Dr. Pants McTurd's
MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire is a circle. And it wants to bite your ass.
this week: The difference between you and me, is irrelevant and puny.
Aries- Revolution in-, e- and de- volves the revolve. Fer reals. Our epic 'verse loves circles more than any other construct. It's sturdy, single minded of purpose, and brilliant for teaching species with selective hearing, how to better get along in the world, flinging considerably less feces, especially considering that we possess technology to fling shit pretty far these days. The principle of the circle is one you could, were you so inclined to not be stubborn for 5 seconds, apply and integrate into your current emotional wetlands. If I'm right and everything operates in circles, there's something in the road up ahead. When you meet, it will be epic, lovey dovey, and transcendental. Have lunch after and call me.
Taurus- Why do the words walnut and vomit almost rhyme? Why won't I grow up and buy a toaster oven? I like toast as much as anyone. And jam is one of my favorite experiences in the history of my experiences, especially if it involves multiple berry types, snozzberry and uberberry®, for example. And a really good quality bread, toasted just right, maybe a dab of butter, maybe give my heart a run for my money. Or better yet, some cream cheese. Yeah, dude, it's on. High time to get my jam on, maybe whilst wearing my jammies-- a veritable Jammy Jam Jamboree®! Wait. What does that have to do with walnut and vomit? Is that a new cartoon on AdultSwim? Wow, we are truly lost if toast and jam can distract us so. Find your center, it's right to the left of where you left it, right? It and Garfunkel are waiting silently for you.
Gemini- Sorry, but to vent is divine, don't take it personally, it's about me, not you. Why the fudge is the word colonel spelled that way? What moron decided that l = r ? What?... the italians? And then the french, and then the english stole it, and the war of word escalated between factions who insisted on pronouncing it with an r, as opposed to the way those puhsghetti® eaters with all their highfalutin latin roots. I'm no prude, but stealing words involves a heavy responsibility,. Now we own it and we're saying it this way, ha ha, my word now, sucker! Suck it, tsunami, up yours kayak, and go straight to hell yeti, dinghy, penguin (from the welsh oddly enough), aardvark, bazooka, bung, cockatoo, geek, gherkin, gnu, poppycock, hoist, hankering, iceberg, knickerbocker, and not to mention etc etc, etc ad infinauseum®. Spell your words clearly, they are your gob's wiki shillelagh.
Cancer- The untold story of crabs is their immense propensity for serious ass kicking. Who knew? They're no shrinking violet anemones, often mislabeled as shy and secretive, in forced abeyance to the moon and the tides. The crab can be found in every ocean on earth. Impressive, right? You sideways gait is merely the result of a grievous Herculean kick that sent you to the stars. I would walk funny after that too. Enshrouded in myth, our ancestors who lived by the sea, lived off the crab. You are the fuel of seagoing humankind. And you're delicious. Blue crab sushi roll done right = yumm yumm in one's tumm tumm. The travesty is the crab's connection to the disease; the scourge, the plague, an evil poison corrupting our systems normal function. However, keep in mind that cancer is nature's catalyst gone wrong in the hopes of mutating in a favorable way. The road to the crab shack is paved with good intentions? Adversity enlightens clarity? You may be sideways, but you're right on. Mutate and unfold.
Leo- The glass half empty/full is a two sided argument that confines our expansive 'verse into a choice between a paltry two dimensions. I see the glass as not even a glass at all. To me, it's a rainbow that turns into a stairway to heaven (patent pending). Sure, it's got some wetness to it, but I wouldn't want to stand up and be quoted definitively or verbatimly™ that such nimrodderly® minded logic is any way to describe a multi dimensional 'verse, of which we understand about as much as we understand why veal is so delicious and morally wrong. Nor would I like to be questioned as to the true definition of wet. We all know wet when we feel it, even if it's dark and we're unsure of the source. 'How much' is such middle earth mystic crapola. Forget trying to define the subjective. And btw, all 'things' are subjective. You're already mostly water, I suggest you try to BE THE GLASS.
Virgo- My roots are in bourbon country. I'm not talking about the genetic proclivity toward alcoholism that clearly runs in my family, and probably the vast majority of all bloodlines; especially considering that illusion is generally preferable to despair; not to mention that pretty much anything containing even trace amounts of sugar is fermentable into a weird tasting liqueur that will keep you in the bathroom for some time, probably around 4am. god's Biochemistry is mind beguilingly trippy. Everything I put in me, comes out as something else. And hey, no cheap crotch or taint references here, but rather I would offer something of grander importance, perhaps even of grandeur. I am an adult after all. (cough, fuck you, cough) Do you love all the things you put in you? Maybe you should.
Libra- Yeah, I drink your milkshake. Deal with it. I will also kiss you whenever the urge hits me. You remind me of cinnamon toast and old porn tapes on VHS. If I could dance, I would tango your hot little ass all the way to a remote island where we would be married and you would have my babies and we would eat cocoanuts and fish-- lots and lots of fish. AND... I.. DRINK.. YOUR.. MILKSHAKE. Fortunately, you're both elusive and evasive and you will not be caught. And even if I could catch you, I would immediately regret it. Freedom is your best color, you wear it regally like a kind king, a gently god or a beatific bhudda. You are my Muse, among other reasons, to preserve your freedom. That and you amuse me in the nicest way.
Scorpio- Semi colons make me feel important. If I can slip them into the written word, I feel powerful, like I've got so many ideas that I simply don't have time for any bloody periods, no pun intended; clever word play gives me hard-ons; and I'm not even british, so I have no business being so blatant, but damn, you smell good, like fresh bread, out in the country, in a cabin probably by a lake or a stream, or maybe a strawberry farm; and together we'd go berry picking, before the sun grows too high and the heat stroke inducing; O the hours we'd while away making pies and eating bread and making sex tapes by that river or whatever; and we could be together, at least for a small moment. Your colon is anything but semi.
Sagittarius- I recognize this feeling. It's why I started smoking in the first place. Been quit now for going on 7 years. Yeah, I'm pretty cool, but right now, I could really go for a smoke. Amazing how something so full of evil can feel so good. The rebellion, the nicotine buzz, I can feel my lungs and my brain getting a hard-on together, all the little alveoli just sucking up that smoke and tar like a chocolate milkshake. Unfortunately, I know myself. One cigarette is a long slippery and cancerous slope to a pack a day, probably in about a week's time. I know the future and can avoid it. How many things are you smarter than? And when will you spend more time creating futures that will be, rather than ones you're afraid of allowing yourself to become? Take your time, the test will be next thursday.
Capricorn- I am a culture of one. There is no one like me, and I am completely unique, and btw fuck off, I'm gonna drink this bourbon and I'm also gonna have a steak, that's barely cooked, and it's probably gonna be washed down with some more bourbon, but more of a nice finisher, and then some brandy, and then some chocolate, and yes, I may bleed a little tomorrow, but it's my life, it's my cotillion, and please 'take thy form from off my door', to quote the Great One (E.A.P.-- duh.). 'It is the beating of my hideous heart!', and I will not impede its evolutionary progress in this dimension. They can take my life, but they'll never take my FREEDOM. Call me if you need help, I'll be at the buffet.
