My very favourite astrology joke

This joke is not meant to offend 3 of the best UK astrologers. . .it's just a little fun.
One day, Bernard Eccles, Deborah Houlding and Nick Campion went out for a walk. They were old buddies from the Sophia Centre and they were together for a reunion.

For no apparent reason, they went into this zoo and passed a monkey. Being in the same business and from the same college, there was a little bit of a peer competition going on between them - they couldn't resist testing themselves against each other.
Bernard said to the others: "Why don't we prove who is the best among ourselves?"
“Why not?” said Deb and Nick.
Bernard said: "Let's have a test. Whoever makes this monkey laugh, employs the best astrological techniques.”
By mutual agreement, Bernard took the first turn by saying: "I'm an unashamed sun sign astrologer so I will say my sun is in the sixth house today--ruling small animals--and I think I can make the monkey laugh by telling jokes based on the position of the sun." So Bernard told his joke. The monkey stayed still, looking somehwat bemused at the trio.
Then it was Deb's turn. She consulted the ephemeris and constructed a chart of the moment. She judged that Mercury was in it's detriment and therefore the monkey would not get verbal jokes. So she tried to make funny gestures... No good, the monkey stayed put...
Now, came Nick. He whispered something into the monkey's ear and it burst out laughing at him.
Bernard and Deb were astonished. How did this jumped-up academic manage to beat them? No way were they going to accept defeat so easily!
So Deb said: "OK, let's take another test. Let's make this monkey cry!!"
So there they went again, applying the same methods as before.
Bernard narrated sad stories based on star signs and Deb (after constructing another chart and making another judgment) mimed sad gestures. They failed again...
Then Nick whispered something into the monkey's ear and lo and behold, it started crying and patting the academic lecturer’s shoulder!
Bernard and Deb just could not believe their eyes!
So Bernard said: "OK, you've won twice. If you can win just this one, we will bow to you. Let's make this monkey run."
So Bernard barked at the monkey and ordered him to run. Of course, it stayed where it was. Deb, true to her type, constructed another chart and made a judgment. She pushed and prodded the monkey-- still no go.
So... here comes Nick again and whispers into the monkey's ear. The monkey just takes off! It runs and runs as fast as it can, as if it was scared to death!
Bernard and Deb surrendered, saying: "OK, we give up. You're the best among us, and your techniques are the best of the three. But please, please tell us your secret."
"Well", said Nick. "The first time I made it laugh, I said I was an academic astrologer. The next time, to make it cry, I told the monkey how little I get paid despite working so hard...so it started crying. And then, to make it run, I told it that I was here to find more PhD students!!!”

On the Move

It's been a hectic few weeks due to an unexpected house move and another house move on the horizon and school starting up again. And there's the not-so-little matter of me finishing off not one, not two but three FAS exercises (this is my real excuse for not blogging for so long).Oh and another Q is out! here's a pic of me with my "babies":Don't I look just like a proud mother??

Or perhaps that manic grin is a sign that I'm a little stressed these days?? Transit Uranus is on my progressed moon and it's been very hard on this territorial (Moon in Leo) Cancerian! To make things just that little bit extra awful, the tranist is in the 10th house--and I have to teach in 11 different classrooms. I can't decide if my school is flattering me by deciding I'm so flexible that I can handle anything--or if they're trying to get rid of me! I've been feeling like a refugee and my temper--normally quite under control--is bubbling under the surface.

I leave you with the Beer Prayer (Jupiter conjunct Neptune)

Our lager,

Which art in barrels,

Hallowed be thy drink.

Thy will be drunk, (I will be drunk),

At home as it is in the pub.

Give us this day our foamy head,

And forgive us our spillages,

As we forgive those who spill against us.

And lead us not to incarceration,

But deliver us from hangovers.

For thine is The beer, The bitter and The lager.

Barmen.

