Dr. Pants McTurd's 

          MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                       

                                 

disclaimer: This week has nothing to do with Dr. McT and his women, mostly for legal reasons.

this week: Doctor, if you please. I think I’ve earned it.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: sudorific. If you’re sweaty and you know it, grab a towel.

Aries- To purposefully toot my own sociological horn (a conch, btw), the rate at which a society revolutionizes and changes from one ruling power and/or philosophy, is a mathematical determinate and indicative of its overall health. I loooove information: size, mean age, life span, economic viability, educational opportunities, nutritional availability, access to potable water, relative safety from the ravages of a tectonically cooling planet, and of course the level of trickle down tyranny, despotism and dickish edicts enacted so spuriously from on high, etc. ad infinauseum®. Forewarned is forearmed, right? But we’ve missed a most critical piece of datum: the intellectual level of the alphas in charge of the system. Sadly, brains and greed do not often come with equal parts humility or empathy to make either attribute worth having. My advice: dress for the party, but keep an eye on those rebels willing to die not for money, but for their cause.

Taurus- Have you ever seen a video of an octopus as it’s in motion? If you want to creep yourself out, go to Youtube later on, and try to keep your lunch down. It’s primordial, strange boneless compatriots of our own species. They seem intelligent and focused. A big jellied head propelled by eight slimy legs moving in slippery unison. In an early version of our evolving bio-matrix, we were all just muscles moving brains around. When it moves, it looks like it has a purpose, a will, a drive, an id. Most fish just seem to be swimming around looking for a good time, or maybe a baited hook to sever their lips from their face. But the octopus has drives like we do. It has wants. In the year 2234, when they rise up from the polluted oceans and take control of our cities, we’ll all find out what it is that they want. In the meantime, order some calamari; inure and inhere yourself in the present.

Gemini- You are not a roman tuba. You are also not a swedish horn. You are nowhere near a five valve euphonium; and please, taunt me not with rabid fish tales of your years long stint as a flumpet, a flugelhorn, or how dare you, sir---a mute cornett. Really, your gall is as wide as the pants your cajones fit in. You, sir,-- or ladyfriend, are a perfect example of a homemade trumpet. Ingredients: one long rubber tube, a funnel—preferably metallic, and a mouthpiece, which you’re probably better off going to the music store up the street run by that stoner hippy dude, and buy yourself an actual trumpet mouthpiece. So, two-thirds of you is homemade, and one part, you gotta go to the store and buy. Point is, you probably don’t rubber tubing sitting around either…or maybe you do, I don’t judge. Point is, get the materials, and croon and woo your lover with a homemade trumpet. Your thanks will be comprised of stolen kisses in a dark and sacred place.

Cancer- While I agree that 10,000 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean might be a good start, perhaps I’ve projected my mistrust of our ensnarled bureaucracy on the litigiously obsessed, and onto the ABA as well. And while I agree that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, at least the ABA recommends pro bono publico work as part of their ethical rules. They teach lawyers to do work for the public good for free—what the fudge? At business schools like Harvard, no pro publico works are engendered, because, hey—we’re making profit here, not friends. Anyhowdy, apparently we live in a world that teaches ethics to lawyers, but not to the corporation/people who run the show and employ the lawyers, which are somehow equivalent to regular people, like me, or say you even Coca-cola. My advice: ethics first, profit second.

Leo- Shuttle pipes and shuttlecocks are not mutually exclusive. They’re more like third cousins. I picture you more as a hammered dulcimer, not one that’s over the edge, just one that enjoys a few mint juleps before bed, and occasional champagne upon waking up on a sun filled morning full of intended and well deserved gadabouting amidst warm tangled sheets amongst warm company.  The sweet and sad strings of the lira de braccio are only notes for cloudy afternoons full of brandy and wine and considering the softer side of the ‘verse. And the hurdy gurdy can wait for a more proper occasion with more strudel. You are an intricate piece of mouth music machinery. Blow, strum, harmonize, and percuss, because we’re all ready for your beautiful mouth and dulcimer tones.