Aquarius- The rate at which you infect my soul is exponential and approaching incalculability. Do not, therefore, light my candle or my fuse. Do not fire any rockets, ground to air flatulence bombs®, or balloons filled with yogurt and shaving cream. Also refrain from pumping anyone's nads, drowning your sorrows, or turning any swords into any kind of community based tool, not because it smacks of communism, but because my generation still thinks the Cold War might come back. Damn commies always up in my nuclear face, threatening me over various "democratic" islands in the damn caribbean, and forcing me to retreat in far away war torn places that have no real strategic value; it's more for the pissing contests, the bragging rights, and what about all the oil and opiate revenues. Or... there's a force in the world that shadows us, undercurrenting our AC with its DC, our conscious with its collective unconscious, god forbid a yin and/or a yang, or even a pregnant and an as not yet pregnant. Good and evil evolve us equally and in the final analysis are subjective and subjected to ever changing laws. Think about that shit for a spell. Oh and have a nice birthday.
Pisces- Tomorrow you will find a suitcase full of money, or a bag full of diamonds, or maybe some krugerrands from an 80's cop movie that you could later exchange for german bearer bonds. Then you can hedge fund your crooked gains and retire to an island where you'll finally have the time to take up basket weaving like you've always wanted to. You will also find true love. It may be in a form you don't expect, like one of those hairless cats that creep me out, or a cult leader that convinces you to sell all your shit and give him the money, so that when the aliens come, your spaceship ticket will be paid for in full. Perfect happiness is only one suitcase away.
a weekly Horrorscope, appearing every Thursday...
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire is like a sand dune. An amorphous synecdoche of shifting realities, and we are but riders on a molecular storm.
this week: FYI ad BTW, the number forty, aka 40, or as palavered in certain punkified circles as double dumbass on you.. is a fake number, and deserves no quarter nor succor, nor mercy.
Aries- When I say that everything is math, I don't mean that I'm a nerd and you should feel entitled to mock, ridicule or hijack me into an impromptu sing song version of the periodic table of elements; which in re the aforementioned, I can recite even while under torture, backwards to forwards, as well as in ancient Long Islandian® from longways to sideways, also as well as and in or out of context. I reckon the multiverse is rightly complexified™, and our grok of it grows exponentially, what with time's arrow moving ever "forwards". Furtherly™ more, fret not-- what remains unexplained and unexplored will be in due time. The 'verse wants to be heard and understood, forgiven and caressed, and then released back into the wild. You are god's juggernautical™ shepherd, act accordingly.
Taurus- Water chestnuts are total bullshit. I don't sanction them from my gullet, but they twist my knickers big time. The question I implore you to consider is this: How many chickens have you eaten in your lifetime? If you added up the wings, breasts and thighs, bbq'd or otherwise, how many bird carcasses have you ingested? A thousand? Ten thousand? Say we reckon one fowl per week for 30 years, that's over 1500 birds. How many fish? How many potatoes? How many pieces of chocolate? How many bottles of wine? How many regrettable moments spent kissing and/or groping somewhere dark and forbidden, with somone that was unavailable and distraught, both mutually motionless in a world of constant change and incessant loneliness coupled with the mad pursuit of freedom, sexual, socio-political or otherwise? Breathe deep, samsara is ubiquitous and well intentioned, despite its fangs and bloodlust.
Gemini- I'm a man, yo. I eat chicken. I eat cured meats, raw meats, even tofu that's seasoned in some way to replicate real meat. I eat meats of all ilk and font. F to the A to the bacon bacon bacon pancakes with a side of sausage and a turkey sandwich and a pizza laden with the flesh of animals that, no I didn't kill personally, there's this automated thing deep in our peripheral, where the miasma of death and the screams of electrically beheaded cows are far from our precious ears. It's the only logical way to harvest bovinely the lonely sausages of our future poops and ever present coronary artery disease. I digress. You are blessed, stuff your meat hole with unapologetic pride and have a hot dog smothered in veal, smothered in whiskey and and dripping with opiates. Cows taste yum.
Cancer- There are few things as irritating in this life, as wet socks, particularly when one suffers from chronically cold feet from late October to March. Winter-- bah and piffle, I say. And don't get me started on slippers. Something about them vexes and demeans me, which only elevates my inherent mistrust of footwear that claims to be both indoor and outdoor--- I call bullshit. But enough about my bipedal fetishism, let's get down to you and your immediate future, which only I can predict, and supply an adequate to mediocre interpretation of. Your feet and the earth have been in constant contact for the vast majority of your life. Fact is, that bipedalism has been around even longer than penis envy. Get a foot massage and preempt a war with yourself, the result of which would only result in needless suffering. Be yourself. Be what you're like.
Leo- What are the odds of a fortunate mistake? Like penicillin or LSD. Or when you took a wrong turn going home that one time and you discovered the greatest sushi place in the world tucked into the corner of a mini mall that you never go near, because it doesn't have a yoga studio, and there's a menacing group of street toughs hang out in the parking lot. Accidental discoveries are like a mutation, a catalyst that creates change within our matrix. Environment changes our phenotype, which changes our genetic structure. It's true, you can look that shit up. Environment affects our identities, and how we grok the 'verse, and who we are at the molecular freaking level. Germinate with bhudda-like focus, for the tree that you're growing internally is a redwood, and it's going to need some serious space.
Virgo- People who don't trim their nose hair usually have the bushiest schnozzi™,or schnozziolas™, as we used to call them back in east Jersey during the intervening time between the depression, the panic of blah blah blah, and the inevitably ever increasingly difficult to properly balance expense vs gain vs how many more children should be exploded by homemade bombs, before we quantify our perpetual obsession with profit. The nose thing is about courtesy. Must I be forced to stare at your nasal shrubbery and listen to your drollery? I suppose to some, the proboscis is a victory garden. Check out these medal winning nose hairs! It's like prick waving, brightly colored plumage, or the confirmed presence of an undercover cloaca that's been hiding out in your croc's midbrain for, oh I reckon nigh on coupla' score, and maybe even a fortnight. I say braid your nose hairs, show us your cloaca and start a revolution, for the establishment is a blasphemy, and you are full of righteous vim and/or vigor, aka balls.
Libra- You are a frozen wasteland and a tumult of ice cream made with milk from an icelandic yeti, aptly named Yorgin-Fluggin®. When they raise the bar for you, you sidestep it and hit the dive bar down the crooked street that believes itself to be straight. You are not what you want to be, nor what you think you are, and not even what others think of you. You are a sly melange of brink-, gun, and oneup- manship vaporized together, despite your liquefactional phenotype, and alchemied® into a rotten angelic methane dispersal that stings my nostrils like gasoline, yet sucks me in for more, and then more, and then more, the opiate of opiates, the fruitiest of the fruit; you put the ut- to the most and the peanut to the brittle. My Muse is a pox. Your ease and beauty are dreamt of only in higher realities.
