libra-Capricorn pairings out there recognize this scenario? I figureya gotta have not the faintest frickin’ clue what is gowin’ on astrologically, spiritually — an’ prolly even financially — to enjoy that baby.)

Gotta figure also that Moons an’ risin’ signs, Venus an’ Mars — an’ even frickin’ Plooto — all got plentya inflooence down deep in the astrological mix.

Coupla mismatched Sun signs up top could work out real sweet if evrythin’ links up compatible an’ perfect down deep inya planetary undercarriage.

Want my opinion?

This whole system is a frickin’ mess, tellya.

What Do You Propose As A Solution To This Astrology Compatibility Conundrum, O Princess? (And I Must Tell You Here That I Am Only Sticking Around Because That Last Part About Ironing The Bedsheets Really Turned Me On And I’m Hoping For More Of The Same, Preferably Involving A Washing Machine, Please.)


We kneelin’ on top together — or layin’ our fanjos out flat on the metalwork for max vibe power?

I guess the thing is, this whole astrology compatibility deal is all about how adventurous you wanna be.

How comfortable, how risky, how rhythmically functional, how fraught with peril.

‘Steada Cosmic Roolz — unbreakable — gotta figure on a hierarchya possiblilities — all makeable (but mebbe with consequences).

Playin’ for the home team is prolly easier than mixin’ it up with the away side — allaya Mojo Suite (emotional, sexyool, spiritual, financial, practical, aspirational etc) fully catered for an’ powerin’ out inta the blue on a tightly defined directive ticket — but the green grass on the other sidea the hill got advantages also, as in how that very same Mojo Suite gonna mebbe bust out on a more uncertain an’ potentially rewardin’ growth ticket, pullin’ in challenges, setbacks an’ unexpected discoveries as furniture an’ dinner plates are thrown about at random.

An’ I would wantchya to think about that.

Earth, Air, Fire an’ Water all got their own ways they wanna be.

A Fire partnership mebbe gonna be intrinsically more volatile than its Earth counterpart, but it still has a tightly defined directive ticket.

Not so the Sagittarius-Virgo relationship I mentioned earlier, before I sat up top on the washin’ machine withya to drill down, max spin, on my concludin’ vibe.

In this relationship, Sagittarius gonna open Virgo up sum, an’ I wantchyata know how powerful a force this kinda Earth Revved up by Fire combo can be.

Gotta thinka Star Wars here — only insteada the Jedi pluckin’ Luke Skywalker from his day-to-day tedium, they chose Cinderella.

On the flipside, what does Sagittarius really need?

Another fire sign stokin’ ‘em up, aggravatin’ their violent tendencies, an’ urgin’ ‘em to yell CUNT! alla the time?

Not always.

Jus’ as the Cinderella story got its own transformational punch, there are plentya cool narratives out there in books an’ movies feature the upstart whupped inta shape an’ saved from herself by sum kinda ‘informed master’ figure— or himself ifya are thinkin’ Dr Strange … an’ I wanna thinka Dr Strange, trooly I do, O Benedict, Benedict, Benedict…


As anyone watches Joopiter an’ Saturn knows, journeys can be equally about expansion an’ compromise, abandon an’ rigor, exploration an’ diligence — an’ sumtimes these qualities flip over.

For Sajjo, is not the Virgoan rulebook a kinda ultimate wilderness survival escapade, diligence turned exploration?

“I am Sagittarius — romping o’er hill and dale in search of freedom, tail swishing freely about my gorgeously toned equine ass.”

“Fine. But I am Virgo — and I’m gonna sit you on a rock in the middle of the ocean till you quit fucking around and squandering your life. Want freedom? Okay, so go wanderlust yourself the heck outta that panorama, you self-destructive bohemian buffoon!”

An’ on the flippo…

“I am Virgo — passionately bound to routines and strategies for teasing precisely what I want from life with my forensically-honed cerebellular colossus.”

“Fine. But I am Sagittarius — and I want you to know you are wasted in that stupid lab working for that asshole takes advantage of your generosity. So I say we move to Japan, throw out all our old clothes, and get you the intermittent urinary catheter design technician’s salary your nitpicky fucking brain deserves.”

For Virgo, is not Sajjo’s boundless optimism an’ lust for travel kinda compromise transformed into expansion? Diligence turned into exploration?

Same intrinsic Virgo deal, only bigger an’ better?

I am only speculatin’ here, an’ I am only usin’ a few limited examples, but I hopeya get the picture.

First The Washing Machine…And Now The Intermittent Urinary Catheter! Are You Trying To Bring Me Off Here Or What?

