So
What Do You Reckon? ISBN: 0732259614
Starstruck? Not us Scorpios
I imagine there aren't too many readers out there who at some time in their life haven't bothered to consult their horoscope in a paper or magazine and taken, if nothing else, a token interest in their star sign.
Which doesn't mean you have to be like some poor wallies who won't leave their house unless the moon is up Uranus or Mickey Mouse is into Pluto. That's ridic.
But I take an interested observer's view of the zodiac. I glance at my horoscope in the morning paper and quite often it can have an uncanny coincidence.
Like it might say, 'a pressing source affecting your work and a family relationship will emerge this week'. True. Various cheques from various publishers don't arrive and I don't get to eat. Then dear mother will ring and give me a blast over the phone. It's about time I settled down, woke up to myself, stop being such a dill, you're just like your father, where's the money you owe me, blah, blah. I tell you, it's a bummer when the doctor won't give the old girl any more tranquillisers.
Other times your horoscope might say 'Things are unstable now because of the full moon'. This can also turn out to be true.
Once I OD'd on angel's trumpets again and thought I was a werewolf. I was howling away on the deck and the railing gave way and I nearly broke my back.
I was going all right too, because I live in the Harlem of Terrigal and no-one around here can afford a silver bullet. They threw plenty of half-empty beer cans, plastic bags of dog shit and plonk bottles, but it takes more than that to stop the Bela Lugosi of the Central Coast when he gets a roll on during a full moon.
But as much as I believe there could be something in people's star signs or the zodiac, what you read in your daily horoscope is as much coincidence and theory as anything else. And I'll drop a real good name here to prove my point.
Aleksander Isaacovich Kitaigorodski, a Russian scientist. He said: 'A first-rate theory predicts, a second-rate theory forbids, a third-rate theory explains after the event'. So your horoscope is basically a third-rate theory with a bit of 20/20 vision in hindsight thrown in.
If anyone is remotely interested, I'm a Scorpio. The swingingest, sexiest, most wonderful sign in the zodiac. Vindictive, spiteful, sarcastic, able to leap tall buildings and bear grudges for a lifetime. Then, on the other hand, I'm supposed to appreciate a good laugh and repay favours with almost astounding generosity.
I like to think we're the ones with the third eye. Talking with other Scorpios, we seem to see things in people others can't; unless you're a Scorpio though, you wouldn't understand. And haven't there been some good Scorpios?
Charles Manson, Terry 'Mr Asia' Clarke, Harry M. Miller, John Singleton. A lot of top generals were Scorpios: Rommel, Montgomery, Patton and Colonel David Hackworth, the most decorated living soldier in US military history. He mentions this in his book I keep telling people to read, About Face.
Picasso and Richard Burton weren't bad blokes though.
And talk about Scorpio generosity. The late Richard Burton must have thought Liz Taylor pretty good in the porking department - he bought her a $5 million diamond ring.
So how do I, a sarcastic Scorpio and possessor of the third eye, find other members of the zodiac without coming across as a zodicist? Do they have similarities?
I seem to get on good with Aquarians. I've been involved with a number of Aquarian women and almost married two. I find them sexy, with this zany, nonchalant sense of humour.
Then you have Ronald Reagan and Joh Bjelke. You can't possibly tell me all their scones were done. As far as porking goes, the wildest, most uninhibited girl — again — I almost married was a Virgo. Initially, yes. But in the end it was anything goes, no holds barred, anytime, anyplace, anywhere. It was almost too much for a poor, young surfie to handle.
Geminis are said to have split personalities. I took one out for a while. A nice enough girl sober, but four Bacardis and Coke and she'd start a fight in an empty house.
Scorpios are said to be the sexy sign of the zodiac and I admit I don't mind a bit of the other. I'm quite partial. I also never got a knockback from my sweet ladyfriends. If anything it was the other way around.
I often laugh when I see different women's groups marching around with signs saying 'Regain the Night'. When I'd come home from the meatworks after boning 100 forequarters and 100 briskets since 5.30 a.m., they could regain the bloody night, they could regain the rest of the week for all I cared. I couldn't lift a nightie.
Despite their alleged sexiness, I've always tried to steer clear of affairs with fellow Scorpios. Not out of discrimination or sexual aversion. But say the lady involved became pregnant. Wouldn't the child involved be an inbred?
So you're a sexy Scorpio checking out other Scorpios to see if they have any similarities. My birthday is November 14, and who should have his on the same day? None other than HRH Prince Charles, the future King of England.
And blow me down if there aren't some striking similarities. We've both got big noses, our ears stick out and we're both going bald on top. Plus, I read, he likes salami and talks to himself. How about that? But there it seems to end. Chilla's the man who's supposed to be into conservation and his father, Phil the Greek, is a member of some world wildlife preservation foundation. There wouldn't be two more trigger-happy Hooray Henrys on the planet.
They like nothing better than to get out on the royal estate armed to the teeth and blast anything that moves with shotguns. They make the NSW duck season look like a Buddhist picnic.
It runs in the whole silly bloody family. Edward VIII had his old man's dogs shot because one of them pissed on his leg.
When Edward was the Prince of Wales, they came back empty-handed after a day's shooting and saw this beautiful little deer grazing by the castle. So they blew it to bits. It turned out to be a gift from the people of Alberta, Canada — a symbol of friendship.
Another royal went hunting, couldn't find a deer in the fog-shrouded hills so he shot one of the royal ponies.
They still do it. As good a reason as any to get rid of the monarchy, I suppose.
But no. I'll stick my neck out and say we should retain the monarchy and I'll fight tooth and nail before I see them change the flag and turn Australia, land that I love, into a republic.
Not so much out of love for the royal family … but if another one of Queen Elizabeth's corgis bites her and she dies of rabies and the IRA doesn't blow Charlie to bits and the gun-crazy, big-eared git makes it to the throne, it'll be a public holiday on my birthday.
Which means I can get blind, rotten, shit-your-pants, vomiting drunk and not go to work and no-one can say a word. Could an Australian ask for anything more?