107 Man Reveals The Secret To A Long Life Is To Drink Four Bottles Of Red Wine A Day

For all you connoisseurs of the grape and aficionados of the “vino,” here’s some good news for you: guzzling copious amounts of red wine is extremely beneficial for your health — or at least it was in the case of a certain Spaniard who lived to the ripe old age of 107.

The Independent reports that recently-deceased Antonio Docampo Garcia, who passed away last week in northwestern Spain, lived a long and fruitful life, and imbibed nothing but homemade red wine throughout most of his 107 years on the planet.

Health experts recently announced that drinking more than one glass of red wine a day significantly raises your risk of getting cancer, and that nearly ruined everyone’s evening tipple, but then along comes the tale of a fearless free spirit such as Antonio, who imbibed four bottles of his own homemade red wine each and every day, and it looks very much like the party is back on for those who appreciate a full-bodied vintage.

Not that excessive binging on alcohol is ever advised, and even if it was, most of us would be hard pressed to but away four bottles of the good stuff on a daily basis. Yet Antonio’s heroic intake and warrior like attitude to booze, is testament to the old adage that sometimes you’ve got to measure the medicine to the man and not the man to the medicine.

And after 107 years of drinking two bottles of red wine with his lunch and two with dinner, the magic medicine of the grape certainly appeared to do Antonio no harm.

Read more here! 

The Devil’s Hour: Here’s Why You Wake Up Spooked At 3 AM

Picture the scene. You awake from an uneasy sleep, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, guts churning, gasping for breath, with one foot in the world of nightmares and the other tangled in a suffocating duvet.

You look at the clock: it reads 3 a.m. You feel spooked like something terrible is going to happen but have no idea why. All you know as your mind races and you nervously eye the shadows is there’ll be no sleep for you tonight.

And it’s not because you’ve eaten something exotic, taken something you shouldn’t, or overdone it on the booze. It’s because you’ve awoken into the twilight zone that is 3 a.m., also know as the Devil’s Hour, also regarded by paranormal experts as a time when pure evil in the form of demons and entities from the spirit world really like to make their presence felt.

Of course, it could all be superstitious nonsense, but in the early hours of the morning, when reality is but a dream and you’re wide-eyed and open to suggestion, there’s plenty of things not just to make you go “mmmmm,” but to make you scream the house down in white-knuckled panic.

According to the myths of ages, the Devil’s Hour is very real, and when we awake at 3 a.m. with a fretful stirring in our soul, it’s because an evil as old as the hills is deliberately taunting us and mocking the death of Jesus christ, who, according to ancient manuscripts, died in the middle of the afternoon — at 3 p.m.

Just like turning the cross upside down mocks ridicules the Christian faith, the inversion of 3 p.m. to 3 a.m. is considered a time-honored tool used by demons to plague and torment humans with.

Psychics suggest that at 3 a.m., the veil between our world and the one beyond the grave is lifted completely, and in a state of deep slumber, our minds are very susceptible to paranormal activity.

Read more here!

Mysterious Road Tunnel Make Time Travel Possible

A mysterious road tunnel has made time travel possible, or so hundreds of motorists who have fallen foul of its bizarre time-bending laws claim.
In our modern utopia, driving is rarely a pleasant experience, and on a highway to hell or road to nowhere, it is all too easy to lose track of time as the monotonous sound of rubber on tarmac, the soft hypnotic roar of the engine, and the mind-numbing brutality of Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran on the airwaves lulls even the most alert and guarded soul into an unthinking haze where all sense of time, space, and self is rendered obsolete.
In other words, it’s all too easy to lose track of time when you’re behind the wheel, but very rarely do you travel through it. Well, at least not in the H.G. Wells sense.
Yet, there’s a tunnel in Guizhou Province, China, which is currently under investigation because hundreds of motorists have claimed they have gone back in time after exiting the bizarre 400-metre structure.

Read more here!

Marilyn Monroe: From Cultural Icon To Corporate Whore

Marilyn Monroe lived and died in an age blissfully free of the tawdry taint of social networks, but that hasn’t stopped some chancer opening a Facebook account in her name and recruiting over millions of  fans under the banner of the Monroe brand.

Fifty years after the Hollywood icon’s death and it’s still very much a case of goodbye Norma Jeane and hello sacred cash cow. Since her untimely demise at the age of 36 in 1962 the tragic starlet has been prime product for the money men who continue to milk millions from the 21st century pop culture phenomenon

Monroe also has 242,000 Twitter followers, which is kind of ironic considering she never wrote a tweet and if she was alive today she would be an old lady in her 90s.