Hey, I jus’ wanna bring evryone onboard here.

With the deal.

See, astrology is not set in stone.

FFS alla the planets’re spinnin’ in thinnest vapor, an’ mosta ‘em are either ice, gas or crap.

Only permanence is the math underlyin’ their synchronized flingo (an’ I will say more about that another time).

Rest is kinda open season — energies an’ archetypes playin’ out as pan-MMORPG narrative.

Truth is, fate is options, choices, decisions.

Hard an’ easy. Sweet an’ bloody. Washin’ machine an’ intermittent urinary catheter.

An’ much as we wanna hitch evrythin’ up all perfect astrology compatibility fixed done sunset credits roll, sumtimes…

…oh, jus’ a few sweet sumtimes…

… the rightest wrong person ever swoops inta our life from outta frickin’ nowhere — an’ we gotta be real smart ‘bout what we choose gonna happen next…

Title Image c/o Alexas-Fotos @ Pixabay

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

<span class="sdata" title="13"></span> <span class="sdata" title="02, 2017"></span>

The Stars As A Valentine’s Day Smoochfest

By |<span class="sdata2" title="2018-06-02T09:21:34+00:00"></span>|Blendyjuicy, Love, Mother Cosmosis, Relationships|1 Comment


Man, this is so frickin’ weird.

I was gonna spend the evenin’ at my desk typin’ out a special YOUR VALENTINE’S STARS kinda blog post, but right now I am sat squat in the cornera the lobby Googlin’ incinerated bean bag.

Why so?

Here’s the deal with bein’ a minxyditzy astrologer.

The real cool part.

Coupla times a week, Mother Cosmosis opens up a secret portal to her Celestial Vapors in my apartment an’ foreshadows the future by tossin’ crap through it — all too often while I am takin’ a pee.

Las’ week, she festooned me with baby bunnies as parta sum “Seer Special Offer” Spring Equinox Trailer deal, an’ it took me three days to detox the place.

That leveled up my chopstick skills, tellya.

Anyways, right now, I got alla the Zodiac rompin’ round upstairs, eyes fulla amour, skin flushed red with passion, an’ tinglydanglies gorgin’ up for action.

So to hell with the academic treatise I had planned.

All I gotta do is make notes on what jus’ happened

Saturday Night Chez Prinno B

Cool thing is, Aries bust through the portal first.

FFS what else is gonna happen?

I had my vacuum an’ pajamas on, so it took me by surprise.

An’ by “it”, I mean Aries itself.

Wouldn’t make no sense for Mother Cosmosista bowl me, say, six gals an’ six guys, cos that would mess up summa the potential romantic combinations.

Straight only for Fire an’ Air? Or mebbe gay only for Earth an’ Water? Nah — deal don’t work like that.

So the zodiacal spirits I got were kinda either/or stroke neither stroke both — gal one minute, guy the next, jus’ so they could max out on a strobe-style morphin’ sexuality ticket.

(Jus’ so’s you know.)

How Absolutely Bizarro!

Tell me ‘bout it.

First thing Aries did after I whacked the fucker with my suction pipe (a purely reflex action btw — I am not a habityool psychopath) wasta rifle through my smalls drawer for a paira hi octane knickoes — an’ switch out to a guy.

“Intrestin’,” I said. “What’s the plan?”

Aries grinned. “Something quick. I still gotta make the gym. Gonna scramble up on top of your bookcase and pounce on whoever is next through the portal.”

“Saves schemin’ for decades onlyta findya sweetheart dieda old age, like a Capricorn, I guess.”

(Ha! I got no problem bein’ snarky, but sumthin’ ‘bout Aries always stokes me up, an’ I blew my cool by gigglin’ at the end.)

Uh oh! Noises off from the bedroom!

I figured Taurus, cos she … he … it comes next in the Zodiac roster — only I got Cancer.

An’ bless her, she got chocolates an’ roses an’ some dumb Valentine’s card she made herself, an’ she was fluffin’ up the bed, makin’ evrythin’ warm an’ homely.

I pulled the door shut an’ indicated the closet. “Quick! You gotta hide!”

“You got someone in there?” hollered Aries, boundin’ down the corridor. “I demand immediate conquest!”

“Uhm … no,” I called, bundlin’ Cancer to safety. “It is my … crocodile.”

Aries’ scream shattered alla the glass in the window. “Nothing inspires me for hot action in the sack like risking my life to battle a dangerous throwback from the dinosaur age!”

Door flew open — gulp — as did my knickoes — *blush* — an’ Aries barely blinked before hurlin’ himself through the window’s glass dagger halo an’ out into …. well, let’s jus’ say I do not live on the ground floor.