Virgo- The following “joke” is from my high school physics teacher: So, a professor is giving a lecture about orbital motion and gravity and how the earth goes around the sun, when from the back of the lecture hall, an old woman (why it’s an old woman an why she’s in a physics lecture, I have no clue), but this old woman interdicts with, “The earth actually goes around the sun riding on the back of a giant space turtle.” Deciding to humor her, the teacher asked, “And what is the turtle riding on?” The old lady smarmily replied, “Silly…it’s turtles all the way down.” All the way down, of course, implying a universe made of things that we have yet to explain. In case the batty old lady is right, make ready your mind, as best you can, for everything under the sun, be they turtles or invisible atomic forces.

Libra- You’re a rhapsody in cool, something borrowed and something blue, an ad hoc mixture of hither and yon, of time and of space, of things and ideas. You’ve not crossed over, however; you are the zone. Jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu. And now our mutual déjà vu echoing a dance we’ve done before, is qed. These words are mere talismans, not literal, but in order to grok their incongruence and impalatability, we must never speak them. Travails and set-tos aside, you are bound for Everest on a clear day, and the sky and wind will adapt to your wings, regardless of the warranty. Act accordingly. The devil is in the details, whether or not he exists.

Scorpio- If you aspire to the title of The Great Masticator, you have large teeth to fill. Horace Fletcher, like so many wacky foodies of the early 20^th century, figured out the secret to super human digestive strength: chewing. But not just chewing—a buttload of chewing. He even believed you should chew liquids. 32 times, to be exact, or roughly chewing each mouthful for about a minute. You need to ‘fletcherize’ the crap out of that food, so that its yum yum nutrients can be effectively sucked out by your less than industrious innards. I call bullcrap. I say, chew twice, then swallow. The alimentary canal didn’t survive ten billion years of evolution in order to be coddled. Make your body parts work hard. Survival ain’t easy. Give your bowels and whatever else some tough love.

Sagittarius- Bees do indeed have knees. No patellae, but they are knees by certain definition, but why they are so cool and sought after is a mystery. One theory says that in the 1920’s people liked to rhyme nonsensical things. However, a bee’s knees contain a sac that is usually filled with nectar, like primordial insectoid fanny packs. Another strange reference is to a 1920’s dancer named Bee Jackson, who may have created the Charleston. Her name was bee, the dance is knee oriented--- seems reasonable. However, a more ethereal look at the phrase indicates to me that it has to do with the quality of something that is unknowable, and whose definition would only limit its potential. Don’t over think; just practice the Charleston and commune with the ineffable and sacrosanct.

Capricorn- I don’t want to alarm you, but plants rule the world. Yes, I’m being literal, and no, I am not drunk, tipsy maybe, neverthless case in point: the chayote, a member of the squash family, originally native to mexico, has somehow managed to become a worldwide crop. In a relatively short time, they have traversed the globe; they have a foothold, or at least a gourdhold. And who knows what their ultimate plans are. Obviously, corn, coffee, tea, soy, cotton, marijuana, wheat and cocaine are the established powers in the world of flora—the G8 of the plant world. Hell, we subsidize them; they’ve actually gotten us to fund their existence. And they’re too big to fail. If corn suddenly went away tomorrow, how would we make tortillas? There’s a big mine field of metaphor here, but I’ll leave you with: beware the plants, even though your lifetime is too short to notice the subtleties of future floristic domination. Eat them before they eat you.

Aquarius- I’m becoming more convinced that spell check is affecting my brain. I can only hope it’s for the better. When I run into a questionable spelling, sometimes I just type it, and let the spell check tell me it’s wrong and how to fix it, rather than figuring it out myself, which might take up to four or five seconds. In theory, it could be beneficial. Perhaps spelling is becoming an irrelevant skill. Perhaps a new intellectual skill set will emerge with the influx of stored fingertip-ready knowledge that gets exponentially bigger like every other week at this point. Perhaps. That’s evolution’s caveat: change is inevitable and difficult to assess at its birth. It needs time for the environment to season and change around it, and presumably, to seed the next idea for mutational experiment. Knowing when to abandon certain knowledge is as important as knowing when to acquire new skill sets.