Scorpio- When I feel the need for speed, and/or to get properly funkified®, I always choose the sponsor that really speaks to my demographic, and makes me feel like I'm the life of the party cause I tell a funny joke or two. Despite the possibility that deep inside, I'm blue. Blue like Picasso. Blue like oceanic abysses where life thrives under immense pressures, creating shortsighted odds that even Vegas would lose money on. We are creatures of habit. Repetition is like a bran muffin, or some under-ripe prunes sprinkled with nuclear wing sauce. You're approaching Rocky Mountain High, colorado style with the green salsa and coma inducing orgasms. It's your time to ride the snake. Just be home by a Thor'sday near you in a theater around the corner. Your just desserts will be ready.
Sagittarius- When I say things like 'I reckon', it makes me feel folksy, not in an uneducated hayseed way, but in a way that makes me feel connected to my ancient visigoth roots. I'm half visigoth on my mother's side. They say that's the important side when determining blood lines. Anyhowdy, I reckon that you're due for some reconnoitering of the most pedestrian sort. You will find yourself in a shoe shore, or a 7-11, or maybe a massage place where the endings are always sad; and it will be from that vantage point, from the most jejune of circumstances, that you will commune with ancestral spirits, those who bore you, those to whom you owe your very existence. They will tell you how proud they are of you, and make you privy to visions of your future, where the love you give is equal to the love you take.
Capricorn- You don't want to eat too healthy, there's a chance you'll live longer. Inevitably you will increase the number of years that you'll require assistance with most of your bowel movements. Unless they invent a robot butt wiper®. One could argue that the bidet is to date our best conception of such a helpful device. I assume bathroom assistants of the future will be called something like the Butt Buddy®. But, look, we're good friends, right, and when you get super old, and poop everywhere, and you need your butt wiped... I'm gonna be there, dude, for you, for all your poopy pants needs, cause you're my pal. I am gonna work really hard on that robot thing though. Happy Birthday, you old stubborn goat son of a bitch.
Aquarius- The brown throated sloth is the only animal on earth that that is immune to ennui. Fish are the most chronically melancholic, probably due to the inevitability that every time your tail is turned there's a silent predator about to swallow you whole and/or eat your egg sac that you had surmised cleverly hidden in that tide pool back in Laguna. But sloths exist in an entirely other temporal reality. What we see as the sloth is only an after image, a reflection from another reality. They are transdimensional slow motion tree climbers, and the tree they climb is the main artery through which all multiversal energy flows. These totemic titans are entrusted with the totality of totalities, the wholiest™ of holies and the undergarments of the divine. Make friends with a sloth, buy him a big fat cup of berries and soak up his transversal enlightenmentness™.
Pisces- The winds of change are often flatulent in nature. Far too seldom do they smell like a dryer sheet picked right off the tree. Change is a miasma, intended to be smelly. For example, take that rutabaga that you had for lunch. You ate it, sucked all the usable energy out of it via that workhorse of a colon of yours, and then that energy became some skin cells you needed, or judging from your fondness for late night peppermint schnapps and jalapeno milk shakes, probably some new liver cells. Good thing those organs recycle, huh? So here's your personal weather report: my Super Psyched Psychotropic Radar Machine 9000® (also a microwave---convenient, right?), tells me that some super rancid winds are blowing your way. Remember they always smell bad coming in, but once the storm passes, your changed air will be fresh and clean as if your life had a cosmic laundry day.
disclaimer: Satire is like a sand dune. An amorphous synecdoche of shifting realities, and we are but riders on a molecular storm.
this week: FYI ad BTW, the number forty, aka 40, or as palavered in certain punkified circles as double dumbass on you.. is a fake number, and deserves no quarter nor succor, nor mercy.
Aries- When I say that everything is math, I don't mean that I'm a nerd and you should feel entitled to mock, ridicule or hijack me into an impromptu sing song version of the periodic table of elements; which in re the aforementioned, I can recite even while under torture, backwards to forwards, as well as in ancient Long Islandian® from longways to sideways, also as well as and in or out of context. I reckon the multiverse is rightly complexified™, and our grok of it grows exponentially, what with time's arrow moving ever "forwards". Furtherly™ more, fret not-- what remains unexplained and unexplored will be in due time. The 'verse wants to be heard and understood, forgiven and caressed, and then released back into the wild. You are god's juggernautical™ shepherd, act accordingly.
Taurus- Water chestnuts are total bullshit. I don't sanction them from my gullet, but they twist my knickers big time. The question I implore you to consider is this: How many chickens have you eaten in your lifetime? If you added up the wings, breasts and thighs, bbq'd or otherwise, how many bird carcasses have you ingested? A thousand? Ten thousand? Say we reckon one fowl per week for 30 years, that's over 1500 birds. How many fish? How many potatoes? How many pieces of chocolate? How many bottles of wine? How many regrettable moments spent kissing and/or groping somewhere dark and forbidden, with somone that was unavailable and distraught, both mutually motionless in a world of constant change and incessant loneliness coupled with the mad pursuit of freedom, sexual, socio-political or otherwise? Breathe deep, samsara is ubiquitous and well intentioned, despite its fangs and bloodlust.
Gemini- I'm a man, yo. I eat chicken. I eat cured meats, raw meats, even tofu that's seasoned in some way to replicate real meat. I eat meats of all ilk and font. F to the A to the bacon bacon bacon pancakes with a side of sausage and a turkey sandwich and a pizza laden with the flesh of animals that, no I didn't kill personally, there's this automated thing deep in our peripheral, where the miasma of death and the screams of electrically beheaded cows are far from our precious ears. It's the only logical way to harvest bovinely the lonely sausages of our future poops and ever present coronary artery disease. I digress. You are blessed, stuff your meat hole with unapologetic pride and have a hot dog smothered in veal, smothered in whiskey and and dripping with opiates. Cows taste yum.
Cancer- There are few things as irritating in this life, as wet socks, particularly when one suffers from chronically cold feet from late October to March. Winter-- bah and piffle, I say. And don't get me started on slippers. Something about them vexes and demeans me, which only elevates my inherent mistrust of footwear that claims to be both indoor and outdoor--- I call bullshit. But enough about my bipedal fetishism, let's get down to you and your immediate future, which only I can predict, and supply an adequate to mediocre interpretation of. Your feet and the earth have been in constant contact for the vast majority of your life. Fact is, that bipedalism has been around even longer than penis envy. Get a foot massage and preempt a war with yourself, the result of which would only result in needless suffering. Be yourself. Be what you're like.