Thing is, bein’ a Sajjo, I shoulda been straight after him, but I am not without sensitivity, an’ as Cancer’s whimpers blubbed from behind the closet door, I thoughta how crumpled my favo dragon kimono gonna be after she’d done squishin’ it with her fat frickin’ ass.

“Seems you’re something of an expert pipe-bender.” Voice from behind me was sexy, an’ I figured sum Leo was makin’ a flatterin’ pass — only it was Virgo, holdin’ out my vacuum.

“I can fix it, if you like,” he said, “and if you want some help tidying that germswamp you call a kitchen, I always travel with a set of brushes and three pints of assorted cleaning fluids.”

“Hey — I know you Virgo types got a reputation for bein’ super kind, an’ I got an anxious Cancer here in my closet could use a little TLC more’n my mountaina unwashed dishes, so couldya be a sweetie an’ mebbe mop up her tears while I change outta my pajamas?”

Gotta love a diligent Virgo. No one does No Problem better. Best thing, he seemed kinda pleased when Cancer crawled outta the closet, fully masculinoed up.

“I feel unsafe here,” said the crab-man. “Broken glass has ruined the romantic atmosphere, and I know the situation will only get worse. Would you escort me to a quiet coffee bar till Scorpio shows up? I’m very badly shaken.”

Thing is, there is a rubycon beyond which No Problem jus’ becomes Stoopid, but Virgo prolly ain’t seen it yet. Guy was so sweet — he took Cancer’s hand, made big time reassurin’ with his eyeballs, then transformed into a ravishin’ redhead before fixin’ up my vacuum, emptyin’ the dust bag, an’ headin’ off in searcha java.

Gotta mention — Aries jus’ whooshed past me on a skateboard, with Libra in pursuit, swingin’ a buncha bananas round her head.

But I will get to that part later.

Bring On The Evolutionarily Quirky Quadrupeds

Problem I had was alla the broken glass — an’ the lurkin’ suspicion that the firstborna Mother Cosmosis’s foreshadowy Valentine’s Zodiac specter-cum-polysexuals lay splattered on the sidewalk below.

Gotta tellya, we astrologers face stiff penalties for bustin’ stuff we get sent from anya the various Beyonds — only las’ Halloween sum stargazer from New York ate a whole buncha candy he shouldnta, an’ Mother Cosmosis turned onea his ears into a frickin’ carrot.

Luckily for Moi, Aquarius swung in through the window packin’ more cosplay gadgetry than Batman flauntin’ his techiest kit.

“Who’s the hot, naked, somersaulting gymnast guy?” it said, its momentary androgyny so exquisitely … hooman.

I rolled my eyes. “Aries.”

“Typical,” said Aquarius, shifting all Harry Styles. “So how’s it going with the luminous popcorn, the hilarious customized Cards Against Humanity deck — and the porcupine in the sack?”

My eyes switched sides. “What?”

“It’s a party, right? Gotta have some freaky party food, especially stuff makes your burps glow in the dark. And if we’re playing Humanity later, gotta have some new and risque cards to keep everyone on their toes. So I printed off a whole bunch of stuff from my shrink’s Skin Disease Encyclopaedia and made up some shit about buggering horses.”

“And the porcupine?”

Aquarius threw back his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve never played Feel The Prickly Mammal — for cash!”

“Listen,” I said, hand on the guy’s shoulder, “it is Valentine’s, so’ I figure people will wanna pair off an’ make with the smoochie.”

Water bearer rifled through the cell phones danglin’ by string from his belt for the one said BATTERY 2%, then tossed me a quizzical look. “What year is this?”

Prolly wouldn’ta mattered what in heck I’d said, but that’s when Leo pitched up an’ ignited my livin’ room in a balla flame.


Leo’s plan for romance centered on a decorative 22-tier cake sizea The Rock an’ a theatrical fire-eatin’ routine set to a buncha Queen songs, an’ while sum folks (Moi included) mighta found such a spectacle impressive, Taurus was fuckin’ Scorpio on the sofa an’ did not take kindlyta havin’ the hairs seared offa her fanjo by sum showy clown in a swashbuckler outfit.

Aquarius fired off his water cannon, but nuthin’ could douse the flames, so evryone hadta dash out into the corridor before the emergent inferno took holda the synthetic bobblesa crap in my bean bag an’ poisoned the wholea the Earth’s atmosphere.