Who’s responsible for the latest round of perpetual pimping of Marilyn Monroe as the world’s most profitable corpse? The Authentic Brands Group and its partner, NECA who purchased Monroe’s estate in late 2010, that’s who.

The Authentic Brands Group also own the Elvis Presley brand and have this to say on their website.

“Elvis Presley speaks to the rebel inside all of us – the rebel that defies convention and strives to forge a path of truth, passion and individuality. The Elvis Presley brand is ever-evolving and constantly redefining itself in relationship to contemporary culture.”

Yes indeedy, do, do. 

As far as Monroe is concerned, her hourglass figure, platinum locks, cherry red lips, bedroom eyes and breathless wonder are all prime assets in a marketing strategy which involves developing Marilyn-themed cosmetics, spas and salons, sportswear, swimwear, footwear, handbags and more, much more.

Yet as we all know, Marilyn’s biggest source of revenue is her legend. As far as the money machine’s movers and shakers are concerned, the sex symbol’s mysterious death was a perfect career choice. Not only did she become fixed for all eternity in the public’s perception as forever young, forever fragile, and forever free of anything that could harm her future image, such as age, regret, wisdom, or her big brassy mouth, but the murky nature of her death has kept Monroe fans buzzing with conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory – and as all dizzy blondes know, you can’t beat a drama!



Marilyn is a frozen goddess in a white dress with a wiggle in her walk and a giggle in a her talk.
She was the most photographed person of the 20th century and each individual image of her is forever waiting and continually yearning for the viewer to invest it with a new meaning and deeper significance.

The cult of Monroe attracts new disciples with each generation. Most of them are keen to emulate their icon but are not so concerned about finding out what it actually takes to walk a mile in Monroe’s shoes and there is a big difference.

The sort of empty-headed and vain little vamps who pepper their Facebook accounts with such worn and tired Monroe quotes as, “I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best,” want the image but not the intellect, the glamour but not the grind, and the fame without the tragedy and vulnerability which made the troubled girl from California so unique.



On what would have been Marilyn’s 86th birthday, Lady Gaga tweeted “Happy Birthday Marilyn – They’ll never take our blonde hair and lipstick”, along with a picture of herself.

Lady Gaga was wrong, if you grow old, age will take your blonde hair, and either embarrassment or dignity will take your lipstick. If on the other hand you die young, they’ll take everything, including your image, memory, legacy, legend and if you’re not careful, your very soul, before rubbing their hands and using it all just to turn a buck.

Patients Before Profits: Let’s Stand-Up For The NHS

With the gory Tories up to their brassnecks in the bloody carnage of destructive healthcare reforms here’s why the NHS is a great British institution we should not let Cameron’s cronies put to sleep.

If people in other countries regard the UK's National Health Service as something of a miracle, that's because it is. It's easy to be blase and critical of something which is familiar to most Britons as fish and chips and the Beatles, but the simple fact is without a free-at-the-point-of-use NHS, adequate healthcare would be the sole preserve of the wealthy.

Former Labour MP and son of a coal miner, Aneurin Bevan, who spearheaded the establishment of the NHS in the 1940s, would no doubt be turning in his grave to see the plans the current crop of multi-millionaire MPs have in mind for the NHS.

Whereas your average person equates the NHS with healthcare and rightly praise it as one of our country's greatest achievements, a large majority of movers and shakers in the corridors of power equate it with pound signs and that dreaded word - 'commodity'.

Bevan once wrote, "The collective principle asserts that... no society can legitimately call itself civilised if a sick person is denied medical aid because of lack of means."

Defenders of healthcare reforms hide behind throwaway phrases such as “modernisation of services”, a “cost effective service,” and plead like two-bit touts that as a country we can no longer afford the NHS, but in reality the bottom line is a purely philanthropic enterprise such as the NHS, is impacting on the money men's profit margins. Consequently it keeps them awake at night as they ponder on how they could turn things around without any real resistance and turn a profit out of other people's misery and ill health.

It may all sound a tad cynical but Bevan hit the nail on the head decades ago when he said, "The National Health service and the Welfare State have come to be used as interchangeable terms, and in the mouths of some people as terms of reproach. Why this is so it is not difficult to understand, if you view everything from the angle of a strictly individualistic competitive society. A free health service is pure Socialism and as such it is opposed to the hedonism of capitalist society."