Home Again

After a week at Saugeen, I'm starting to feel human again! Just in time to head back to London. . .
So here I am, back in the Big Smoke, still a little jet-lagged and feeling nauseous from the flight. As I'm not looking forward to getting back the grind, here's a little Neptune in th 6th house joke to sustain me and keep me smiling as the days close in:

John woke up after the annual office new year party with a pounding headache, cotton-mouthed and utterly unable to recall the events of the preceding evening. After a trip to the bathroom, he made his way downstairs, where his wife put some coffee in front of him. 'Louise,' he moaned, 'tell me what happened last night. Was it as bad as I think?' 'Even worse,' she said, her voice oozing scorn. 'You made a complete ass of yourself. You succeeded in antagonizing the entire board of directors, and you insulted the president of the company, right to his face.' 'He's an idiot,' John said. 'Piss on him.' 'You did', came the reply. 'And he fired you.' Well, screw him!' said John. 'I did. You're back to work on Monday.'

Few words required. . .

No jokes today in honour of great traditions that need few words. The Saugeen Reservation, where my ancestors eventually settled several generations ago, hosted their annual pow wow. These images are copyrighted so please don't copy them without asking for permission first. I've taken a few liberties as it was my extended family who was hosting the pow wow and it was a public event but if you're not a card carrying band member of the reservation, you should ask for permission before taking photographs (let alone posting them on the internet): Chi Megwetch for an unforgettable day!

A few fries with your ketchup?

So I spent last week in Canada (my excuse for being behind on my blog!), on the reservation beach, with my Ojibwa relatives. No, we didn't spend the morning eating fish but we did spend the morning imitating them. We worked ourselves up into a hunger so we went to Bob's B-B-Q to have what could have been the best breakfast ever. When I looked up from my omelette to see what by brother in law Dave was eating, this is what I saw:

Take a good look at his plate!

In honour of my new-found bro-in-law (who is one hell of a guy!), here's a little ketchup joke just for him. The significator is a challenge but I'm going to call it Venus in the 8th for the times when you have to sweeten up the difficult stuff:

An enthusiastic door-to-door vacuum salesman goes to the first house in his new territory. He knocks, a real mean and tough looking lady opens the door, and before she has a chance to say anything, he runs inside and dumps cow patties all over the carpet.He says, "Lady, if this vacuum cleaner doesn't do wonders cleaning this up, I'll eat every chunk of it."

She turns to him with a smirk and says, "You want ketchup on that?"

The salesman says, "Why do you ask?"

She says, "We just moved in and we haven't got the electricity turned on yet."

The one that got away. . .

I don't regard fishing as a sport--any more than I would consider it a joy to go out and slaughter any other animal to who can catch the biggest one. Nevertheless, my dad is a fisherman and I'm one hundred precent certain that an awful lot of my Native American ancestors were fisherman. We don't prolong the agony of the fish and we certainly don't catch more than we can eat. We're also careful to use all of the fish, be it as food or as compost for the garden. My grandmother (the Ojibwa one) taught me how to prepare fish for cooking and how to fry them to perfection and I had an uncle whose career was based sole-ly (geddit?) on filleting fish for tourists. What can I say? I watched carefully. So when my dad offered to take my daughter fishing on the shores of the mighty St Clair River, I though it would be a great experience for her to learn where the fishcakes come from.

Anyway, this was the monster they caught (do be prepared to scream!):

And here's a close up:


Needless to say, he was a little small to filet and fry and we watched as he swam away. Little did we know the other dangers of the river. . .

We do hope our little guy--who was snagged by his dorsal fin--safely swam past this impromptu parade of geese!

In honour of the ones that get away. . .here's a little joke pimped up by me, especially for you. It's a Jupiter in the 12th joke, a reminder of our big sky. . .