Coulda used Virgo’s return jus’ then, if only to talk Taurus down from stranglin’ Leo to death an’ snap the heels offa Scorpio’s weaponized boots, but when I opened up the elevator there was only Pisces — clutchin’ two empty wine bottles.

“I started early,” she drawled. “Where’s the smokes? I wanna get trashed.”

Any other situation, Pisces gets sidelined as the buildin’ goes up in flames, but tonight her random intervention was perfect.

First, Leo got to live as Taurus an’ Scorpio turned on one other.

(“She’s mine!”

“No — she’s mine, you filthy bull!”

“Hey — quit pullin’ my hair, you bitch.”

“Leo burned it off, remember? That’s your fuckin’ dick, you shapeshifter asshole!”)

Second, the big cat squared up to the plumesa smoke pourin’ from my apartment door.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “So let me be the one to put things right.”

I kinda expected her to dig out an extinguisher an’ brave the flames solo, but Pisces’ diaphanous evenin’ gown shimmered with the glowa elemental water from beyond time an’ space, an’ Leo siezed the initiative.

If you ever seen onea them magic shows where the magician rips a tablecloth from under a whole buncha cutlery an’ dinner plates without disturbin’ a thing, it was kinda that — only on this occasion, the glamorous assistant (Pisces) fainted insteada grinnin’ like she got the only teeth in the universe.

Gotta be glad I caught her an’ broke her fall.

She was lighter than a bird, smelleda pure exotica.

FFS, there goes Aries again. An’ Libra is stripped to the waist now…

Speculation An’ Prediction Gotta Be Certain, No Contradiction

Point about the Courageous Leo Emergency Epic (as Leo herself named it) is how it is gonna be turned into a movie.

Coupla flapsa Pisces’ evenin’ gown was is all it took to snuff the flames.

Thing is, Leo was real cool about evrythin’ — swallowed her pride an’ offerdta replace my sofa an’ shit, all while she shaped out into sumthin’ half Matt Damon, half Benedict Cumberbatch.

On another night, that mighta turned my heart, only we still had four signs left to show, an’ I figured on keepin’ my wits about me — no mean feat seein’ how I am such a ditz, tellya.

Mixin’ a cocktail as I cleared the smoke, I set my astrologer’s brainta work, see if I could predict what was comin’.

“Lemme see,” I muttered, throwin’ on jeans an’ a T, “we got Libra, Cappy, Gemini an’ Sajjo — unless Sajjo is covered by Moi to save on polysexual specter manifestation magicks. So that’s three, mebbe four, stillta come.”

Way I saw it, Libra an’ Gemini coulda made a workable matchup scenario — or a threesum if Aquarius stole himself away from my impossible coffee table puzzle — leavin’Cappy to drop last an’ shut up shop before stompin’ around stoically till mebbe the Summer cos nuthin’ worked out … again.

Only he showed first.

An’ he was fuckin’ drop dead.

Ear Muffs Rising, Midheaven Fulla Cacophony

“Hi,” said Cappy, cool an’ soft an’ denim-stickyin’. “Seems you’ve had a difficult night.”

I nodded like sum nervous rabbit. An’ giggled. Frickin’ shoot me.

“What say I treat you to dinner? And a movie? My limo is outside.”

Gotta tellya, Capricorn an’ Moi don’t see eyeta eye, ‘spesh when it comesta the blendyjuicy, but I felt weird, kinda impulsive an’ secure all at once, an’ I opened my mouth, ready to whisper YES, THANK YOU SO MUCH, when Gemini strolled in an’ said, “Woooooooooooow, what in hell kinda action has been going down here? No, wait! Don’t tell me! You burned your Valentine’s dinner? Am I right? Incinerated your finest meringue and boiled all your gravy to a carbonized slab? Fifty bucks says that was the deal. Ha! Reminds me of a night in Rome last year — or was it 2015? 2014? Hell, who cares? — a blissful time I spent with a beautiful stallion by the name of Luigi. He was hot on looks, big on romance, and pleasingly expansive on the slack-to-stiff ratio in the boxerbuster department. We took in the Colosseum, Mussolini’s Typewriter and Big Ben, then we danced the night away under the stars and … no, wait — that was London. And it was Simon. Or was it Benjamin? Aw, who cares? Don’t you just love clocks the size of skyscrapers? And those guys with the helmets look like huge furry grapes? Yanno, the ones escort the Queen of England back and forth to the Eiffel Tower? Or wherever?” Gemini quit blinkin’. “Hey, who are you guys anyways? And what was I just saying?”

“He’s in the frickin’ livin’ room,” I said. “Hopeya like porcupines.”