Leo- What are the odds of a fortunate mistake? Like penicillin or LSD. Or when you took a wrong turn going home that one time and you discovered the greatest sushi place in the world tucked into the corner of a mini mall that you never go near, because it doesn't have a yoga studio, and there's a menacing group of street toughs hang out in the parking lot. Accidental discoveries are like a mutation, a catalyst that creates change within our matrix. Environment changes our phenotype, which changes our genetic structure. It's true, you can look that shit up. Environment affects our identities, and how we grok the 'verse, and who we are at the molecular freaking level. Germinate with bhudda-like focus, for the tree that you're growing internally is a redwood, and it's going to need some serious space.
Virgo- People who don't trim their nose hair usually have the bushiest schnozzi™,or schnozziolas™, as we used to call them back in east Jersey during the intervening time between the depression, the panic of blah blah blah, and the inevitably ever increasingly difficult to properly balance expense vs gain vs how many more children should be exploded by homemade bombs, before we quantify our perpetual obsession with profit. The nose thing is about courtesy. Must I be forced to stare at your nasal shrubbery and listen to your drollery? I suppose to some, the proboscis is a victory garden. Check out these medal winning nose hairs! It's like prick waving, brightly colored plumage, or the confirmed presence of an undercover cloaca that's been hiding out in your croc's midbrain for, oh I reckon nigh on coupla' score, and maybe even a fortnight. I say braid your nose hairs, show us your cloaca and start a revolution, for the establishment is a blasphemy, and you are full of righteous vim and/or vigor, aka balls.
Libra- You are a frozen wasteland and a tumult of ice cream made with milk from an icelandic yeti, aptly named Yorgin-Fluggin®. When they raise the bar for you, you sidestep it and hit the dive bar down the crooked street that believes itself to be straight. You are not what you want to be, nor what you think you are, and not even what others think of you. You are a sly melange of brink-, gun, and oneup- manship vaporized together, despite your liquefactional phenotype, and alchemied® into a rotten angelic methane dispersal that stings my nostrils like gasoline, yet sucks me in for more, and then more, and then more, the opiate of opiates, the fruitiest of the fruit; you put the ut- to the most and the peanut to the brittle. My Muse is a pox. Your ease and beauty are dreamt of only in higher realities.
Scorpio- When I feel the need for speed, and/or to get properly funkified®, I always choose the sponsor that really speaks to my demographic, and makes me feel like I'm the life of the party cause I tell a funny joke or two. Despite the possibility that deep inside, I'm blue. Blue like Picasso. Blue like oceanic abysses where life thrives under immense pressures, creating shortsighted odds that even Vegas would lose money on. We are creatures of habit. Repetition is like a bran muffin, or some under-ripe prunes sprinkled with nuclear wing sauce. You're approaching Rocky Mountain High, colorado style with the green salsa and coma inducing orgasms. It's your time to ride the snake. Just be home by a Thor'sday near you in a theater around the corner. Your just desserts will be ready.
Sagittarius- When I say things like 'I reckon', it makes me feel folksy, not in an uneducated hayseed way, but in a way that makes me feel connected to my ancient visigoth roots. I'm half visigoth on my mother's side. They say that's the important side when determining blood lines. Anyhowdy, I reckon that you're due for some reconnoitering of the most pedestrian sort. You will find yourself in a shoe shore, or a 7-11, or maybe a massage place where the endings are always sad; and it will be from that vantage point, from the most jejune of circumstances, that you will commune with ancestral spirits, those who bore you, those to whom you owe your very existence. They will tell you how proud they are of you, and make you privy to visions of your future, where the love you give is equal to the love you take.
Capricorn- You don't want to eat too healthy, there's a chance you'll live longer. Inevitably you will increase the number of years that you'll require assistance with most of your bowel movements. Unless they invent a robot butt wiper®. One could argue that the bidet is to date our best conception of such a helpful device. I assume bathroom assistants of the future will be called something like the Butt Buddy®. But, look, we're good friends, right, and when you get super old, and poop everywhere, and you need your butt wiped... I'm gonna be there, dude, for you, for all your poopy pants needs, cause you're my pal. I am gonna work really hard on that robot thing though. Happy Birthday, you old stubborn goat son of a bitch.
Aquarius- The brown throated sloth is the only animal on earth that that is immune to ennui. Fish are the most chronically melancholic, probably due to the inevitability that every time your tail is turned there's a silent predator about to swallow you whole and/or eat your egg sac that you had surmised cleverly hidden in that tide pool back in Laguna. But sloths exist in an entirely other temporal reality. What we see as the sloth is only an after image, a reflection from another reality. They are transdimensional slow motion tree climbers, and the tree they climb is the main artery through which all multiversal energy flows. These totemic titans are entrusted with the totality of totalities, the wholiest™ of holies and the undergarments of the divine. Make friends with a sloth, buy him a big fat cup of berries and soak up his transversal enlightenmentness™.
Pisces- The winds of change are often flatulent in nature. Far too seldom do they smell like a dryer sheet picked right off the tree. Change is a miasma, intended to be smelly. For example, take that rutabaga that you had for lunch. You ate it, sucked all the usable energy out of it via that workhorse of a colon of yours, and then that energy became some skin cells you needed, or judging from your fondness for late night peppermint schnapps and jalapeno milk shakes, probably some new liver cells. Good thing those organs recycle, huh? So here's your personal weather report: my Super Psyched Psychotropic Radar Machine 9000® (also a microwave---convenient, right?), tells me that some super rancid winds are blowing your way. Remember they always smell bad coming in, but once the storm passes, your changed air will be fresh and clean as if your life had a cosmic laundry day.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire repeats itself only once a lifetime, for the well is deep as is the panoply of ever changing targets.
this week: I've always wanted to use panoply in a sentence without sounding like a jerk. Can I have another shot at it?
Aries- Yadda yadda pain is a teacher, we evolve because of and through adversity, blah blah blah. Gimme a break, let me win the lottery just once, I mean really, is it too much to ask for a million free dollars? Money is freedom, right. And there are those whose self interest is focussed like a white hot laser, there are those who would keep us from our freedom, keep us from our inalienable human rights. Freedom is no priviledge, I am not required to earn it, it is my birthright and never the twain shall cleave my divergement™. Wherever our revolutionization™ ends, know that I'm with you, brother/sister/lover/possibly close relative/soulmates-- just the three of us, we can make it if we try. You and you and I.
Taurus- I refuse to spell tomorow correctly. Likewise with suprise. What the fudge is with all the extra r's in the world? And don't get me started on gh combos. Shove this in your Funk & Wagnall's: lite, nite and brite. And hey you, ph's of the world-- you're on notice too. The world's ending this year alright. We're headed for a future where we waste no time holding on to what are now illogical spellings based on a thousand years of barbarian hordes, visigoths and vikings, and murderous romans hacking out our evolutionary alphabet from our shared past, lest we repeat it. Or maybe we should hold on to the past. Light, night, bright, tomorrow and surprise. If we are not our history, who are we? Call Joseph Campbell and stock up on canned goods.