The Lone Ranger and Tonto went camping in the desert. After their tent is all set up, they fell sound asleep.
One hour later, Tonto wakes the Lone Ranger and says, "Kemo-Sabe, look towards sky, what you see?"
The Lone Ranger replies, "I see millions of stars."
"What that tell you?" asked Tonto.
The Lone Ranger ponders for a minute, then says, "Astronomically speaking, it tells me there are millions of galaxies and potentially millions of planets. Astrologically, it tells me that Saturn is in Leo so hair styles will feature the long and bushy look. Horologically, it appears to be approximately a quarter past three in the morning. Theologically, it's evident the Lord is all-powerful and we are small and insignificant. Meteorologically, it seems we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What's it tell you, Tonto?"
Tonto is silent for a moment, then says, "Kemo-Sabe, you dumb ass. Someone stole tent."

Oh Lord, won't you buy me. . .

Whilst poking around the Henry Ford Museum in Detroit, I came across the "Guitar and Cars" exhibition. I had just about recovered from seeing the ZZ Top car used in their videos when I heard the familiar wails of my beloved Janis!! With my heart in my throat, I rounded the corner and nearly fainted when I saw her car! My daughter looked at me and said: "Mum, you're crying!"

I said: "But it's Janis!!" Needless to say I made a bit of a spectacle of myself but I don't care. Someone handed me some tissue and I continued fawning over the very car Janis had driven. here's a better view without me in the way:

And a bit closer to see the detail. . .Remember, this is where the goddess herself used to sit!!

I still can't believe I got to see Janis' car! And the funny thing is that I didn't even know it was there--I just bumped into it.

To celebrate Janis Joplin and her Mercedes Benz, here's a very special Saturn conjunct Uranus in the 2nd house joke:

A highly successful young executive received a promotion and decided to reward himself with a new car. When the dignified, dapper and impeccably groomed businessman arrived at the Mercedes Benz showroom, the salesman looked at his expensive suit and shoes and suggested the Executive Model.

"Yes, I like it," said the executive, after looking it over. "I'll take it today. I have a business conference in another state. I have just been made vice president of finance."

"But sir!" said the salesman. "We can give you so many accessories and extra options! I'm sure it is worth waiting a few days. After all, CARS have personalities! We do our best to match the CAR to the DRIVER, sir! This car has only the basics! I CANNOT sell it to you without the all of the fine..."

"No, no," said the executive quickly. "I like the car as simple as possible. Nothing extra. I insist! ONLY THE BASICS! NOTHING! And PLEASE do not argue with me!"

"Very well, sir," said the salesman, but he shook his head and sighed.

The executive drove out of the showroom and soon he was on the interstate. He was enjoying the luxury of his new car, when, out of nowhere, he heard a voice a mocking voice but he was ALONE in the car!

"Are those Brooks Brothers shoes you're wearing, pal?"

"Who said that?" The executive nearly hit the roof with surprise.

"I asked you a question! I'll bet those shoes cost five hundred dollars, huh? And are those SILK socks? Mighty fancy, mister high and mighty executive! A little TOO fancy for me!"

"They cost seven hundred dollars and yes, they're Brooks Brothers and yes, these socks are silk. What am I DOING?! Am I losing my MIND?!" said the executive.

"Well get rid of 'em - NOW. There no place for shoes and socks like those in HERE! You think you're special, don't you Pinstripes?" said the voice.

"Who ARE you?" said the executive again.

"Mind your business. Get barefoot!" said the voice, growing in strength.

"I will NOT!" snapped the executive angrily. "Leave me alone! I--I AM going insane! I'm arguing with my CAR!"

"Yeah - well, you might you say YOU are MY DRIVER!" snapped the voice. But the voice kept up the harangue for an hour, yelling and mocking so that the executive could hardly think or drive. He found himself in a losing battle...

"I am an executive. I am wearing a business suit! I am on my way to a conference! I HAVE to wear these shoes!" he cried.

But the voice mocked and yelled. "It looks like I'm gonna have to DRAG you off that high horse, Mister SUIT AND TIE! Even if you come off kicking and screaming" said the voice. And he continued with a barrage of insults.