Strap Me To The Dinner Table With Filamentsa Purest Style

Gotta tellya, I had a cool, quality time with Cappy.

Evrythin’ was perfect, an’ he took real good carea me — even when his beard slithered up his face into a pert an’ pristine bob midway through the Vichyssoise.

As a Saj, I am usedta bein’ kinda slapdash, kinda whatever happens, but when romance is done proper, it really makesya wonder ifya might want that deal more often.

Anyways, after mains — sum weirdo fish I’d never hearda — we chatted about Virgo an’ Cancer, an’ both agreed the crab-man-gal-thing gonna be OK.

“Virgo won’t let her down,” said Cappy, an’ I figured she truly meant it, but there was sumthin’ in her eyes, like a flickera sadness. I dunno.

“That is Earth, I guess. Real reliable.” Ha! I was tryin’ to be empatheticalistic, but Taurus’ phantom butt cheeks revisited me momentarily as a ballistic blur over my napkin, an’ I splorfed out sumthin’ filthy made the waiter blush.

Kinda worked on Cappy though, an’ when she drove me home I felt so warm an’ secure I almost forgot she was merely a celestial whisper.

Cometh The Hour, Cometh The Asshole

I figured on sealin’ a nighta adventure by relaxin’ for an hour in the tub with mebbe Libra readin’ me poetry an’ strokin’ on my hair, but Gemini really had picked up on Aquarius’ porcupine deal, an’ the paira ‘em were locked in for the night, behavin’ abominably.

I walked back to the lobby. No Libra.

I took out my tab an’ started writin’ alla this down. No Libra.

Mebbe I was right about the threesum; mebbe Libra was up there makin’ out with her fellow airheads — under the gazea sum watchful spiny beast.

*Omc, it is so salacious an’ dirtya Moi, but I started thinkin’ all kindsa stuff.*

Never got too racy though, cos Aries roared inta the lobby doorway, sweat drippin’ from evry incha her ravaged clothes.

“What the fuck cunt fuck is going on?” she screamed, punchin’ hard at the walls. “I was on fire. And I ran all fucking night. For no one! Why does this always happen to me? What did I DO? What is so wrong about wanting to start shit up?

Tellya, I was scared. Aries in a paranoid rage is truly dangerous, an’ I hadta trust it would blow over, like it always kinda does.

What I did not expect was a flowery hairdo to end all flowery hairdos to come skippin’ in from outta the night with a frickin’ violin’.

“Please don’t be angry,” said Libra, pirouettin’ round the scarlet-faced monster by the wall. “Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Fiddly-dee, fiddly-doo, fiddly-dum.”

Aries snapped her fingers into a fist. “There IS no other person, you fucking asshole! That is the fucking point!

Libra danced sum more, played his strings sweeter. “Fiddly-dee. Fiddly-doo. Fiddly-dum.”

Gotta tellya, when I facepalm, most times it is cozza embarrassment, but right then, seein’ Aries ready to flare all terminal, I had fears for my own eyeballs.

“Fiddly-dah,” whispered Libra. He reached out a hand, moved gently in on Aries — an’ cupped her shakin’ body in a tender hug.


Took the smarmy fucker mebbe 15 seconds tops.

Tellya, that is not romance, that is frickin’ art.

Gimme the replay, gimme a month to bone up, an’ there is still NO WAY I can do that.

Anyways, that was mebbe forty minutes ago, an’ shit has kinda developed since then.

Aries has gone from explodin’ like an ancient volcano to flopsyin’ out with alla the jollitya sum doe-eyed Disney bunny, an’ she is tearin’ about all over with Cap’n Frickin’ Karaoke, playin’ out goofy historical combats — mosta which’re derived from Shakespeare if I hear Libra right an’ am not confoosin’ shit with The Empire Strikes Back.

So, Yeah — Happy Valentine’s, Evryone

Best thing is, seems I was right about the Sajjo deal.

No need for Mother Cosmosis to foreshadow crap for Moi, cos I am here, an’ I got the gift.

So, listen — I gotta go party now.

Virgo jus’ texted to say she is comin’ back with sum special keys gonna get me into my apartment, so I guess it is mindfuck time for Moi till alla the Air guys get sucked off back through Mother Cosmosis’ Celestial Vaporhole.

An’ btw, turns out Cancer met up with Taurus in a pizza place along the way, an’ Scorpio is soberin’ Pisces up in the elevator with a viewta managin’ her career as an exotic dancer in Leo’s movie franchise.


Was gonna start out this blog post with the line As an Aries, you are impulsive in love.

But true romance is kinda messy, I guess — an’ that is the fun part…