Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Bring me the Groundhog!!

                  Dr. Pants McTurd's 
    MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                 
disclaimer: Satire is not my fault. It squirts out of me naturally.

this week: I channeled this week's 'scopes from the undead ghost
                                    of Harold Faltermeyer.

Aries-  Nevertheless, natheless is the selfsame. I shit you not. Notwithstanding the sanctimonious sanctioning of semantics, (an arbitrary fight at best), the whole nonetheless debacle is an ongoing national nightmare, that in hindsight I think we can all agree was caused by deregulation and a shortage of penguins, aka The Great Penguin Drought©, which really relates to a dire dearth of icebergs and a surplus of floating oceanic garbage patches, notwithstanding my need for a lot of different kinds of plastic and weapons manufacturing. Try not to get caught up in the outskirts of your own society. Being you is awesome, and nobody does it better, not even Ian Fleming. PS: read Sagittarius.

Taurus- Harold Faltermeyer knows of a secret passage that leads directly into my brain like in that movie where the boom box Say Anything guy plays a puppeteer married to an animal fetishist. Who the fudge is Harold Faltermeyer, you ask ignorantly? He wrote theme music for movies that in a most profound way shaped my teenage years, most notably Beverly Hills Cop, and Fletch. Nothing gets into my head like his arrangements, and luckily, at the end of his songs I don't wind up in a ditch in New Jersey. Find your Faltermeyer. Find your theme song, and play it throughout the day whenever you doubt yourself. We can work out your opening montage with scenes of you doing stunts and looking cool later on.

Gemini- Animal husbandry is no way to start romantic dinner chatter. Cud should also remain off the menu in terms of potential date conversation. Yes, the steak you're eating came from a ruminant with four stomachs and a masticating fetish. (So nice, they chew it twice!) Cud that is, farmer's gold, onshore tea, aka turf & barf. So, to sum up: animals barfing up their own food AND getting sperm and eggs in or out of animals is no way to treat a lady. My late great Uncle Al was a veterinarian and I saw the dude stick his whole arm up a cow's butt to get the coagulated bolus out. (That tidbit is also verboten at dinner.) Woo your mate with cunning, smooth love and hands-on pleasure.

Cancer- The first time I wear a new pair of pants is a solid guarantee that I will spill on them. It's a private joke between me, myself and god. Yep, I said god. Not the beardy dude, or the one you're forbidden from showing his image, and not the smiling fat meditating guy, and certainly not out future overlord Brindelsniffer VII®, whose invasion we will not repel in 2132. Yeah, our great grandchildren will be slavish vassals to an alien being with no genitalia and really big laser weapons. Sorry. The good news is that we come from the same species that invented "dry" cleaning, so I don't have to take my new dungarees down to the rock by the river, and scrub and scrub with homemade soap that I rendered from my own body fat. Mostly from my thighs. Pound of flesh aside, don't fret. If you break it, stain it, or vaporize it, it's okay. No matter what, I promise you-- there will always be more pants and soap from someone else's fat.

Leo- The packet of "cheese" inside a box of mac n' cheese is not made of paper. It's a weird plastic, no... it's metallic, like foil, and here's why: stoners and mac n' cheese are amigos, nay-- they are lovers.  It's easy to make, and if you mix in a can of tuna, it's nearly healthy. Point is, I made some the other night, opened the box and dumped it right into boiling water, cheese packet included. The corporate bastards have been ahead of my penchant for dumbness for years now, out thinking me, out planning me and loading me with their transmogrified "cheese", laden with salt and chemicals that take me back to my youth, when mac and/or cheese was the perfect thing to shut your kid up. And you could mix in hot dogs-- no need to add rat parts! What a life! Point is, keep an eye on your flavor packets, they serve you well, but could be made to serve the emperor.

Virgo- Whaaaaaaaa--? At the top of the financial hegemony that determines the fate of billions, there's greed, corruption, dishonesty, amoral behavior and whatever the opposite of compassion is? You have the gallstones to tell me that greedy self interest inhabits every niche in our society because it's in the "Constitution"--- surely you jest. Maybe you're just bitter because you're poor and you despise bowing to your social betters, the people who brought you manners and etiquette and table cloths and eating utensils that are not your hands. One theory says that the uber rich and powerful are sociopaths, Dexter-like adepts who manipulate reality to their own needy ends-- love and affection, in the form of money and power, that every heartless homo craves. Homo sapien, dude, don't be a hater or a secessionist from decency. The rich deserve our love. It's the only thing they don't have. Give generously.

Libra- As soon as you land on Fantasy Island, that Khan dude has your specific favorite or ironically apropos drink ready for you, usually in a cocoanut shell with a minimum of two umbrellas, and your first thought is, how the fudge did Khan know that I love Crabtinis®?? All vacations should be planned that way. Some weird dude, who's magic is never explained, knows everything about you and exactly who to set you up with, and dig out your inner demons and snuff 'em into 'blivion, using what I can only assume is the 70's version of the Smoke Monster. That's the guy I want planning my time off. We tend to push all our demon cleaning into a mandated relaxation period instead of taking advantage of all the epiphanic opportunities that exist everyday all around us. Be your own Khan. Allow yourself to find what you really need right now, in your own hometown.