Gemini- The tangential and tertiary quality with which you move is supine, lupine and unapologetically vulpine. Look 'em up, those are real words. And their legitimacy is founded upon our mutual agreement of non binding and ethereal contracts, whose nature is undeterminable and flagrantly foiled by self flagellators, who would rather whip themselves than feed someone who's hungry, or imagine a world that he/she/you/us/we is not the center. The chains of your self-imprisonment are nearly rotted through with rust. Summon the strength of the four winds, or horsemen, or Tops that you can finagle over to your weird crusade, for dragon fighting is near. Yet fret little, the dragons often get winded, becoming easily catchable and trainable, like seals or politicians. Your victory is intensely assured.
Cancer- The other day, I really wanted a piece of gum. I was headed out, long drive across town, and I picked this jacket out of the closet that I only wear like twice a year. Don't know why. It's actually a nice casual jacket, that rare piece of clothing that combines functionality and me not looking like a complete slob, despite my cheap shoes, nary a brand name in sight because we still allow items made by children to be for sale here in america because profit + cheap skins/pelts/cotton blazers = righteous profiteering. Anyhoo, got in the car, felt something in my pocket, and voila!, a gift from past me to future me... a pack of gum that I bought six months ago, and BINGO BANGO!, I got gum. My point, though rambling, is that you should make a present for yourself that you'll find in the future. Make your own wormhole.
Leo- Holy fishmongers, you guano crazy son of a gunner's mate first class that sailed on the SS Verne back in 1812, the war that time made me confused in regard to and etceteras®. The war was over, but people kept shooting, and you had that hallucinatory episode where you thought that all of us were communist pagan zombie worshipping brain humpers, and that nuclear monkeys were about to invade the Ardenne Forest with flatulence bombs®, so you decided to post all the lurid pictures of your ex girlfriends' mothers on FB, and were later questioned and released, some say by the hair on your chinny-chin. You are a twisted tyrannical testament to the wonderful diversity of Allah, Bhudda and my recently late Great Uncle Al. But you dress groovy and everyone digs your scene, so feel free to engender transcendence in- and ex- ternally. The sun is your only equal.
Virgo- It is foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world. Surely not disease. Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list of humanity's needs is long, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how does the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? We all know you know the answer. Engage.
Libra- Is it foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and the fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world? What about disease? Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list is long for humanity's needs, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how is the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? Questions with no answers quickly fester. Order a pizza and relax.
Scorpio- Evolutionary math drives my fascination with ferreting out every facet of our fickle foibles. After tedious study, one could argue that the complexity of god's science, which used to be called magic, and before that alchemy, and before that, ugg ug ugg ugg-- look I said in the interview that my neandertal was at best, kitchen fluent..., I'm just saying that when it comes down to an instinctively created context, that our genes, nay and lo our very atoms are god's blueprint®. We lack the stamina to comprehend the sheer immensity of it all, because fer reals-- infinite is infinite, and wow, that's large and untenable. I say, tread cautiously and hoist a high petard, for there are pirates about our brains, ones that would steal our booty and keelhaul our freedom.
Sagittarius- Words with double L's really twist my nads. We get it-- make an L sound with my big fat mouth. Shuuuuut up. You don't need to hit me over the head with it. And don't get me started on the word paralel, or balroom, or ilegaly. Who decides this crap? I say we rise up, revolutionizate™ and declare that english need not be so obtuse. How about we stop subjecting people who want to learn our beautiful language to needless over lettering? It's a new era, the future is happening faster and faster; and we deserve, nay.. 'tis our right and our destiny that speling be made less needlesly overly complexicated® and divisive. And yes, I'm aware of how speling bees would be affected, but dammit, we're talking about the free market of language. Plant a flag in the future, my fellow furry lamas!
Capricorn- Pragmatism is not a whirling dervish, though both their divinations end at the same doorway to "understanding". Now, add wine, preferably red and pontificate: In vino verisimilitude® and skepticism are the proverbial holy grail. Agrippa made a religion out of non belief, that is to say, that to question everything proves that nothing is provable, therefore: the sum of all fears appears to be a holy pulchritude, a siren in the form of fermented grapes that transcends us into the next realm, where logic is open ended and nothing is certain because that is not in its nature, certainty is a myth. Truth is beauty and beauty truth, but only from a certain point of view. Currently yours is the fabled cat bird seat. More wine?
Aquarius- Redundancy is akin to peeing into your friend's potted plant in front of the entire wine and/or cheese party, proclaiming, that this land is our land, and that you can pee any place you want. We Aquarii are constantly under pressure to use our lightning like brains to come up with new shit all the time. It's annoyingly fun. However, being human will inevitably gravitate to the tedious, despite my insistence otherwise, and that's when I reach for a sedative. Something mild, possibly bourbon based, but guaranteed to lift my palette, my senses, and my bravery. It's after the third B&B&B that I begin to repeat the same joke, the same story, the same ribald tale of a cockfight I once officiated... against my will, long story. But for now, relax, and stay coolly aloof. It's almost our birthday and bourbon is our friend until Lent.
Pisces- I burned the crap out of my hand the other day. Turns out that yes, that coffee was hot. Lava hot actually. The heat of a thousand white hot suns took control of my energy field, but mind over matter, stabbing my urge to pout like a four year old, I got hold of the physical sensation of pain, and I held sway over it, took it to court and restrained it, preventing it from wresting from me the reins of my senses, all the while telling myself that I am stronger. I can morph the pain into a an esoteric plaything with the flick of a mental switch, pain's supremacy will only devolve, I will heal, and my my hurt and my innermost desires may remain in quiet hibernation, no longer subjected to the glaring light of the thousand white hot suns, which remind me of your presence, of your warmth and your separation of church and state. What a pisser. And I'm sorry for our loss, but I grok its necessity and pragmatism. Be well.
disclaimer: Satire repeats itself only once a lifetime, for the well is deep as is the panoply of ever changing targets.
this week: I've always wanted to use panoply in a sentence without sounding like a jerk. Can I have another shot at it?
Aries- Yadda yadda pain is a teacher, we evolve because of and through adversity, blah blah blah. Gimme a break, let me win the lottery just once, I mean really, is it too much to ask for a million free dollars? Money is freedom, right. And there are those whose self interest is focussed like a white hot laser, there are those who would keep us from our freedom, keep us from our inalienable human rights. Freedom is no priviledge, I am not required to earn it, it is my birthright and never the twain shall cleave my divergement™. Wherever our revolutionization™ ends, know that I'm with you, brother/sister/lover/possibly close relative/soulmates-- just the three of us, we can make it if we try. You and you and I.
Taurus- I refuse to spell tomorow correctly. Likewise with suprise. What the fudge is with all the extra r's in the world? And don't get me started on gh combos. Shove this in your Funk & Wagnall's: lite, nite and brite. And hey you, ph's of the world-- you're on notice too. The world's ending this year alright. We're headed for a future where we waste no time holding on to what are now illogical spellings based on a thousand years of barbarian hordes, visigoths and vikings, and murderous romans hacking out our evolutionary alphabet from our shared past, lest we repeat it. Or maybe we should hold on to the past. Light, night, bright, tomorrow and surprise. If we are not our history, who are we? Call Joseph Campbell and stock up on canned goods.
