Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire was not invented by Sartre. He was too much of a realist.
this week: My dinghy may be dingy, but never disreputable.
Aries- James the Just, aka James the Less, aka James the Righteous, not to be confused with James the Great, aka St. James aka Apostle James, was the first Bishop of Jerusalem (nice!) and may have been related to Jesus, provided that the entire church history wasn't simply a well spun technicolor yarn from the Council of Nicaea in AD 325, in order to propagate the validity of the neo-jews, who preferred to be called christians, who used to be pagans, romans and visigoth barbarians. The term pagan inherited a negative connotation because christianity had better press. To my rambling point: can we not agree that using evolutionary and scientific terms and models, is the proper way to describe the evolution of religion, belief and even specific thoughts and feelings that we all share? Everything is science, which is why it's the new religion. god isn't dead. It's simply napping til the next incarnation of our collective psyches can attain a new level. Enjoy some figs and profligate in biblical proportions.
Taurus- I still say that the movie Golden Child could have been saved from its own banality. I grew up watching Eddie Murphy, and have only the highest opinion of him as a performer. That said, when, Eddie? WHEN THE FUDGE is Golden Child 2 going to delight my senses? I'm thinking JJ Abrams, with screenplay written by Orson Scott Card. BTW, don't let them make Ender, dude---they'll piss all over it, with their Taco Bell and Facebook sponsorship. However, there is also a desperate need for a return to Big Trouble in Little China. Maybe we could combine the two. I hear Kim Cattrall is looking for a project. So... the Golden Child grows up and has to save the world again, and he and Eddie and Kim, and that hot girl from the first Golden Child, who I fell in love with after her wet t-shirt karate scene, they all go to Little China and fight some demon dude while looking for Kurt Russel (Jack Burton- duh), who was last seen driving the Pork Chop Express downtown for some dim sum, cause that's how he rolls. Call me, the treatment will literally write itself.
Gemini- The wiring in my apartment is pre-war. Crimean, I think. Case in point: there's a porch light that I share with my next door neighbor, that both apartments have a controlling switch to. We both agree that having it on when stumbling home in the pitch dark which envelops our en-jungled building, is a big fat plus. And since she and I both have off hours, the light remains on all the time. As in any relationship, there are terms and conditions that ideally create balance. After much cud chewing, I realized that our relationship is based on the predicate that I would rather flip my switch, and foot the bill for it's constant shine, because it's just easier-- less headache I guess, but hey, where's the equanimity, the camaraderie, the shared-- ah screw it, I'll flip my switch. I hear chicks love passive aggressive guys. Bear in mind that the channel of least resistance does not mandate that you bear the burden. You are not the victim, but rather the vixen. You're a minx with an alley cat's stare, desperate perhaps, but ultimately a world-wise jazz cat fresh from the forests of azure and a hankering for the god tuna®.
PS: you probably need to read Aquarius and Aries. Sorry for the extra work, but do as I say.
Cancer- The Messinian Salinity Crisis was hardcore and not very bitchin'. The Strait of Gibraltar closed due to tectonic activity about 5.5 million years ago, and the Mediterranean dried up. Luckily humans hadn't been invented yet and the tomato was still a 'new world' fruit that was only being eaten by central american nothosaurs with highly developed palettes. Even to this day, the Mediterranean is saltier than the Atlantic, which is probably why my ancestors always salt their tomatoes before they eat them. Columbus came back with tomatoes and hey, we have a lot of salt, let's use some of that! Which eventually lead to a history of heart disease and hypertension that persists in my bloodline to this day. Your salt crisis is more metaphorical and sublime and doesn't involve salt, but a more divine element for life to develop around. No, not arsenic or silicon, that's only for the weirdo outer planets and old Star Trek episodes. You're made of neon and gypsum, titanium and krypton, einsteinium and blue lotus flowers. And your straits will remain open to cleansing abundant rain indefinitely. NaCl in da house!!
Leo- It took me many years to fully appreciate the genius of snot. Mucous is the most beautiful of all the slimy and sticky fluids in our lives. It's a brilliant invention, even if it is due for a mutation pretty soon. It coats you innards, killing infections, and then drains from your favorite orifices, taking the lousy virus with it, broken and defeated. For years, the logic eluded me. When you get really sick, you need rest, so you try to get some sleep, which we do in a prone position, which results in snot flowing into the lungs and making us even sicker. That's what I mean by mutation. Maybe a quicker release system, like having a better oriented snot valve, probably somewhere near my genitals, that would allow excess snot to exit the body and prevent build-up. It always seemed counterintuitive to me that the defense we evolved over millions of years can make us sicker and even kill us. Or we should only sleep sitting up. Either way, I guess we leave it to the engineers. For now, keep tissues nearby and remember that every time you survive a virus, you prove to the world that you are invincible. Me and my mucous, we killed that contagion together! You might think it's funny, but it's snot.
Virgo- To know the how of everything, find some animals. And some rocks and trees; and water and the skies-- for seasons upon seasons, the 'complete' cycle of the forever elusive. Even the Mayans are basically full of ye'e. Calendars are pejorative and biased, like that gay transvestite commie hunter from the 50's who 'blackballed' all those people. No group of humans has ever been advanced enough to know the full cycles of everything, especially considering that the Grand Unification Theory is still a thousand years from grokability©; current estimates place it in the year 2988, right after the war with genetically modified dragons that eat Mars. Find some bears, find some bees, eye the tides, and our morphemic moon. Somehow, humans is the only specie that has forgotten where they live. Intelligence has an isolating effect. Individualism goes up, the more the 'natural' world slips away, and we become an illusion of our former selves. Evolution is a sadistic mongoose, who wants to build his house on your face. Be the bear and the eye of the cobra. Find the fish; and the plants that won't kill you with their wicked poisons. The knowledge is innate, but you have to dig it out.