Now just look at the damage Cameron, Osborne, and Smith have wreaked upon the Welfare State and imagine what sort of plans these lame ducks are busy hatching for the future of the NHS. It's not looking pretty is it?

We the people fund the NHS but the government are telling us there's not enough money in the pot. Anyone else smell a tangible odour of bull dung? Billions of pounds of taxes remain uncollected and unpaid, while even more is kept offshore by the fat cats of commerce. Instead of collecting these taxes, the government chooses to adopt the stance of Wall Street's Gordon Gekko and snarl pompously, "Greed is good! Let's turn the NHS into a big player in the world of business."

High on a hill above his native town of Tredegar you'll find four standing stones which act as a memorial to Aneurin Bevan, the current Chancellor of the Exchequer and fast food addict, George Osborne, will be lucky if his lasting legacy is a plastic plaque outside his nearest McDonald's.

Now, while there are many horror stories regarding individual patients treatment at the hands of the NHS, it all usually stems from a cut in funding and a lack of services to meet the ever higher demand of people's requirements. Privatisation is not the answer, simply finding the necessary resources is.

The NHS as an idea represents the very best in humanity, that of people working for one another and ensuring everyone is taken care of in the name of the greater good. Privatisation represents the very worst, and in an environment of brutal self-interest and callous commerce who's gong to take care of you when you're ill if you haven't got enough money to pay the devil for his sympathy?

There seems a general apathy towards the destruction of the NHS amongst a lot of the younger generation, perhaps because no-one appreciates how valuable a resource it is until they really need to call upon its services. The key word here being 'need'. We need the NHS, not just for what it offers, but for what it represents, an institution which was built upon the ideals and values which the politicians of today with their sickening naked ambition, and sneering self-interest, woefully fail to comprehend.

Jog on 'Aunty’: Here’s Why The BBC Licence Fee Should Be Scrapped

The BBC is a dying dinosaur collapsing under the sheer weight of its own corruption and incompetence. Enough is enough. It really is time to scrap the licence fee and tell old ‘Aunty’ to jog on or compete on a level playing field.

In this austere age of perpetual recession where an army of millionaire MPs have made more cuts and slashes, it leaves somewhat of a sour taste in the mouth that each UK household when forced by law to pay £145.50 a year to finance the legion of crooked fat cats, tired old hacks, vacuous celebrities, aspiring politicians, two-bit shysters, talking heads and perfumed ponces that all flock together like one big hugely dysfunctional family under the banner of the BBC.
 
To put it bluntly, the stale perfume of rotten fruit and vile odour of institutional decay has surrounded the British Broadcasting Corporation, or to put it more aptly, the 'Beeb', for an awfully long time now.

As a collective audience of brass-plated mugs we could just about stomach the fact that endless repeats of Dad's Army, live episodes of Eastenders, sporting pundits in love with their own voice, groundbreaking movies from the 1980s, Cash in the Attic and of course, the One Show, didn't really represent value for money.

Even the huge fees commanded by celebrity sycophants such as Jonathan Ross, who defended his £6million a year salary whilst at the BBC with a blithe rationale that, "I'm in show business and I was at the top of my game," weren't enough for us to take to the streets in a merry carnival of licence burning and aunty bashing.

Yet, along came a spider in the form of the Jimmy Savile revelations. The perverted DJ's web seemed to infiltrate the very fabric of the BBC and forever taint it with the foul implication that our beloved 'Aunty' allowed this predatory paedophile carte blanche to carry on 'grooming a nation' just as long as the white-haired, shell-suit wearing, cigar eating freak stayed on top of the ratings.

And then like a particularly nauseating slug in Savile's toxic trail, along came Stuart Hall. Another BBC stalwart, and another vile pervert. Like Savile, the 'It's A Knockout' presenter stood accused of abusing his victims on BBC premises, and like Savile there are an abundance of accusations that the corporation knew about it. A source told the Mirror, “Everyone at the BBC was talking about him (Hall) and the young girls but nobody did anything about it." As more than one critic shrewdly noticed, "Public money funded these monsters to abuse kids while the BBC turned a blind eye."

That same public money, in other words your licence fee, was also used to pay Lord McAlpine a total of £310,000 for libel damages and the accountants at the Beeb dug into the very same purse to pay Savile's victims an amount equalling almost £4million.

Regardless of the arguments centered around who should be paying compensation in such cases, the final straw which is breaking the licence payers' back is the fact that the total paid to Savile's victims is actually lower than the £4.1m 'golden handshake' paid to senior managers who were forced out in the wake of the scandal. On what deranged planet could that ever be right?