Pisces- "Neither the plague, nor war, nor smallpox, nor similar diseases, have produced results so disastrous to humanity as the pernicious habit of onanism”—John Kellog. Yeah, the same guy whose cereal you’re shoveling into your mouth. According to him, masturbation and sex negatively impact health; and sans hyperbole to be sure, exists on the same level of evil as pestilence and mustard gas. This guy didn’t even have sex on his honeymoon. Being in the same room as George Michael would probably give him a stroke. His father owned a broom factory, which probably engendered his love of enemas from an early age. Squeaky clean is how he liked his bottom. And I’m not saying wash your butt, but I am saying watch your butt, to make sure it’s not leading you. Lead with the front junk. It knows what it’s doing.

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                       

                                 

disclaimer: Satire is nonrefundable. You’re stuck with the truth of it.

this week: Buy me a drink, sing me a song, take me as I come cause I can’t stay long…

Doc P’s Word of the Week: spruik. If you have a moment for a quick presentation, I can explain the word and tell you about a great opportunity to get in on the ground floor of this bridge that I know is for sale.

Aries- I propose that we stop using the word retarded in general conversation when describing something inane or fubar. Insensitive labels are for beauty magazines and insensitive jerks with too much money and too little brains. Here's a brand new substitute word I just invented-- Petarded™, as in 'A dumbass who has been hoisted by his own petard'. You are an evolved beast that should lead the rest of us hoi polloi into the promised land of equanimity, acceptance and love. Don't jolly roger yourself up the mizzen mast with petarded words. Make your words golden and don’t be a petard.

Taurus- A famous Sanskrit verse tells us that “our present is the result of all our yesterdays, and the future depends on how well we live today”. Well... today I would like bourbon for breakfast and black licorice for lunch, and then a nap. I want the return of Naked Tuesdays® and an easier way to get my fix. I want freedom for my brothers and sisters, who even today, suffer bondage and persecution. I want underwear that doesn't hamper my balls' natural range of motion. I want to become chocolate, so that I can experience one of your own obsessions. I want many things. Get out of your sleepy bunk, sailor—things are about to become funk-a-liciously weird and esoterically slippery.

Gemini- Try not to get your knickers in a twist, but you're in a deluge and riding naked in a barrel headed straight for Calamity Falls!®. Ah yes... hyperbole, the enemy of the fearful and the tiny of rectum. Don't take my word for it-- plunder yourself a new future! Your mettle is beyond reproach and your intelligence superb even in its infancy. Abjure those who would fight against you, take no part in their little passion play full of fretful word barbs and oral slashing. You are a dignitary; behave as such, despite the heir  apparent’s lack of manners and decency. Show me, don't tell me that your crotch glands reek of adventure and naked waterfall riding.

Cancer- In The Apotheosis of George Washington, our first president and british ass kicker, the G-Wash is depicted as man becoming god, hence the fresco's catchy title. I love artists who don't need to fall back on hyperbole to make a point. I'm building my own pedestal out of a paste I make from old espresso grounds and bat guano, which is no fun to harvest, but makes great pedestal cement, despite of the constant threat of a rabid infarction trauma®, and of course the ever present miasma of bat guano wafting heavenwards toward my enlightenedness. Forge your own pedestal material and become Rodan, embody Bernini, channel Chillida, and ask Dali for a dance. Ascendancy is your birthright. The guano is mine.

Leo- You are a superhero. I don't know what your power is, but it's probably something to do with being able to communicate telepathically with salmon; or maybe you can eat chicken really fast. Maybe you poop kittens, or maybe you drive a Prius. Whatever it is--- it's time to whip it out and save the day. Don’t jump out the window thinking you can fly though; you’re still vulnerable to cement poisoning. Your power is weird and fruity and will hit you in the face quite unexpectedly. And hopefully in time for happy hour.

Virgo- The brown throated sloth is the only animal on earth 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™.

Libra- 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 still exist 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.

Scorpio-  Unfortunately a booby hatch is not what it sounds like. Neither is poop deck. A crap-fest, on the other hand, couldn't be more spot-on. Cocksure reminds me of Caligula's birthday parties; and titmouse causes my inner child to sprout wings and take flight to absurdly high and erotic aeries that only my id can find. This week, find your rhetoric, check it for defects, and open up a can of spiritual poop-ass. There be misdeeds about the crow’s nest, and your spinnaker has been soiled. You’re the captain of this tub. Wake up, it’s much too late; the seas are high and you have six more to explore before you can rest.