Finally, after an hour, the beaten down, exhausted executive yelled: "I can't stand it anymore! You win! You want me to go barefoot? FINE! Then BARE FEET IT IS! Anything to SHUT YOU UP!" And he untied and pulled off the brand new polished black captoe shoes that he had bought that week and had shined that morning, and then peeled off his silk socks. Without slowing down, he stuffed the socks in the shiny, expensive shoes and threw them out the window on the highway. "That's $750 that just went out the window! Are you satisfied?!" yelled the executive.

"There!" said the voice. "Now don't you feel better without those stupid shoes on?" said the voice cheerfully.

"No!" said the executive angrily.

As he rested his bare foot on the accelerator, the voice said: "Now let's talk about that necktie... Hermes? Or is it Armani?"

"Oh no!!" whispered the executive. "Not again..."

"Well?" snarled the voice. "No fancy silk neckties in THIS car! And are those cufflinks?! With a monogram! And a Rolex?! And I'll bet you're wearing suspenders under that suit, huh? Well!"

"Yes" said the executive reluctantly. "YES! Why do you CARE?"

"You think you can dress like THAT in this car?! I think NOT! Now get that necktie off. NOW! NOW!" The harangue began again. An hour later, the window opened, and one by one, the desperate and bewildered executive threw out his $150 tie and the matching pocket square, his monogrammed cufflinks, his braces, his Rolex and his tiepin. "And is that a cashmere overcoat in the back seat? With a silk scarf? And what about the briefcase?!"

"No! No!" cried the executive. "Why are you doing this to me?! Let me alone!" But soon, the overcoat and scarf were thrown out on the highway, followed by the $1500 briefcase, which opened, throwing papers everywhere.

For a moment there was silence - then: "Now for that nice, dapper pinstriped BUSINESS SUIT you've got on, Mister Big Shot Corporate High Flyer!" said the voice.

"Oh, no!" gasped the executive. "Not my SUIT! This was made for me in London by Savile Row! It cost $2,500!!"

"Well, and who do you think YOU are?!" said the voice in disgust. "That smart suit has to GO! No suits in this car. Period. Never. And that white shirt. Is it starched. And the underwear . . . designer shorts I'll bet! Everything has to go! Lose those spiffy PINSTRIPES!! NOW, Mister Hotshot!"

The harangue went as the executive begged. Finally, he saw a barefoot derelict along the highway. He pulled over and called out to him: "Will you swap my suit and shirt for your clothes?" Within minutes the shaking and frightened executive was wearing the rags of a bum.

"OK!" said the voice. "Quit that high-paying, high-class job and sell your condo and your stocks...and no arguments!"

"Quit my job!" said the executive. "Please...I just got a promotion."

"And give away all those fancy suits and ties and shoes you have back in your closet. And don't tell me you don't! I KNOW the TYPE! Call a charity NOW! Give them everything! Even the tuxedo and the patent leather pumps you were going to wear to the corporate black-tie dinner!"

"How...how did you know...." gasped the executive. The executive, now a broken man, barely kept his hands on the wheel as the voice yelled and bullied him to come down off his high horse. He called his office and told his stunned boss he was quitting. Then he sold all of his assets and gave the money away. Then he gave away all his clothes.

"Fine!" snapped the voice. "Hey! There's a KMart! Go in and buy a sixpack of white socks and three pairs of overalls. Get movin'!"

The stunned executive followed those instructions.

"There's a help wanted sign! Get yourself a job as a garbageman, and make it snappy!" said the voice sharply.

"A garbageman! Me...." Exhausted, disoriented and stunned, the executive took a job as a garbageman. Two months later, the former exec arrived at the Mercedes showroom to return the car because he could not afford the payments. The salesman did not look surprised when he saw the formerly dignified, confident and impeccably groomed executive reduced to collecting trash and dressed in overalls, and he showed no surprise when he heard the strange story.

"What did you expect? I TRIED to warn you! Look at the name of the MODEL you bought!"

And the garbageman looked at the bill of sale: "Mercedes Benz - STRIPPED-DOWN EXECUTIVE MODEL"