But wait there's more! Much more. Seven of the top brass at the BBC were grilled a few years back  by a committee led by MP Margaret Hodge to determine who was responsible for the scandal of using licence payers' money as 'sweeteners' to pay off executives within the corporation.

During the three hour hearing it transpired that BBC HR Director Lucy Adams was accused of describing licence payers money as 'sweeteners'and a leaked email reveals Miss Adams asking a colleague in HR, "What would the typical redundancy payment be so I can get a sense of the scale of this sweetener"

Oh dear! What a crooked web they weave. Like a crusading knight on a white horse, which is rather rich considering her former incompetence and apathetic behavior during the Islington care home scandal, MP Margaret Hodge, righteously declared that the corporation's personnel chief Lucy Adams was a liar.

 The venomous broadside was apparently met with cheers in the BBC newsroom which reveals a lot about the culture of the 'Beeb' and backs up the recent report which found harassment and bullying has created a "climate of anxiety and fear" within the corporation.

 So ask yourself this? Do we really need to pay BBC employees to visit Afghanistan and make a special programme about how Prince Harry is saving the world. And could we possibly sacrifice the need to finance the likes of Gary Barlow to travel the globe and record a special song for the Queen just so he can secure himself a chance of bagging a future knighthood?

 And Is the opportunity to 'exclusively' enjoy Raiders of the Lost Ark on Saturday evening or watch a pensioner with a wig and speech impediment gamely shuffle his feet and tell terrible jokes, while hot young, scantily clad young things gyrate crazily all around him worth paying £145.50 a year for. It's definitely worth it for the likes of Bruce Forsyth because he received  a cool £500,000 for each series of Strictly Come Dancing, but it's doubtful if he ever has to worry about meeting the mortgage repayments, paying the car tax, or keeping on top of the household bills in an endless bid to keep the wolf from the doors.

 So chew on that next time you're watching a gang of overpaid singers, whose pockets are lined with your hard-earned money, squabble furiously about what slice of fresh meat has got 'the voice' to ensure them at least five minutes in the limelight as the Karaoke saviour of their generation.

Fans, and they're usually employees of the BBC will wax lyrically about what a great institution the BBC is. It's not and never has been. It certainly no longer complies with its original charter to educate, inform, and entertain. It's a pompous and out of touch bloated organisation, riddled from top to bottom with greed, elitism, and the very worst traits of institutionalised corruption and cultural fascism. In effect the Beeb can be likened to a secret society that regards itself vastly superior to the common plebs.

Isn't it about time 'Aunty' dearest competed on the level playing field that is the free market. In a digital age where freedom of choice is king, isn't a media outlet demanding money with menaces from every household in the land no matter if your interested in subscribing to their services or not, the actions of a crazed tyrant? A yearly subscription to both Lovefilm and Netflix costs a lot less than the BBC's licence fee and I know which service I prefer and offers more bang for my buck.

It really is time for the Government to wake up, tune into another channel and scrap this outdated, unwanted, unnecessary and extortionate licence fee.

I've got to go now, a man in a white van with a strange device on top has just pulled up outside my house requesting a 'quiet word'.

Christmas Horoscopes With Earl Elderflower

It’s Christmas time, and there’s no need to be afraid, unless of course you’re a prize turkey waiting to be plucked, stuffed, roasted and dished up on a plate surrounded by pigs in blankets and hot potatoes. But putting that little ‘poultry’ matter to one side, it’s best not to dwell on the grim fate which awaits our little feathered friends every Yuletide. So why not join Earl Elderflower instead as he aggressively rubs his crystal ball and finds out exactly what the stars have in store for you this Christmas.

Merry Christmas stargazers. Remember, if you’re drinking don’t drive, don’t even putt!

Aries 

Rudolph the red nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose. And so to do you my little Aries.
Except yours has nothing to do with Christmas cheer and festive spirit, but more to do with the streams of Whiskey you were pouring down your greedy gullet like there was no tomorrow.
People with drink problems often thrive during the holiday season don’t they dear. It’s one of the few times of year it’s considered acceptable to blot out reality with a bottle under the all inclusive excuse of “getting into the spirit of things.” Except getting into the “spirit of things” with you involves slightly more than a few sherries and a mince pie doesn’t it my sozzled little sausage? Downing brandy by the bottle, gin by the gallon and lying bewildered and befuddled in a white dress stained with red wine, whilst crying into a half-eaten kebab beneath an artificial Xmas tree, was truly a pathetic sight Aries. I suggest next year you get less into the ‘spirit’ of things and more into the spiritual. Now do one and take the tinsel off on the way out you dozy little tart!

