Oh! Lest I forget! The space bulls and space alligators or what have you are also able to predict daily mood, temperament, and – in the rarest and most special of circumstances, when their celestial powers are at their highest – one’s disposition towards certain tasks! All based upon the position of stars! How wonderful! How obvious! No wonder the servants I hired in May were always fired or buried by August – clearly, they were scatterbrained Sagittariuses or fickle Capricorns! Everyone knows you can’t trust a Sagittarius with heavy machinery or a Capricorn to keep their damnable mouth shut during an OSHA investigation! How foolish of me!
Before I proceed, I would like to note that if any of our readers are entertaining thoughts of correcting me on the actual nature or temperament of those born under the signs of Sagittarius or Capricorn, they are more than welcome to travel to my Connecticut estate, knock upon the westernmost door in a prescribed manner, follow my servants to the drawing room, and vigorously fellate me, J.M. Rutherford, at their earliest possible convenience.
And now that these zodiacs have changed, whatever shall we, the now-rudderless spirit orphans of the world, do for guidance? Perhaps we shall drop tea leaves into a vat of pig bones and olive oil and determine the best course of action by the spatter and texture of our vomit after we drink the concoction in its entirety and become violently ill? Only the brightest and most level-headed amongst us can make these determinations, and I, as someone whose life is affected in the slightest by the blasphemous voodoo of astrology, am clearly not a member of that most exclusive club. All we, inveterate morons to a man, can do, is hope that our tawdry lives continue to make sense now that their foundations have been shaken so thoroughly, and so violently.