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August 16, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
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Uther Dean. Tells future. Breaks heart.

Horoscopes for the week starting the 16th of August.

Welcome wanderers. It is most gratifying to feel your eager eyes caress my words as ‘twere they delicate lilies in a pond of warm syrup. Your ocular grip tenderly explores every nook and cranny of my vowels and consonants. Your looks so coyly fondle my grammar. Oh, such exquisite pleasure. Oh.

Look, my soft yet strong reader, I am going to be straight with you. There is something growing between us. You know it. You can smell it. On the petri-dish of our relationship there is slowly growing a hot pink fuzz of, dare I speak it, loooooooooooove. Try as you might, you cannot deny the crackle whenever we meet, that erotic sizzle that shivers through your nervous system at the very thought of my presence. Every time we touch it is as electric as a thousand summer sunsets.

As a paean to the growing belt of lust that inextricably links us, this week’s predictions are of our next encounter, our next rendezvous. The stars have been so generous as to impart to me the intimate details of when we will next meet. Ooooooh.

For those among you who can wiggle your ears on command, our next meeting will be of a nautical disposition. We will both, unbeknown to each other, stow away on a yacht. Our hands will meet in the darkness as we scrabble from our respective hiding places deep in the depths of the Merrywink’s Seamstress (for that shall be the name of the yacht).

You will have hidden in a large crate of lime jelly crystals, while I will have ingeniously disguised myself as a bronze life-size statue of Hercules. A very convincing statue at that. You will have brought with you a torch with which you will illuminate our musty surroundings before finally falling on my stunning physique. Your gasp of erotic shock at my very presence will rumble like a warm volcano of longing.

“You… You’re Rutherford Dean! Horoscoper, love god and philanthropist!” you will utter under your already damp with romance breath. I will slowly nod my very manly assent. My finely chiseled chin cutting great arcs of power through the air, making your limpid heart beat double time. We will fall in a deep, velveteen embrace. Our dual warmths will merge into one glorious throbbing whole.

It’ll be great.

For you readers who cannot wiggle their ears on command, our encounter will be of a much more edible nature. As you start your new job at Wellington’s swankiest new eatery, you will be ecstatic to discover that I am not only a certifiable genius of the horoscopian, theatrical and written arts, but I also excel in the world of mouth fun. Over the hot pots and clattering plates we will literally dance a metaphorical tango of desire. The weight of lust hanging in your heart will quickly become too, too much to bear, and at the end of your first shift you will tempt me into the store room.

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About the Author ()

Uther was one of the two arts editors in 2009. He was the horoscopier and theatre writer in 2010. Alongside Elle Hunt, Uther was coeditor in 2011.

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