Taurus 

It will soon be the new year and a time of new beginnings my bewildered bull. So take that wretched, constipated look off your face and try and raise a smile you old hag. My old hog racing nemesis Sir Cliff of Richard once snarled at me in between bouts of chronic diarrhoea caused by ingesting grotesque amounts of Mistletoe and Wine, “Why Elderflower Why!” Did I answer his existential dilemma Taurus? Did I Hell, I just slowly walked away and left the petty prince of pop to fester in his own torrid puddle of filth and paranoia. That wasn’t very charitable of me was it I hear you cry! Well neither was the legion of festive number ones that Cliff has inflicted on our ears over the years. I hope this lovely winter’s tale of mine has warmed your heart and brought a ghost of a smile to those mean and narrow lips of yours. Yet somehow I doubt it. You’re so mean you make medicine sick my ill-tempered bovine brute. However, fear not, for there is a remedy at hand. I suggest you butcher a pig on the sabbath and eat it’s uncooked bladder in the light of the first full moon of the month and see if this improves your mood somewhat. Have a good one!

Gemini 

Last Christmas you gave him your heart didn’t you Gemini? And what did he do with it the very next day? Why he threw it away of course, alongside the stained bedding and empty bottles of Vodka. Next year, to save you from tears, I suggest you give it to someone special - like medical research perhaps! Only joking you old slapper! So don’t just sit their stewing in a broth of self-pity like a dour dumpling with nowhere to go. You’re far too sensitive for your own good and you need to develop some thick skin to go with that thick head of yours. As my old hairdresser Noddy Holder once roared at me before disappearing in a puff of blue smoke and leaving nothing but a small pork pie in his wake, “Mama we’re all crazy now!”  So what are you waiting for dear! Why sit there with a face like thunder when you can shine in the sun. Look to the future now it’s only just began little Gemini. But a word of caution my dear, if you are thinking of hanging up your stockings on a wall, just be careful to leave your knickers on, we don’t what a repeat performance of last year now do we.

Cancer 

It’s very much a case of sun, sea and sand for you this month Cancer. However, after you’ve finished drawling through the holiday brochures and dreaming of having enough money for a month in St Lucia, you may want to pull open the curtains and say hello to a little friend of mine called ‘Reality’. My local butcher who is incidentally a yank and used to go by the name of MC Hammer, once said to me whilst casually gutting a freshly butchered pig,  “Elderflower my man it’s all about keeping it real. I used to make the dollar through music, now I’m hustling a buck in the meat market.” Looking at him incredulously as he furtively popped a pig testicle in his mouth and yelled at me, “You can’t touch this!” I thought then what I am telling you now my little crab - some things are better left alone.    

                     

Leo

You must decide what you want this month Leo. The carrot or the stick. For someone whose star-sign is a proud lion you’ve been behaving a lot like a dumb donkey of late. I guess what I’m trying to say is, put down the microphone for god’s sake. You’re no singer. Your incessant braying is beginning to sound like an over-excited Gary Barlow - the mad mancunian tyrant whose dirge about ruling the world just makes me want me say “Take That!” as I throw a mug of chicken and mushroom cup-a-soup in his fat angelic face.You see Leo! You see what your attempts at singing do, it destroys a man’s equilibrium and leads him to commit rash acts. It’s time to shut up. The only amplification that would suit the torrid tones of your voice is a job as a train announcer on some deserted windswept platform. Now get off the mic wannabe!

Virgo

Keep an eye on your spending this month Virgo. My advice would be to let other people do it for you and save yourself the bother. Money is the root of all evil so why not wash your hands of it and live a pampered and luxurious life as a kept woman. If you can find someone rich fool willing to indulge your every whim, then maybe you should grab the opportunity before your looks fade and your youth is but a distant memory on the summer breeze. You’ve never been all that blessed in the brains department have we dear, but it’s all about maximizing your assets. So shake your booty and grab the looty while you still can. And if all else fails pole dancing pays well but the hours are a bit unsocial. Perhaps I’ll see you in the club. But just you remember dear, Earl Elderflower never tips, he just fulfils prophecies.

