WOSSNAME -- APRIL 2007 -- PART 6 OF 6 (continued)
====Part 6 - HOROSCOPE - Section 4 - AND EDITORIAL
13) THE NEW DISCWORLD HOROSCOPE - DEC->MAR
14) EDITORIAL: AND IT'S GOODNIGHT FROM HIM
Hoki the Jokester 22 Dec - 20 Jan
THINGS THAT DON'T LIKE YOU: Looms; Printing Presses
For Hokians, "loom in the room" spells doom and gloom. Your happy
times it will consume; you'll feel you've played both sides at Koom.
Given your exit-date from womb, you mustn't tangle with a loom! Your
shuttle will scuttle, for which there's no rebuttal; if you meddle
with a treadle, you'll suffer from your rigid heddle, whilst your
warp and weft leave you bereft and you'll truly be knackered by your
jacquard - I believe if you weave you'll wax wroth at your cloth.
Raise you not a weaver's banner; heed your stars - become a tanner!
I must confess, a printing press sticks Hokians in a pretty mess; the
- hold on an astrolabe-tossing minute! Why is this Horoscope entry
rhyming at every turn? How strange. Now, where was I...there are up
to 3,026 moving parts in a printing press, and for Hokians, any (or
every) one of these exists in a state of imminent breakdown. Since
the natural state of a printing press is one of imminent breakdown,
mixing Hokians and printing presses is a non-starter. Most often,
literally. And "literally" has to do with letters, and letters are
the reason for the existence of printing presses. Stick with quills
and paper; they have no moving parts.
The Rather Large Gazunda 21 Jan - 18 Feb
THINGS THAT DON'T LIKE YOU: Stringed Instruments; Sonkies
The course of true love rarely runs smooth, especially for
Gazundians, and certain Made Things are the reason why. Where would
romance be without the lute or the lyre? (...or for that matter the
liar, but that's another story.) Many a young swain has wooed the
latest (in a long line) of his true loves by melodiously plucking
the strings of a mandolin, dulcimer or bouzouki, but pity the poor
Gazundians who, when fighting for the hand of a maiden fair, have
to fight not just other suitors, fathers, brothers and sometimes
husbands but also their own stringed instruments.
And it's not just male Gazundians who suffer badly in the lists of
love. The ladies do, too - and I don't mean because they have to
listen to the discordant caterwauling of a lovestruck amateur
musician. What happens after the music stops is, after all, the
important bit, and for those ladies who don't wish to be seeking the
services of a midwife some nine months after the walking-out that
follows the caterwauling, Wallace Sonky's Best Rubber Preventatives
are a Gods-send. But those of you born under the Sign of the Gazunda
can expect more than your fair share of splits, holes, spills and
diverf shall-we-say accidents. Plan ahead by stocking up on some of
the more ...unlabelled ...herbal remedies - a dollar wisely spent
beforehand can save you a fortune in nappy-laundering bills. It
could be *not* you!
Lesser Umbrage 19 Feb - 20 Mar
THINGS THAT DON'T LIKE YOU: Knives and Forks; Tin-openers; Writs
It isn't the lack of hand-eye coordination or manual dexterity that
causes Umbragians to accidentally poke a forkful of hot cabbage into
their ears or spread butter over half the tablecloth - it's the
astro-illogical antipathy of cutlery to those born under the Sign of
Lesser Umbrage. Not all cutlery, mind you: just table knives and
forks. An Umbragian who is all thumbs - and as Igors have long known,
there's surprisingly little you can do with all thumbs - when cutting
a baked potato or stabbing a sausage with a fork can turn into a
virtuoso with a carving knife, oyster spear...or even chopsticks.
Tin-openers are one of those devices that emit a low-level
maliciousness field even at the best of times. Trying to open a tin
is an experience not to be repeated if at all avoidable! You run the
gauntlet of stabbing yourself with the blade, pinching your skin in
the hinge, and, if the tin holds beetroot, you will surely end up
spilling indelible red liquid over yourself. So have a moment of
sympathy for the poor Umbragian, who not only has to deal with the
usual maliciousness of the tin-opener but also with its horoscopical
Feegles have been known to run for three days straight at the mere
mention of the word "writ", stopping only empty any glasses of booze
they come across. And Feegles (Umbragians all, or nearly all, and
those of you who've been paying attention know why) are not alone in
this, oh no: all Umbragians have terrible trouble with writs, whether
they (the Umbragian, not the writ) be plaintiff, defendant, witness
or even just the poor functionary stuck with serving 'em. The best
you can hope for is a nasty paper cut, but a more typical experience
is that of the senior Alchemist Sincere Rampart (younger brother to
Frank), who was called as a technical witness in a legal dispute over
the meat content of C.M.O.T. Dibbler's Named Meat pies but ended up
hanging upside-down in the Patrician's dungeon for Public Miming
after a mix-up with the writ. Sic transit gloria Umbragii, which is
Latatian for "you're hedgehogged!"
... and there you have it. Please write directly to WOSSNAME
if you have any questions and we will
forward them directly to Lady Asterisk.
Last but far from least, a sad announcement from our Publisher:
I'm sorry to announce that my Congestive Heart Failure condition has
worsened, despite doctors' assurances, and I just can't do WOSSNAME
any more. I am passing the torch on to my dear friend and Managing
Editor, Annie Mac, with the hope she can continue it.
We've had a good run -- 10 years -- and we've never missed
an issue. I hope Annie can keep it going, but to be quite
honest, Annie's health is a bit shaky, too. So don't be too
surprised if this turns out to be the last issue of WOSSNAME.
Much love to all of you,
STERCUS, STERCUS, STERCUS, PANICUS SUM!
by Annie Mac
I've known Joe for nearly seven years now, and he's become virtual
family to my husband and me. Some three years ago, Joe asked me if I
would cobble together a few monthly horoscopes after the reluctant
departure of Lady Aranluc, "just until we find someone else..." As
you all now know, Someone Else never arrived, and I've gradually
had to take on sourcing or providing more and more of the monthly
content. I'm going to do my best to continue publishing WOSSNAME,
out of respect both for Joe and for the magical, masterful Mister
Pratchett; Pterry's work has brought so much delight into my life
for more than twenty years now, so the least I can do is to attempt
to carry on singing his praises in our quirkily unique WOSSNAME way.
If anyone out there in readership-land feels able to make even small
monthly contributions, now would be a good time to volunteer! You
can email interact@...
with any articles, ideas, news and
whatnot (wicker or otherwise).
I'd also like to take this opportunity to express my thanks to the
ever-vigilant Colin Smythe for providing us with all the latest and
best Pterry-news. Long may this continue!
All hail Joe, Elder God of the Bugarup University (Roundworld)
Underwater Campus! I hope his retirement will help him to extend
the length of his "I Aten't Dead Yet!" years.
All the best and pass me down that wizzarding hat,
End of Part 6.
If you did not get all six parts, write: jschaum111@...
Copyright (c) 2007 by Klatchian Foreign Legion