Sagittarius- Soothsayers, prognosticators and purveyors of the future will often tell you that you are a divided soul, caught between two unhappy masters, under whom unmerciful disaster follows fast and follows faster-- but thankfully you are about to enter a more constructive phase where everything will become clear and you will be rewarded for your fortitude. Such hokum and bunkum says to me that we all feel like the world is collapsing around us all the time, and that the promise of unity of mind, body and spirit will imminently assuage our souls and give us the peace of mind to go bravely into the new world. I, however, promise you nothing. I only wish to remind you of the delusional nature of this dualistic dimension. Good luck and enjoy fish while they still exist.

Capricorn- This week you should definitely plan on getting an impulsive tattoo somewhere really weird, painful and hard to see without a series of carefully placed mirrors. However, what constitutes weird and painful to you could be another person's sweet spot. Choose wisely; for this tattoo will be a harbinger of good things, and a welcome wagon for warm people with fuzzy blankets. It will also serve as a reminder for whenever you’re in doubt about the path you’re on. Just get out your mirrors and locate your power tatt, and know that all your choices have been right ones.

Aquarius- 85% of the time it works all the time. However, due to alleged big pharma malfeasance, 24% of the time you will be 85% closer to a nervous breakdown than you were 28% ago, so try to stay to this side of the 48% of the time that over 63% of people say they experience nausea or dizziness, and the 15% of people that experience dizzy gillespianism™ and painful incontinence. I predict that you will be 100% successful at least 45% of the time, and that is 78% true. You can take 93% of that to the proverbial bank! Good luck, and bring a change of pants.

Pisces- According to "sources" on the "internet", zemmiphobia is the fear of the great mole rat. Yep, fer reals. He may be the leader of a powerful underground race of big ugly albino rodents who have an unquenchable thirst for domination of the planet, but if you stop being afraid and buy him a mojito, everything will be jake. However, don’t over-do the rum, the King of the Mole Rats has the ability to control your thoughts, and he will try to get you to do things—creepy yet slightly erotic things. You don’t want to wake up in the mole rat’s sex swing wearing a tutu. Keep your fears reasonable and beware the mole rat.

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                                        

disclaimer: Satire, like a dragon’s mind, floats ever higher on wings made from the darkest of matter, creating the deepest of space.

this week: damaging effects are usually helpful in the long run, despite appearances.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: scapegrace. Princess Leia’s favorite.

Aries- When applied to relationships, does the term ‘mutually exclusive’ mean that two people can’t be individuals and be dualistic, simultaneously? Monothematic, and not divergent? Do couples take on a new dimension of personality, becoming one person of two minds; and depending on the level of attachment to one’s independent mindedness, cease and desist all commerce and chattels, upon ordinances set forth by powers we cannot explain, but who to rule us arbitrarily and at times, without mercy? We spend so much time developing who we think we are, as a self governing autocracy, that to give in to the demands of another, combining forces, while sacrificing “certain freedoms”, becomes an apocryphal anathema akin to self immolation and denial of self that usually results in botched marriages and unintended consequences. I suppose the only real answer is, that you’ll know when you know. Chillax your faith.

Taurus- Cripes, Michael Bey pisses me off. In an age when we can scientifically explain almost anything, there is no need to dumb down sc-fi movies with crap that makes Arthur Clarke roll over in his grave. In the “movie” The Island, the future society makes clones so that we can have fresh organs in case I drink my liver to an early demise. The clones don’t know they’re clones, and the main “theme” (as if Bey is creditable with such dramatic necessities as either story or theme) is that the clones find out they’re clones and try to escape. Movie negating problem number one: if our technology has achieved human cloning, surely we can clone just a liver, or just a heart. Cloning whole personalities with independent drives and wants and needs will only lead to conflict. Science is not ignorantly shortsighted. Science, unlike Bey, is logical. My advice to you: Don’t be a Bey. False realities will only slow your progress and piss people off.