Libra 

Be careful the month Libra. People are watching you and monitoring your every word. They’re called the CIA and they don’t mess around. A tad worried are we dear? Well you certainly should be. Hacking into the Pentagon was not the best way to work off a roast dinner on a quiet Sunday afternoon. We are in a pickle aren’t we. It all seemed so innocuous at the time and a bit of a challenge to infiltrate their state of the art computer system didn’t it lovey. Well who’s laughing now? No-one except the Mad Hatter and he’s having a tea party in your honour you mad little moron. Will you choose to attend  I wonder or will you be somewhat indisposed in a maximum security federal prison on the other side of the pond.  Here come the men in black Libra and I’ve got a feeling they want to do a little more than dance.

Scorpio

If anyone tells you not to rock the boat this month Scorpio. Ask them why not? It’s probably because they are a cowardly character who couldn’t stand up to a light wind. My old cake baking buddy John Wayne once snarled at me whilst delicately adding the icing to a sponge, “Courage is being scared to death... and saddling up anyway. Now get on the damned horse and ride forth Earl.” Well, what do you think I did Scorpio? I jumped right on, yelled “giddy-up” and have been on the hard trail of the uncompromising and unforgiving path ever since. And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s this, when some jumped up little toe-rag with a headful of hate and a mouthful of moan tries to lay down the law like a half-baked  despot, don’t just rock the boat, capsize it and clear out the deadwood.

Sagittarius 

A big mouth can get you into trouble but it can’t get you out. Your past is catching up with you fast this month Sagittarius, nipping at your heels like a vicious little Jack Russell and barking, “Hello! Remember me? I’m the thing you thought you abandoned in a plastic bag on the corner of Memory Lane.” It’s going to get ugly this month my dear. Forewarned is forearmed and you’ll need more than a couple of nuclear warheads to deal with the arsenal that disgruntled acquaintances are accumulating to attack you in the days ahead. You’ve played too many people off against each other for far too long and now payment is due my little puppet-master. At least one of your two-faces will have to square-up to the music this coming month Sagittarius and it won’t be pretty.

Capricorn

Are we watching the clock this month Capricorn? Time isn’t something to store away for a rainy day like a miser with his money you know. It’s something most of us use with wild abandon in a carefree and throwaway manner. You can’t invest the seconds of your present into a trust-fund for your future because the future is already here dumb ass and its just become the past, as you’re trying to make sense of these nonsensical lines.  My old choirboy mucker Bob Dylan one said to me as he was getting dressed in his finest frock for Sunday mass at St Mary’s, “Elderflower you unholy imbecile, what time is love?” Eyeing the tone deaf loser contemptuously, I snarled, “Shut it Zimmerman you talentless tart. The times the are a changing.” Now I’m giving the same advice to you this month my little goat. Shape up or ship out.

Aquarius 

Where do rainbows come from Aquarius? And where can I find the elusive pot of gold to keep the wolves from my door. I’m only asking because everything is a happy ending for you this month! But be warned, life is no fairy-tale my dear and as my old farmyard buddy Goldilocks once said to me inbetween ruthlessly snapping the necks of countless turkeys, “Elderflower, I lost the taste for happy-ever-afters at the same time I lost my taste for porridge. Those bears were brutal and gave me the sort of reality check I won’t ever forget.” Do you understand what Goldilocks was saying my friend? Life can be a bowl of cherries but all fruit turns sour and when it does it leaves a bitter taste in the mouth that’s hard to shake. Enjoy the good times while they last dear, because hell and all its hounds are always waiting just around the corner to pounce and tear you apart slowly, little by little and piece by piece.

Pisces 

As sure as night follows day, beauty must always walk before the beast Pisces, so if you wouldn’t mind holding that door open for me my fruity little fish, I’d me much obliged. “Where am I going dear?”  Well, as far away from you as possible lovey! Isn’t that blindingly obvious? “But I haven’t cast your horrorscope for the month?” Well boo hoo dear! Life’s a bitch hey? Well in the spirit of pity, let me leave you with a few choice words of advice. You see that thing slowly revolving around you? No! It’s not the world, it’s a dung fly dear.That’s what happens when you wallow in your own muck for too long. Honestly Pisces, of late you really have started to reek of the gutter. Addiction may be a glamorous accessory for the grotesque pantomime parade of the rich and famous, but for the likes of everyday folk Pisces, it’s like wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, ‘Don’t come near me I’m toxic filth’ written on it. Or even worse, it’s like being a Florence and the Machine fan - unexplainable, upsetting, unnecessary and best avoided. It’s time to clean up your act Pisces. I for one have had enough of this charade and suggest you make like my good friend Bo Beep and get the ‘flock’ out of here!