Crystal Palace Local

(Contains adult humour)

POPE MOBILE
With Mercury badly parked in your astral junction, you bear the cross of being possibly the gayest twattyest vehicle in the known universe. You are the automotive equivalent of a hat full of arseholes and make the duck billed platypus look like intelligent design. If there actually is a god rather than a bunch of power hungry delusional organized criminal perverts she is laughing her tits off at you every single day.

SMART CAR
Romance is strongly indicated for you as the cliché about men who drive huge cars having tiddly willies is 100% true-  but so is the opposite: Indeed, all men who drive these sideways parking dwarfmobiles have appendages so massive they need to be stowed in a specially adapted g-love box. However, the sight of a passing sexy lady can then deploy an explosive pink airbag boner affecting the balance and handling, leaving vision obscured and in some extreme cases causing the embarrassed driver to be trapped until his turgidity subsides.

MONSTERTRUCK
The effect of the massive gas giant planets on your car sign is plain for all to witness in the constantly increasing size of your hugely inflated ribbed tyres. This may gain you plenty of the auto-erotic attention you crave, but when it comes to parking, let’s face it, you’re f*****d.

E TYPE JAGUAR
This lunar cycle, Virgo, the goddess of automotive love, is accelerating into your sign and the curves of your sumptuous classic bodywork heave with a tangible sexual aura as your owner caresses your wheel and pumps your pedals. Next Tuesday, you stop at the filling station and the moment he thrusts that dripping nozzle into your quivering flank, the junk in your trunk erupts into climax, resulting in a slightly embarrassing fluid leak on the forecourt.

DELOREAN
I have a forecast for you this month, but I’m not telling as I know you will swiftly burn two flaming tyre tracks and pop ‘back to the future’ to behave deliberately contrary. This may appear to avoid that which was foretold by the stars and channelled by me, but if you don’t act to alter your destiny as above, you will then conform to what was originally forecast and withheld, and if you do not, it may be that that was also my prediction. You’ll never know. Flap your gull wings all you like, it’s a Carstrological spacetime feedback loop and you lose. Wan-car.

SINCLAIR C5
Conceived by the baldy-spekky-ginger-nerdmeister himself in a triple conjuction of the most geekstained planets, you perfectly reflect the destiny of that cosmic birth blueprint: Clumsy eighties bodywork and a three wheeled pram chassis ‘powered’ by a washing machine engine with pedals. With such little respect on the road you had little choice but to pootle straight under the crushing juggernaut wheels of history. However, all the C5’s that died are being used in the afterlife where they are surprisingly handy to get around in. Jesus loves his and almost manages to look cool in it.

CITROEN 2CV
Unfavourable aspect to Venus with its slow retrograde orbit means yet another sluggish month for you as you continue to persist in handling and performing like a giant automotive Escargot. Yet, with your Gallic charm, flappy windows, canvas roof, boggle eye headlamps, thin gay wheels and weird gearstick like a spoon in soup, you are a much beloved automotive icon - Only by the French though, whose cars are unremittingly shite, and maybe a handful of ‘idiotsyncratics’ who merely pretend to like them because they can’t afford a proper car. Personally, I’d rather have ‘mes testicules’ run over by one, than be seen driving it.

ASTON MARTIN DB5
With twin machine gun headlamps, bladed wheel hubs, a bullet shield and oil slick spraying gadgetry, you think you’re a fancy glamorous hotshot and this self image is bolstered by war planet Mars driving right up your cusp this month. It’s true, lady spies may occasionally grace your ejector/passenger seat as Commander Bond caresses your wheel and pumps your pedals, but there is, of course, a stark reality tragically foretold by the heavens at the instant of your manufacture: In reality, you sit forgotten in casino car parks for bloody hours on end while he plays big stakes, or you wait all night outside some log cabin in the freezing f*****g cold while he gets to shoot his sherbert into pussy galore. He’s never even done it on your back seat.

POLICE CAR
You’re a sensitive type who’s taken a bit of an emotional and physical battering during the recent London riots where there were big fires and a commercial wheelie bin was pushed towards you by some horrid boys shouting nasty things. So, to help restore your self esteem this month, keep an eye open for a hoodie pedestrian on a crossing when you are next on a high speed pursuit, then floor it and plough into him at massive speed crushing the bones inside his brand new sportswear and smearing his concealed face along the tarmac for a good fifty yards. After all, they can only prosecute your driver and he’ll get off after a tribunal anyway.

FORD FOCUS
Your wipers are out of screen wash and you can’t see your own destiny. At present, Neptune, planet of mediocrity ensures that the school run, a trip to the out of town supermarket, or even all the way to Ikea are the highlights of your month, whilst you long for the freedom of the open road and the thrills of accelerating along a twisting country lane. However, don’t wish away what you have, in fact, relish every calm and peaceful day as in just a few short years you are handed down to your owners scum bag son who discards junk food in your footwells and smokes as he drives you like a reckless psycho nutjob. Worst of all, he and his scrotty girlfriend go dogging in you.

FERRARI
Loaded with horsepower and dressed in sleek red aerodynamics, you love to pump the throttle to get all the paparazzi speed cameras flashing. But a visit to the car doctor’s inspection pit later this month reveals that you are in fact two written off cars welded together beneath the surgically enhanced exterior. This forms a conjoined twin car chart of two ‘cut and shut’ personalities with different destinies pulling in opposing directions. You drive round and round a psychological roundabout until, feeling sick and dizzy you are finally diverted through an emotional contraflow system to cry oily tears on the hard shoulder of life. Bad luck bimbo(s).

QUADBIKE
Being a typical Capricorn and with Pluto now ascendant, you love nothing more than to launch a celebrity over the handlebars towards serious injury. You smashed into a tree with mumbling dried up shaky booze sponge Ozzy Osbourne, and over-the-top Bottom funny man Rik Mayall suffered a broken head when you flipped him into a coma. This month your car chart strongly suggests you should hang around Justin Beiber’s house offering free rides please.

Celebrity birthdays:
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang – Wooden winged paedo-mobile.
Herbie – Impishly predictable anthropomorphic love bug.
Kitt – Gay/posh cleverer than The Hoff eighties Trans-Am.
General Lee – Bo, Luke and Daisy Duke redneck incest machine.
Batmobile – Armoured kinky fin goth rubber gimp tank.

Looking forward,
Mystic Mike