Gemini- What it is exactly that Meatloaf won’t do for love is up for debate. The list of what he will do is long and tedious, and seemingly endless; all totaled it is a twelve minute song. But if he’ll do nearly anything, what is the final caveat? Wtf is that one thing, that even Meatloaf would say no to? A guy like Meatloaf doesn’t seem to have a lot of boundaries. I would ask Michael Bey, who directed the music video, but I doubt his knowledge of anything, considering the outrageous iniquities and dumb plot points in The Island. Point is, that grey area confounds things every time. X is always true, unless Y = grey scale, and thus what he won’t do is limited to what ultimately does her no harm. Hippocratic rule number one: Do no harm. Rule number two: attempt to make happy all things feminine, who’ve been subjugated by an ignorant past.

Cancer- There is evil under the sun, and Hercule Poirot, the famous belgian detective will figure it out. And while I doubt that Belgian is a real language, I do not doubt that in league with the likes of Miss Marple, Remington Steele, Charlie Chan, Nero Wolfe, Johnathan Ames, Phillip Marlowe, Encyclopedia Brown, Clouseau, Dirk Gently, Magnum, and Ace Ventura, their grey matter, quick work will be made of a case based mostly on hearsay and falderalic heiresses with convenient alibis; and in the meanwhile, fully embarrass the bungling local constabulary. Lestrade, you are a buffoon! Oh, fudge… what if the confederacy of dunces that abound are the reason that superior detective logic prevails? What if the idiots point the wrong way, so that I can see the right way? What if they are Judas and I am on a fool’s errand? Be the shamus and find the evil.

Leo- According to the Yauch Institute, it is legal using any necessary force, in order to fight for your right to party. No one is going to give it to you. You must wrest control from the anti partiers who would seek to restrain your libidinous gyrating paroxysms of pleasure and saturnalia. It’s right there in the our Constitution via the Kiss Party of the 18^th century, that the these rights are inalienable: life, liberty, and the pursuit of rocking and/or rolling and partying every day, not just some days, but all of the days. You feel like Wanging a little Chung? Put some in your mouth and brace yourself for the onslaught. You want to bang on the drum all day? It’s your destiny made manifest. Bite the apple and free the animal. Adam approves.

Virgo- The Milwaukee Brewers know how to run a sausage race. Before you decry the implied imagery of sausagian eugenics, and the inherent ethical dilemmas, allow me to explicate. Klement’s Sausage Company sells their meats at Miller Park, and during home games five people dress up in sausage costumes and try to outrun each other, much to the delight of screaming children and sausage eating, beer swilling Milwaukeeans. As an aside, yes, the bratwurst character is named Brett. However, my top concern is the Chorizo. His sausage character wears a sombrero and dons a healthy Pancho Villa mustache. Originally a mid-westerner, I understand how political correctness is generally ignored, and/or mishandled. Wisconsin is generally as white as its cheese. Percentagewise, humanity is in a process of futuristic homogenization, and it will take more time before Wisconsinites understand that the sombrero and the Mexican are not synonymous. Be patient. The Lennon Ideals® are in transit.

Libra- Dahl found Bux, and Sugar was created. Kuda Bux was an Indian mystic who refined the practice of seeing without his eyes. He would cover his eyes with soft balls of dough and wrap his head in cloths, until his pedestrian sight was utterly obfuscated, and he would divinely and accurately “see” the world around him. Roald Dahl is the guy who created Willy Wonka, and case in point, Henry Sugar, and while fictional, learned the art of the non-fictional Kuda Bux; and while starting out greedy, Sugar evolved his munificence and tossed his riches to anyone in need. Dahl + Bux = Sugar > the insatiable greed which is universally promulgated based on its freedom engendering qualities, and promised equality for all. Dahl, Bux, Sugar. Focus on the blackness at the center of a candle flame and all will be revealed, not in fiction, but in the ‘real’, and more ‘now’ than is dreamt of in your current philosophy.

Scorpio- Your medieval bestiary houses paradoxes and anathemas known only to the inner psyche and most hidden loose affections of those who would wrap you in celestial rose petals and melted dark chocolate. Your griffonic sound waves are like a bullet train breaking the speed of sound in a vacuum, where the only mode of aural transport is through mnemonic memory that’s passed down orally and aurally, generation upon generation. Your fortitudinous imagination is stronger than in most people. You are creating this as you read this. The world is a unicorn bound for your virginal lap.