Gemini- The tangential and tertiary quality with which you move is supine, lupine and unapologetically vulpine. Look 'em up, those are real words. And their legitimacy is founded upon our mutual agreement of non binding and ethereal contracts, whose nature is undeterminable and flagrantly foiled by self flagellators, who would rather whip themselves than feed someone who's hungry, or imagine a world that he/she/you/us/we is not the center. The chains of your self-imprisonment are nearly rotted through with rust. Summon the strength of the four winds, or horsemen, or Tops that you can finagle over to your weird crusade, for dragon fighting is near. Yet fret little, the dragons often get winded, becoming easily catchable and trainable, like seals or politicians. Your victory is intensely assured.
Cancer- The other day, I really wanted a piece of gum. I was headed out, long drive across town, and I picked this jacket out of the closet that I only wear like twice a year. Don't know why. It's actually a nice casual jacket, that rare piece of clothing that combines functionality and me not looking like a complete slob, despite my cheap shoes, nary a brand name in sight because we still allow items made by children to be for sale here in america because profit + cheap skins/pelts/cotton blazers = righteous profiteering. Anyhoo, got in the car, felt something in my pocket, and voila!, a gift from past me to future me... a pack of gum that I bought six months ago, and BINGO BANGO!, I got gum. My point, though rambling, is that you should make a present for yourself that you'll find in the future. Make your own wormhole.
Leo- Holy fishmongers, you guano crazy son of a gunner's mate first class that sailed on the SS Verne back in 1812, the war that time made me confused in regard to and etceteras®. The war was over, but people kept shooting, and you had that hallucinatory episode where you thought that all of us were communist pagan zombie worshipping brain humpers, and that nuclear monkeys were about to invade the Ardenne Forest with flatulence bombs®, so you decided to post all the lurid pictures of your ex girlfriends' mothers on FB, and were later questioned and released, some say by the hair on your chinny-chin. You are a twisted tyrannical testament to the wonderful diversity of Allah, Bhudda and my recently late Great Uncle Al. But you dress groovy and everyone digs your scene, so feel free to engender transcendence in- and ex- ternally. The sun is your only equal.
Virgo- It is foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world. Surely not disease. Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list of humanity's needs is long, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how does the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? We all know you know the answer. Engage.
Libra- Is it foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and the fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world? What about disease? Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list is long for humanity's needs, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how is the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? Questions with no answers quickly fester. Order a pizza and relax.
Scorpio- Evolutionary math drives my fascination with ferreting out every facet of our fickle foibles. After tedious study, one could argue that the complexity of god's science, which used to be called magic, and before that alchemy, and before that, ugg ug ugg ugg-- look I said in the interview that my neandertal was at best, kitchen fluent..., I'm just saying that when it comes down to an instinctively created context, that our genes, nay and lo our very atoms are god's blueprint®. We lack the stamina to comprehend the sheer immensity of it all, because fer reals-- infinite is infinite, and wow, that's large and untenable. I say, tread cautiously and hoist a high petard, for there are pirates about our brains, ones that would steal our booty and keelhaul our freedom.
Sagittarius- Words with double L's really twist my nads. We get it-- make an L sound with my big fat mouth. Shuuuuut up. You don't need to hit me over the head with it. And don't get me started on the word paralel, or balroom, or ilegaly. Who decides this crap? I say we rise up, revolutionizate™ and declare that english need not be so obtuse. How about we stop subjecting people who want to learn our beautiful language to needless over lettering? It's a new era, the future is happening faster and faster; and we deserve, nay.. 'tis our right and our destiny that speling be made less needlesly overly complexicated® and divisive. And yes, I'm aware of how speling bees would be affected, but dammit, we're talking about the free market of language. Plant a flag in the future, my fellow furry lamas!
Capricorn- Pragmatism is not a whirling dervish, though both their divinations end at the same doorway to "understanding". Now, add wine, preferably red and pontificate: In vino verisimilitude® and skepticism are the proverbial holy grail. Agrippa made a religion out of non belief, that is to say, that to question everything proves that nothing is provable, therefore: the sum of all fears appears to be a holy pulchritude, a siren in the form of fermented grapes that transcends us into the next realm, where logic is open ended and nothing is certain because that is not in its nature, certainty is a myth. Truth is beauty and beauty truth, but only from a certain point of view. Currently yours is the fabled cat bird seat. More wine?
Aquarius- Redundancy is akin to peeing into your friend's potted plant in front of the entire wine and/or cheese party, proclaiming, that this land is our land, and that you can pee any place you want. We Aquarii are constantly under pressure to use our lightning like brains to come up with new shit all the time. It's annoyingly fun. However, being human will inevitably gravitate to the tedious, despite my insistence otherwise, and that's when I reach for a sedative. Something mild, possibly bourbon based, but guaranteed to lift my palette, my senses, and my bravery. It's after the third B&B&B that I begin to repeat the same joke, the same story, the same ribald tale of a cockfight I once officiated... against my will, long story. But for now, relax, and stay coolly aloof. It's almost our birthday and bourbon is our friend until Lent.
Pisces- I burned the crap out of my hand the other day. Turns out that yes, that coffee was hot. Lava hot actually. The heat of a thousand white hot suns took control of my energy field, but mind over matter, stabbing my urge to pout like a four year old, I got hold of the physical sensation of pain, and I held sway over it, took it to court and restrained it, preventing it from wresting from me the reins of my senses, all the while telling myself that I am stronger. I can morph the pain into a an esoteric plaything with the flick of a mental switch, pain's supremacy will only devolve, I will heal, and my my hurt and my innermost desires may remain in quiet hibernation, no longer subjected to the glaring light of the thousand white hot suns, which remind me of your presence, of your warmth and your separation of church and state. What a pisser. And I'm sorry for our loss, but I grok its necessity and pragmatism. Be well.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Happy 2012...thank god the world ends this year because i really need a long winter's nap.
Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire is not always funny, but it is eternally granted the divine wisdom of truth.
this week: Sometimes, she likes to be turned upside down and inside out, as well as right ways wrong ways. Your challenge is to know when she wants it.
Aries- What level has your smiling achieved? Are you professional grade? Do you smile at inappropriate times, or always at the proper moment, effectively veiling your true sociopathic intentions? Perhaps you're an introverted smiler, only turning that frown up side down ways in seclusion away from eyes that would pry into your private vat of undeserv'd evaporating happiness. My guess is that you are a reluctant smiler, that once commited can easily go full speed, teeth enjoying their time in the sun, diaphragm convulsing with giggles, probably at a ribald rejoinder passed between two lovers that just need one more nudge to get together in order to occupy, unionize and promisculate®. Nudge and proceed with lustful zeal.
