You made a fortune with that record label and then started an airline. Your chart suggests that your luck has run out. No matter whether you hide on a Caribbean island, on your space craft or in a hot air balloon your chart suggests your businesses are about to crash, you exploitative bastard. The rising of mars in your chart suggests the airline industry might not be so productive in the future. Say goodbye to your fortune.
Your name sounds like cheap perfume you grubby little entrepreneurial scum. As people gaze up at your satellites all in a row your chart suggests a future where people have had enough of flashy rich wankers. No one likes a smart arse and no one likes you, mush.
You thought you were clever running a book delivery services that priced independent bookshops out of the market and then you exploited your workers by paying them a pittance and denying them their labour rights. Venus suggests record numbers of warehouse staff joining unions. A strike is coming and you’re in the way dickhead.
Getting rich by selling vacuum cleaners got you a knighthood. Just when you thought you’d hoovered up the opposition the virus caused a recession. The future looks bleak but bleak for you is fucking cushy. Your sort lead a charmed life until the mob call round. A knock on the door is predicted. Followed by a knock on the head.
Running a polling company means that you are the opposite to me. Whereas I predict the future, you set questions to get the result you want for the Tory Party and the newspapers. So answer me this? Why are you such a cunt? Mercury descending in your chart suggests a new type of polling as people vote with their feet. Best not get in the way eh?
You thought it was alright to buy up the steel industry and then just close plants, destroying lives and livelihoods, whole communities. The sun in your chart indicates a bit of heat coming your way. You see the workers don’t really need you because you don’t actually do any work. The runes suggest an economy run by the workers and no place for scum like you.
Making a fortune from a daily newspaper and some adult titles has given you a lovely little retirement. Or so you thought. Your chart doesn’t look good I’m afraid. After the pandemic comes the reckoning. The crystal ball shows a man in torment, never knowing if his past will catch up with him. It will.
You thought you’d keep your sports clothes shops open in lockdown as if it’s essential work. You wanted to keep your workers at risk from the virus just so you could keep making cash. The moon in your chart suggests a bit of rough and tumble coming your way. It’s alright though, you sell gum shields.
As if the world ever needed a Brexit loving pub chain owner. What did we all do to deserve you? Thankfully it looks as if justice is on the way. Your chart indicates a new economy where local independent boozers are valued higher than your standardised bollocks. Fucking mullet on legs.
You got rich but that wasn’t enough. You then decided to spray yourself orange and run the world’s only superpower, really badly. You are hated everywhere. You talk crap and you think the sun shines out your own arse. In fact the sun indicates in your chart something you’ll find more frightening than the virus – blue collar Americans rising up against you.
Newspapers, TV channels, Movie studios: you own it all you greedy twat. You just want all the pie. The crystal ball looks forwards it’s true but it also looks backwards for inspiration. Remember when people like you had the dignity to fall off yachts? Lightening can strike twice.
How many shops have you destroyed and yet still stayed so very fucking rich? You ripped off your cleaners too. The runes aren’t looking good, pal. When Class War sends someone like you into administration it means more a bit more than just restructuring your company.