Sagittarius- The female platypus has two ovaries, but only one of them is functional. They also locate prey by detecting electric fields generated by the muscle contractions of living things. They also release venom and have a mouth like a duck. They are descendants of a strange earth, one that was blinded by science and darkness, when mammals had to be inherently ingenious to survive; in particular mammals who laid eggs and had no teats. Platypi are weird cousins of ours from a time when family definitions changed with the prevailing winds; tropical lands where volcanic ash and asteroid induced smoke resulted in lower and lower light levels, even in the middle earth equatorial safe zones. They are weird cenozoic survivalists, and I hereby recommend you channel them right into your downtown. Embrace your power animal no matter how strange.

Capricorn- If you’re a cat owner, there are certain inevitabilities that come with the territory. They are as follows: smelly food, hairballs, in-house pooping and consequently, scooping, as well as ubiquitous cat hair, and in my case a twenty pound furball that prefers either my head or my nuts as a pillow. In exchange, their stubborn personalities mold themselves in subtle ways to our personalities, becoming a part of us, as well as reflections of us. They are a perfect extension of ourselves, independent, yet tied to us because we feed them and clean up their bodily waste. It’s love, or something like it. Your power animal is feline, and she’s hungry for meat. Don’t disappoint.

Aquarius- The following is rhetorically moot, yet it bears repetition, since sometimes your hearing isn’t as keen as your brain to tongue expressway. Fight not thou the wars of attrition that have plagued your capitol steps and stained your liberty with the blood of unnecessary battles. Interloping aliens have been roosting in your belfry feeding on the bats of discontent. Mmmmmm, bat meat… Anyhowdy, the aliens of which I speak are not the metaphorical kind like the Blob that really represents communism; and not like the Eye of Sauron, forcing you to carry a ring that makes you insane, or sit through a well made trilogy that’s about a half a movie too long. Rather, I speak of the carpetbagging demogogues that tell your brain that you always know what is best. Sometimes when you’ve done something right, no one will know you’ve done anything at all.

Pisces- Row, row, row your boat, when sung in a round is one example of a fugue. What a great word--- fugue, derivating from an old eye-talian word, which means to flee. Doubtless that has been forgotten by one so fish based as you. Life is but a dream, an amnesiac fantasy floating down the dharmic river, due to head trauma or emotional distress calls that were never answered. Your time floating with the current has been productively prodigal. You are returned refreshed from Lotus Land, and the damage done is judiciously self correcting. Your new identity is molded from the olden, and emboldened by something borrowed, and blue, and inexplicably new. So propel, propel, propel your craft placidly down the liquid solution, ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically. Existence is but an illusion. And your future is unwritten.

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                      

                                 

disclaimer: The mother of satire, is more satirical than even the creator could have envisioned. If there is a ‘god’, she is surely a mother with a sharp tongue.

this week: I can’t find my Pants and I don’t care.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: dicker. You probably know what it means, I just think it’s funny. In the way that titmouse is funny.

Aries-  Aristotle walked the walk, while he taught the tautological talk. Hippies, peaceniks, and pacifistas who preferred discussion and ideas to irrational decisions based on carnal stings, reptilian lusts and all things verboten; even if they’re arbitrarily enforced, lain wreathwise upon our gene pools and progeny, in a feeble attempt to indemnify our rational belief  ‘gainst the cannons of self slaughter that would seek to keep us from our inalienable rights; in particular, self determination; even while stranded in a sea of crocodilians brain stems, all searching for more meat, more swamp, and more sun. Walk with yourself. Find a hippie. Engender that which has been heretofore taboo.

Taurus- I love George Carlin because of my mother. She loved him and it passed flawlessly down to me. Of all the things she did for me, this was the greatest. George made sense to me, such an organized mind, a formulator, a wizard of words, a dervish of declension, and finger pointer at the greatest societal paroxysmal iniquities. Both George and my mother are responsible for my penchant for cursing like a sailor, particularly if there’s a point to be made that requires a delicate balance of bullshit and intellect. George was also about freedom: of speech, ideas, opinions, and rage against the machines that would enslave us all, like oxen under the yolk of their fake and tawdry capitalism; empty promises of freedom, but instead drinking and feeding off our lifeblood, like crack addict vampires. Happy Birthday, George, we miss you, and Happy Mother's Day, Mom(s).