Taurus- Don't take shit for shinola. If you're gonna be a bear, be a grizzly. Screw the basket, put all your eggs in your pants, do a fancy butt dance and go downtown on molly brown's up side down frown. Be the best, be the greatest, order your martini extra dirty and tell people your name is Bondage... James Bondage. Eat a really spicy macho burrito from the questionably hygienic taco truck down the street that you've been morbidly curious about, chug some coffee liqueur, ditch your pants and go streaking. Skid mark your way into 2012, and make sure your friends and family know that you haven't gone mad. You've gone right.
Gemini- Snorri Sturluson, twelfth century Icelandic historian, poet and politician, regardless of how silly his old viking language sounds, was not an idiot. We raise our ancestors to the level of gods, calling upon them if we need strength before battle, or if we get sucked into a game of naked Jungian Jungle Jenga® when we're really wasted on pear schnapps. It's a process that endlessly repeats itself going back thousands of generations, leading us backward in time not to god, but to something ineffable and driven that creates life and consciousness out of apparently nothing at all. Your true ancestor is the sub nuclear orb that infuses us with life like an amoebic frankenstein. Worship her, but do not blind yourself with obedience.
Cancer- The troposphere is lovely this time of year/ for a bargain basement/ for a cocktail / and some empathic time to bend your ear / and afterwards curl your toes and melt your fears / into alchemic cauldrons that toil and trouble / boil and bubble / and never cease to amuse your god-like nose / and your oh so royal panty hose / circumferencing® your head / far as a person can see / but enraptured of fog you will never be / save for the making of a toast and future wishes / best proffered while on bended knee / supplication and worship my lips only fees.
Leo- Time travel is only possible if time actually exists and if there is an acceptable standard, all sizes and temporalities applicable unifying theory; in addition to a provable definition for something that is not only subjective, but irrefutably linked to the "precise" location in spacetime that one's "mass" theoretically inhabits, according to the depth of one's personal gravity well, which is inherently unprovable in any conventional sense or understandable quantity. --Blimey, the Fatuous circa 12846 BCE
in his treatise on sexual vs platonic love in upright primates. Grok it, Crockett and integrate this ∫. ∫ . ∫ .. ∫ . ∫ =∆
Virgo- I dreamt a bee stung me in the palm of my hand. I remember vividly the stinger I pulled from my flesh. I felt no pain, but my first thought based on previous experience was that my hand would soon swell to the size of a water balloon filled with liquid metal and irate bee piss. My first thought was about damage, the down side, the lead lining in my cloud of inevitable pain. Granted, evolution is a good teacher, and negative reaction to pain isn't a surprise, but I think I missed god's point, again no surprise. My real thought in the dream was about the miracle. I'm conscious and sentient and can experience a bee sting in a dream world that I invented, that as far as I know has no reality save for the neuroses my neurons inhabit. Holy nipple sticks, dude.
Libra- Reality is inherently undefinable. However, I can say with all the certainty of a possessed fetal pig that you are not living in "it". Furthermore, whatever warped wooly world you live in is probably more reasonable than the bullshit reality that the rest of us have been espousing with all our simian glory. However, your window of reality based righteousness will inevitably degrade into one that even the most blindly despotic of us would deem unsafe at any speed. Enjoy your moment in the sun, and douse us with your transdimensional logic. Soon, you'll just be another one of us wack-a-doos, searching in vain for a reasonably priced and yet soft toilet paper.
Scorpio- The devil usually resides in the details. He/She/It/Cow digs hanging out there due to the relatively small amount of sense that dimension makes. When you get down to the very small, the very very very very very very small, the sub sub sub atomic where space is not space, but small 'strings' of energy and funky particles both existing and not simultaneously, where chaos seems to create order, matter, reality, ideas and eventually belief- that is the devil's creative playground where he conjures the mischief and disorder that manifests in your overhanging firmament. Make the devil your friend, it'll confuse the hell right out of him/her/it/hotfudgesundae.
Sagittarius- The bone eating snot flower is for real. It loves to burrow into the bones of whale carcasses and suck out the lipids. For now, you're safe. However, due to over-whaling, the snot flowers, also known as zombie worms will be moving inland shortly. There's billions of them. There's going to start in the valley and move to the Hollywood area after the housing market improves and we can get on with letting banks make legislation. By 2050, 1 in 5 americans will be a snot flowerian, and 2 of every 9 marriages will be of mixed species, human and snot flower. They have no gender, however, so expect lots of court battles over marriage rights. This week you will have an epiphany that will induce you to fight for your right to marry any panda you choose, provided it's a mutual arrangement and not another sham panda marriage attempting to defraud the US government. Go forth and "god's" speed.
Capricorn- The future never ceases to piss me off. It thinks it's so fucking smart and that I can't control it. It accuses me, in the present no less, of fear and loathing, of panic and meltdown, of genius and madness, of my oversized ego dominated by past pain and ghosts that seem to have nothing better to do than loiter my brain's haunt. It tells me what I want to hear, and unfortunately for me, I'm an idiot who wants the impossible, or at least the unlikely. I am a turd in the grass waiting to decompose, transmutate and transmogrify, and give myself willingly up to god. God is the future and it's imperative that I get there first, so I can end his mad reign. Screw him anyway. You probably wouldn't understand what I'm talking about, so never mind. Especially in the future.
Aquarius- Say yes. Repeat it with every breath for the next 36 years. Say yes regardless of the fear that stalks, the demons that haunt, or the tickle fairy who's out of work due to recession with less money to spend on organized tickling. Yes opens more doors than no. Yes makes babies happen and dessert to be ordered. Yes makes tornadoes of awesomeness that throw you skyward into your next big moment. Yes is eternal. Yes is ripe and bursting. Yes is alchemic, forging will into beauty, art, invention, compassion, philanthropy, acceptance, jeans that really fit your particular butt shape, and vast plantations of soy beans and hemp cropping up in your third eye's vision quest for peace on earth, food on every plate, and love in every home. Say yes, and reap royal rewards.
Pisces- You are the eternal springtime of my maculated mind. You are everything I despise and everything I love. My alpha plus omega to the power of three. You are my lost muse that I can never recover. Nor should I. We are perfect twin branes, bound neither for peaceful coexistence, nor collision and therein, total destruction. You're the crack in my pipe, the coca in my leaves, my destruction waiting in the wings for me to slip, to misspeak and flub my lines, causing personality meltdown and a dire need for id replacement therapy. You are a scourge, a pox, a plague, an hourly promise breaker, and an imminent scandal. Thank the heavens I know you.
disclaimer: Satire is not always funny, but it is eternally granted the divine wisdom of truth.
this week: Sometimes, she likes to be turned upside down and inside out, as well as right ways wrong ways. Your challenge is to know when she wants it.