Libra- No offense to the dairy industry (I don't want my legs broke), but cottage cheese will never come into my mouth. That came out wrong, sorry. Forgetting forever that I ever said that-- it's the curds. Even the word, curds... sounds like someone who's about to throw up Taco Bell. It looks like it's already been eaten, friend, and I hate it. And I don't care much for cottage cheese enthusiasts either, I don't trust them, and they too will never be allowed to come into my mouth. Frak, I did it again. While we're on the subject, cole slaw--- aka barf times four, also does not pass mustard nor muster, nay not even Colonel Mustard in the library with the Maid, who doesn't appear to be wearing any bottoms, the both of which will also never come into my open mouth. Yep, still sounds bad. I will never be so hungry that I will eat food that looks pre-masticated. And if we join forces we can beat them at their own curdly and probably flatulence producing products... but only if we work together. Slay the slaw!
Scorpio- The Sargasso Sea will eventually be no more. It simply cannot be forever. It's an underwater rain forest in the middle of the Atlantic, with currents swirling around it, containing it, corralling it into existence within a safe embryonic environ. An ocean of calm within an ocean of movement, structure surrounded by transoceanic freeways. A pity our hubris emits so much CO2, unintentionally speeding up the process. Add to the mix that continents move on plates, the earth slowly cooling to a frozen solid, and our internal thermostat eventually turning off for the long night into whatever the next brane is, and galaxies collide and we are stardust again. Seaweed, then, must be the string of life, which in theory, is bhuddistic© and strangely comforting that despite my ignorance of the true giantness of the 'verse, all we are is moving up strings, time without limit, and life without end; because hey- the 'verse digs that. Have a soda.
Sagittarius- The definition of freedom is everything. Which includes anything. And not un-ironically©... nothing. Balls. Back to square one. Or zero, which binarily speaking is the only other thing there is-- anywhere. And I suppose, conversely, nowhere. Balls. The micro must equate to the macro. There has to be a train that passes between the two, so that our understanding can come full circle. As long as we retain the knowledge of our forbears, grok it and pass it on to our post-bears--- or no... it's that technology and knowledge build up exponentially like layers of sediment, and our knowledge is a mountain, but we are only part way to the top. Meanwhile the erosion keeps us from growing too high too fast. And maybe that's what dark matter is-- a force that pulls when we push, sets limits, so that we don't rip through this 'verse and into another string or brane or dimension or whatever the fudge is beyond this plane, which I've nicknamed 'wack-adoo', patent pending. Unless there's nothing beyond... Our imagination is deific energy guiding us through a field, whose nature is quantifiable only after it's all said and done. Which is never. And always. You're perfect right where you are.
Capricorn- My condition's condition lies somewhere between titty face rad© and the fact that there's a Battleship movie about to come out. Battleship. The movie. That Rock 'Em Sock 'Em thing I heard was good, but I don't have a five year old, and even getting really high before seeing it wouldn't be worth even matinee price, considering how much weed I'd have to buy to make it interesting and regardless of how scintillating Hugh Jackman is. I'm a Jumanji man anyway. Movies based on board games: what brillianty genius brillianceness. However, truth be told, I wear clothes until they disintegrate. I hate shopping more than anything, more even than using someone's guest towel to dry my hands; staphylococcus manna from germ-town, right? I can't think of a more filthy place. BTW, digression is the sincerest form of flattery. It means that I'm pretty sure you'll keep up. My number one advice this week: avoid australians bearing ridiculous movies, they only want to further your time suck.
PS: read Leo and don't let anyone tell you what to do.
Aquarius- To grok evolution is like reverse engineering literally everything, which somehow includes nothing, unless nothing is some esoteric concept that has no meaning, if meaning even exists, and god forbid I even think the word god. Great Odin's Beard, right? We look at what got built and having to figure out how it got built, in a process that seems to have no why, or a who. Frak, full circle. Knowing, remembering, nay- grokking the past tells us the future. We will bring Asimov's dream of psychohistory into reality, probably in the future, at least I assume, because time's arrow insists on ever going forward, so that the past simply doesn't exist, or it exists as something else, the future-- no the present, yes, this is where the money is. And where there's money, there's usually sex, right. All I'm saying is that if we were a global matriarchy, the inverse of our last 40,000 years, rather than dropping bombs from drone planes and eating processed cheese spread on frozen toast made of government surplus wheat, sugar and corporate and profit born preservatives, I would hope we'd be making lots more naked monkey love, eating aphrodesic berries and experimenting with wild mutations that align with as yet unknown energies.
PS: read Sagittarius and Leo and have a happy frakking birthday.
Pisces- Firstly, my apologies. The MORE than true 'scope´® I had going for you turned out to be a boondoggle. A snow job. A guy in a fat suit, who's not really fat, just a big liar. I had this whole theme about NYC, and digital cameras juxtaposed with a shoddily restored third reel of a 1920's sex tape that somebody pried from the cold dead hands of William Randolph Hearst, whose super secret safe word and email was 'sexmonkey6969'. I came up with cool stupid things to say, like interstellar jet pack zip lines© and Naked Fart Zombies™, and somehow I was going to make a relevant, yet unusual point about Moore's Law and wrap it up with a fortune that would have really knocked your amygdala into high orbit. Luckily, my pseudo esoteric horse plop had a salient climax that still applies even though the whole house of cards became smithereeny. (entropy--what a diva, right?) The future is ever unknowable. The only thing certain is love. Blast off, open your heart and don't forget your camera.
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