Scorpio- You are a circean draught I ought not to have drunk. Or drank. Have drunken? Whatever, point is that Circe was a goddess who was into mixing magic potions that she used to befuddle her enemies, like when she changed Odysseus' crew into pigs. Swine and men are oft wont of wine, such an obvious weakness, and so easily administered, two drops per glass will drop even the meanest warrior right on his ass. It's at this point that I should be clear: I am NOT advising anyone to give anyone else a ruffie. At least, not without prior consent. In which case, go to town on their ass while they're off napping in Lotus Land. Different strokes for different folks, ja? I am saying that you should be mixing up a proper witch's brew for your next enamorado. Hint hint, I prefer whiskey to wine.

Sagittarius- Sagittarius comes from the latin word sagitta, which means arrow. You are half human and half horse, with an eagle eye and a quiver full of id-tentions®. Your quarries are generally fast moving, and occasionally even you will miss. Even the gods need a reason to keep trying. Failure is the only route to success despite your god-ish powers. Embrace your wrongness. Love your faults. Eat your broccoli. In the words of the Great One: “I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye. I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind. I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart.” Just make sure your bullets are only made from love and spread no blood, only pleasure.
PS: read the addendum at the bottom.

Capricorn-  In the kitchen's where I keeps my beers cold and the living room's where I keeps my feets warm with a heater. The bed can stay tepid til me and my love get in there and start up the Whoopee Machine®, which as you get older, you'll need more and more, preferably in pill form. Everything in its place, keeps my head space from going into deep space, which is wheres I keeps my pulsars, quasars, microwaves, as well as my hopes, my dreams, my unrepentant wish for more life, more time, more everything. I want a million hours in each day, cause out in the backyard's wheres I keeps my spaceships that I'm gonna use to lasso that mother truckin' black hole at the center of our galaxy, and make it mine, just like all of time, which they say is all happening right now. And right now. And again right now. But we burn daylight, friend-- man the warp drive! No time to waste. Carpe omnus.                 PS: read Sagittarius.

Aquarius- Before you explode into space, like a true nature's child, that was born-- born to be wild, you better stop-- hey, what's that sound, you better look what's goin' round. Do a proverbial check of yourself in order that you do not wreck yourself from lack of being thorough. I suggest you put on your finest Sunday bonnet and go to town. Not literally of course, you'd be ridiculed and stared at because the bonnet era officially ended in 1923. Take a load off, Manny, or Annie, or whoever, take a load for free. Shortsightedness is a blessing, one that doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards, because: Hey, I've listened to preachers, and fools, and all the dropouts who make their own rules. I recommend you focus on the very small for a very small amount of time. The grand scheme of things relies on your grokking of the wee schemes going on under your nose.

Pisces- We were not always the kings of the jungle. Our relationship with animals is an ancient one, originating in a world where our species was not the top of the food chain. Ergoingly© the zodiac is based on the iconography of the animal world. Animals are our cousins, we grew up together, and eventually got really good at killing all of them. As we continued feeding off the world, they became us, we incorporated them. We embodied those animals, made them a part of our consciousness, and then placed them in the sky so that we would always remember from whence we came, until the stars themselves are no more. Unpack and unfurl your beasts, cloven or otherwise: the packs, the pods, the murders, the gaggles, swarms, hives, clowders, exaltations, congregations, dissimulations, sleuths, drunkenships, businesses, broods, rabbles and rookeries. They are part of you, inhabiting your deepest jungles and can still be heard if you shut your fat mouth for 5 seconds.




                                The Groundhog Addendum

The hour is nigh, when we bring forth the hibernating rodent. Or bear, or badger, or any animal that's been burrowing in for a cold winter's six months, probably disturbing some really quality REM sleep, and then forcing said mammal to prognosticate the future, so that I may properly prepare for my crop planting, not to mention when I can start wearing white again; I mean, Labor Day was a while back, and being a slave to fashion is uber importante to me, as is etiquette. Sadly, there's never a good time for gaucity©, or lack of manners.

Punxsutawney Phil gets all the credit because he's such a big shot movie star---"I've worked with Bill Murray" (I can't abide name dropping herbivores)---, but let us not forget the contributions of other future telling giant rats: French Creek Freddie from French Creek, WV, Chuckles the Groundhog from Manchester, CT, and Stormy Marmot from Aurora, CO. And of course no vermin list would be complete without the most oft ignored Octoraro Orphie from Quarryville, PA. What a great, and powerful rodent is he, united the Force he did.

Most importantly on this special day, I'd like to acknowledge my ancestors: the Celts. Though they never knew the glory of basketball, it is this day, roughly February 2nd, sometimes the 1st, depending on the ol' Julian vs Gregorian debate which has raged for nigh on centuries now, (countless calendars have given the ultimate sacrifice), that we celebrate the halfway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. If we could but predict the future, or at least the future weather, I could better provide for my family and the families of those who work with me, grinding our way, season after season into the future, where only no one knows our true destinies, except that we are all equal and all at peace, through knowledge, love, and bellies full of kale and apricots.

PS: Happy Birthday, Will Kim-Cara...may fortune bestow upon you the greatest of gifts and the humblest of gratitudes. Live long and prosper.

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