Man oh man oh man oh man oh Mel! Lick my lad through Lydia Lunch’s lingerie, but it’s been a totally fucked-up fortnight for Ireland’s most famous, best-hung and least highly-strung rock columnist. Just a total clusterfuck of calamity!

For a start, I’ve been more or less driven out of my home by the tabloids. I’ve tried explaining to them that just because I rented out Snort Towers for some scenes in Braveheart, I’m not actually a close personal friend of Mel Gibson’s. I didn’t even meet the man! I did, however, make extremely good use of his trailer. I spent the entire time they were shooting the movie making shhhweet, sweet luurrrvvveee with one of the cuties in catering. Or was that with two of the cuties in catering?
Actually no – that was during the subsequent porno version, Beaverheart. Or was it Bravehump?
No matter. The fact is I don’t know Mel Gibson, though I do approve of his drinking escapades. Not the anti-Semitic rants, mind, just the pissing on the police station floor bit. I thought that was quite amusing.
Of course, it’s fucked his career up. But that’s just the way it goes. One celebrity gets on the wagon, another promptly falls off. So blame Colin Farrell!
For some bizarre reason though, word seems to have leaked out that me and Mel are tighter than a Twisted Sister tourniquet. I’ve had the phone hopping all week; Sky News at my front door, TV3 at the back door, and a photographer from the Connacht Tribune flying overhead (I think they had a spare chopper after the Galway Races).
Anyway, it’s all been a bit of a headwrecker, so I’ve taken myself off to a secret location to ride out the storm. The only thing is there’s nobody here to ride.
And just to make matters worse, fucking Raul screwed up my luggage again! I told him to pack “a crate of Kristal and an ounce of crystal meth.” Instead the arsehole’s gone and packed my old crystal ball instead. A Christmas gift from the legendary Foghat groupie, Mystic Megaphone, I actually thought I’d lost it during a sex game with young Marianne. But it turns out that Raul had it all along. Which means he was lying about seeing her after me. The twisted little pervert!
Anyway, while I’m here, I might as well polish it up and have a little peek into your collective futures. I haven’t done this astrology thang in a while, but I’ve been told I have a real talent for it...
ARIES [21 March – 20 April]
I’m sorry, Aries, but this just ain’t gonna be your fortnight. You’ll remember that spectacular shit you foolishly excreted on your own doorstep around this time last year? You thought you’d gotten away with it, didn’t you? Well, tough titties! It’s all gonna come out next Thursday. Seriously, Aries, you’ve gone too far this time. You know it. I know it. And she’s going to know it soon enough. Ouch! Samuel J. Snort wouldn’t like to be in your shoes, no sireee.
TAURUS [21 April – 21 May]
The good news is that there are several possibilities about to appear on your hitherto limited horizon. The bad news is that these possibilities range from bad to worse to worse than worse to truly terrible to death. It’s entirely up to you how it all pans out. When the moment comes, hesitation will be fatal – or will it? Don’t eat bagels on Wednesday, Smarties on Thursday, or Skittles on Friday.
GEMINI [22 May – 21 June]
There will be many thoughts and ideas zooming around your head all week, Gemini, but don’t bother acting on any of them. As per usual, they’ll all be pure shite. On a more positive note, you’re going to fall down some stairs and break your leg next weekend. You’ll never walk properly again, but at least you’ll make a few quid on the insurance claim. Stay well clear of men called John, women called Mary, and dogs called Bongo. Sadly, stairs will be unavoidable.
CANCER [22 June – 22 July]
You’ve scrimped, saved, suffered and persevered for a very long time now, Cancer, and even the most begrudging of your enemies will agree that you deserved huge success. Sadly, though, this is only going to happen at your upcoming funeral. This scenario can maybe be avoided, but time is tight. With a new moon already entering Uranus, you’d want to get that prostrate checked out immediately. Female Cancerians should avoid the International Bar on Friday morning.
LEO [23 July – 21 August]
If it’s your birthday this week, Leo, be sure to be careful about who you invite to your party. You could be giving your romantic partner away on a platter. However, seeing as they’re going to dump you soon enough anyway, it could be a blessing in disguise if you do. Remember, it’s your party, and you can cry if you want to. Don’t give head on any unmade beds this weekend.
VIRGO [22 August – 23 September]
A man goes home and puts a massive frog on the kitchen table. “What’s that?” his wife asks. “It’s a cock-sucking frog,” he replies. “Well, what do you want me to do with it?” she asks. “Teach it how to cook and fuck off!” he replies.
You just laughed at that, Virgo, didn’t you? You thought it was hilarious. Well, it won’t seem so fucking hilarious when you tell it to a certain someone on Friday lunchtime. In fact, it’ll totally ruin your career. But you’re going to now anyway.
LIBRA [24 September – 23 October]
If your name is Ernesto, stay the fuck out of my stash! If it isn’t, you’ll actually have quite a pleasant weekend. Be warned, though, your days are numbered so you’d better make the most of it. Check out that rash on your lower back for a nasty surprise. Don’t check it out for an even nastier one.
SCORPIO [24 October – 22 November]
If you’re planning to take a trip this weekend, don’t eat the brown acid. Otherwise, you’ll be okay. Until Monday, at least. You’re advised to carry a weapon midweek.
SAGITTARIUS [23 November – 22 December]
Reserve your judgement with big decisions. Now isn’t the time to fuck up. That’s all going to happen next month. Meanwhile, don’t sleep with any librarians, electricians or travel agents. At least, not all at the same time.
CAPRICORN [23 December – 20 January]
Capricorn, you most beautiful of signs, this is going to be the week of your life. If you happen to be going on a date with a certain, well-hung, Irish rock columnist on Saturday – I see the initials S.J.S. - then don’t bother wearing any underwear. You’re definitely not going to need any. It’s already written in the stars that this will be a night that you’ll remember forever.
AQUARIUS [21 January – 19 February]
Almost without exception, Aquarians generally are the coolest cats on this earth. They’re highly intelligent, smoother than smooth, ice cold, and always right about everything. So do whatever the fuck you want, Aquarius. Whatever it is, the Cosmos will always be down with it. Respect! You de man! Or de woman!
PISCES [20 February – 20 March]
Pisces, this is extremely fucking important so listen up! STOP whatever you’re doing right now, head straight to the nearest bar and order three shots of tequila. Your destiny awaits. If nothing happens, repeat the process until it does. However, beware of mysterious strangers offering to share their Malteasers or old copies of the Evening Herald. Go now!