Aries- What level has your smiling achieved? Are you professional grade? Do you smile at inappropriate times, or always at the proper moment, effectively veiling your true sociopathic intentions? Perhaps you're an introverted smiler, only turning that frown up side down ways in seclusion away from eyes that would pry into your private vat of undeserv'd evaporating happiness. My guess is that you are a reluctant smiler, that once commited can easily go full speed, teeth enjoying their time in the sun, diaphragm convulsing with giggles, probably at a ribald rejoinder passed between two lovers that just need one more nudge to get together in order to occupy, unionize and promisculate®. Nudge and proceed with lustful zeal.
Taurus- Don't take shit for shinola. If you're gonna be a bear, be a grizzly. Screw the basket, put all your eggs in your pants, do a fancy butt dance and go downtown on molly brown's up side down frown. Be the best, be the greatest, order your martini extra dirty and tell people your name is Bondage... James Bondage. Eat a really spicy macho burrito from the questionably hygienic taco truck down the street that you've been morbidly curious about, chug some coffee liqueur, ditch your pants and go streaking. Skid mark your way into 2012, and make sure your friends and family know that you haven't gone mad. You've gone right.
Gemini- Snorri Sturluson, twelfth century Icelandic historian, poet and politician, regardless of how silly his old viking language sounds, was not an idiot. We raise our ancestors to the level of gods, calling upon them if we need strength before battle, or if we get sucked into a game of naked Jungian Jungle Jenga® when we're really wasted on pear schnapps. It's a process that endlessly repeats itself going back thousands of generations, leading us backward in time not to god, but to something ineffable and driven that creates life and consciousness out of apparently nothing at all. Your true ancestor is the sub nuclear orb that infuses us with life like an amoebic frankenstein. Worship her, but do not blind yourself with obedience.
Cancer- The troposphere is lovely this time of year/ for a bargain basement/ for a cocktail / and some empathic time to bend your ear / and afterwards curl your toes and melt your fears / into alchemic cauldrons that toil and trouble / boil and bubble / and never cease to amuse your god-like nose / and your oh so royal panty hose / circumferencing® your head / far as a person can see / but enraptured of fog you will never be / save for the making of a toast and future wishes / best proffered while on bended knee / supplication and worship my lips only fees.
Leo- Time travel is only possible if time actually exists and if there is an acceptable standard, all sizes and temporalities applicable unifying theory; in addition to a provable definition for something that is not only subjective, but irrefutably linked to the "precise" location in spacetime that one's "mass" theoretically inhabits, according to the depth of one's personal gravity well, which is inherently unprovable in any conventional sense or understandable quantity. --Blimey, the Fatuous circa 12846 BCE
in his treatise on sexual vs platonic love in upright primates. Grok it, Crockett and integrate this ∫. ∫ . ∫ .. ∫ . ∫ =∆
Virgo- I dreamt a bee stung me in the palm of my hand. I remember vividly the stinger I pulled from my flesh. I felt no pain, but my first thought based on previous experience was that my hand would soon swell to the size of a water balloon filled with liquid metal and irate bee piss. My first thought was about damage, the down side, the lead lining in my cloud of inevitable pain. Granted, evolution is a good teacher, and negative reaction to pain isn't a surprise, but I think I missed god's point, again no surprise. My real thought in the dream was about the miracle. I'm conscious and sentient and can experience a bee sting in a dream world that I invented, that as far as I know has no reality save for the neuroses my neurons inhabit. Holy nipple sticks, dude.
Libra- Reality is inherently undefinable. However, I can say with all the certainty of a possessed fetal pig that you are not living in "it". Furthermore, whatever warped wooly world you live in is probably more reasonable than the bullshit reality that the rest of us have been espousing with all our simian glory. However, your window of reality based righteousness will inevitably degrade into one that even the most blindly despotic of us would deem unsafe at any speed. Enjoy your moment in the sun, and douse us with your transdimensional logic. Soon, you'll just be another one of us wack-a-doos, searching in vain for a reasonably priced and yet soft toilet paper.
Scorpio- The devil usually resides in the details. He/She/It/Cow digs hanging out there due to the relatively small amount of sense that dimension makes. When you get down to the very small, the very very very very very very small, the sub sub sub atomic where space is not space, but small 'strings' of energy and funky particles both existing and not simultaneously, where chaos seems to create order, matter, reality, ideas and eventually belief- that is the devil's creative playground where he conjures the mischief and disorder that manifests in your overhanging firmament. Make the devil your friend, it'll confuse the hell right out of him/her/it/hotfudgesundae.
Sagittarius- The bone eating snot flower is for real. It loves to burrow into the bones of whale carcasses and suck out the lipids. For now, you're safe. However, due to over-whaling, the snot flowers, also known as zombie worms will be moving inland shortly. There's billions of them. There's going to start in the valley and move to the Hollywood area after the housing market improves and we can get on with letting banks make legislation. By 2050, 1 in 5 americans will be a snot flowerian, and 2 of every 9 marriages will be of mixed species, human and snot flower. They have no gender, however, so expect lots of court battles over marriage rights. This week you will have an epiphany that will induce you to fight for your right to marry any panda you choose, provided it's a mutual arrangement and not another sham panda marriage attempting to defraud the US government. Go forth and "god's" speed.
Capricorn- The future never ceases to piss me off. It thinks it's so fucking smart and that I can't control it. It accuses me, in the present no less, of fear and loathing, of panic and meltdown, of genius and madness, of my oversized ego dominated by past pain and ghosts that seem to have nothing better to do than loiter my brain's haunt. It tells me what I want to hear, and unfortunately for me, I'm an idiot who wants the impossible, or at least the unlikely. I am a turd in the grass waiting to decompose, transmutate and transmogrify, and give myself willingly up to god. God is the future and it's imperative that I get there first, so I can end his mad reign. Screw him anyway. You probably wouldn't understand what I'm talking about, so never mind. Especially in the future.
Aquarius- Say yes. Repeat it with every breath for the next 36 years. Say yes regardless of the fear that stalks, the demons that haunt, or the tickle fairy who's out of work due to recession with less money to spend on organized tickling. Yes opens more doors than no. Yes makes babies happen and dessert to be ordered. Yes makes tornadoes of awesomeness that throw you skyward into your next big moment. Yes is eternal. Yes is ripe and bursting. Yes is alchemic, forging will into beauty, art, invention, compassion, philanthropy, acceptance, jeans that really fit your particular butt shape, and vast plantations of soy beans and hemp cropping up in your third eye's vision quest for peace on earth, food on every plate, and love in every home. Say yes, and reap royal rewards.
Pisces- You are the eternal springtime of my maculated mind. You are everything I despise and everything I love. My alpha plus omega to the power of three. You are my lost muse that I can never recover. Nor should I. We are perfect twin branes, bound neither for peaceful coexistence, nor collision and therein, total destruction. You're the crack in my pipe, the coca in my leaves, my destruction waiting in the wings for me to slip, to misspeak and flub my lines, causing personality meltdown and a dire need for id replacement therapy. You are a scourge, a pox, a plague, an hourly promise breaker, and an imminent scandal. Thank the heavens I know you.
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