Gemini- We are perhaps both equal parts hate and love, and indifference and frivolity, stranded after a poorly planned three hour tour. Although, odds are that we’re on one of the Channel Islands, considering that right there in the opening theme, it’s we clearly left from Marina del Rey. Three hours on a boat ain’t gonna get us to Dry Tortugas or anywhere else tropical and Depp trodden. If you want to get lost, and drown the hate and indifference in the belly of the ocean, under a perfect storm of inept captaining and a first mate who couldn’t find his own butt, even if he had a map and a sherpa; if you want to lose the now pointless inheritance of a world of anger, fear and struggle, before the greeks and the written word and the invention of ice cream, take the ferry to Catalina this weekend with someone you really dig, and leave your unnecessary proclivities and fetishes on the mainland.

Cancer- You are a dream within a dream, within a dream, within a dream, within a dream, within a digitized dreamscaped land of dragons and peanut butter, within a polyhedron of chocolate induced transformative interplanetary soy sauce, that originated from a planetoid of over caffeinated wookies, who really like Chinese food whilst swinging through the trees, and having weird christmas specials, that to this day, the licensee regrets and pretends never happened; but it did, and I have copies of it on dvd. Anyhowdy, heretofore you’ve only been aware of the layers of the dream that bubble up from the depths of your reptilian brain; dreams of endless food and mating supplies, and the inescapable primordial drive. Soon, you will be privy to the dreams cascading downwards from the upper ethers, drives and desires that are sacrosanct and delicate, ethereal and divinely inspired.

Leo- How extensive is your enemies list? Do you need money for protection? I know some guys—full disclosure, they’re desperate, and will do pretty much anything for money—anything. And on the cheap too, their needs are simple; just drugs, booze and bloodlust. But before we hire murderous thugs to solve your problems, am I on your list? What did I do? I’m pretty sure my thugs can take your thugs; mine have no limits, morals or safe words; I only hire professional level psychopaths; their previous job was with the most recent bush administration, under the auspices of a dick cheney. They do not fudge around. But before we start a range war, how about a compromise? I tear up my enemies list and you tear up yours, and we both go out for pizza and beers.

Virgo- When I was a kid, stuff was different. At least, I think stuff was different. Yet, despite an exponentially expanding increase in the rate of technological expansion, aren’t the basic forces at work in society today, relatively the same as those of forty years ago? Or Eighty? Or a quintillion and eighty? We still need food, shelter and clothing. And preferably, education, enlightenment, love, empathy, sympathy, chocolate, bourbon, farmed catfish, bedazzled accoutrement, delivery pizza, and ululating fanfare for all those moments when my memory can’t keep up with all of the new memories I develop because my body insists on living this damn long. Life is long and life is good. The lens, through which we telescope the past, is astygmatized and wan, bent like a prism in a wormhole ‘through’ an apple, wormed through just to prove some meaningless point. Time is immeasurable. Throw the stopwatch away and invest in your next big dream.

Libra- Here’s how you make a Slutty Bender®. As self-imposed legal protection, I declare presently: don’t fudge around with unnecessary shots that your little girl mouth can’t handle. That said, Step 1: Go on a bender. It should be of cosmic proportions and once completed should bring you back to the beginning of the circle from whence you started. 2: Bring friends. They are useful when in need of bail money, and can hold your hair during your inevitable reverse peristalsis. 3: Clear your schedule. You’re going to need at least three days of recovery, and potentially a new liver. Normally, I wouldn’t recommend such reckless and ill-informed behavior for one so delicate as you. However, Your brain is in dire need of a re-boot. Wipe the slate. Feel free to flee the scene.

Scorpio- You are a supple deity, capable of astounding feats and synergies of thought, action and euphemism only dreamt of in the eyes of jealous gods, self immolating monsters and genius playwrights. Following your matrilineal line, I would not be surprised to find powerful mages, psychics and queens. Your genes are tight and form fitting and superior, without being greedy, cruel or vengeful. Your patrilineal line is surely replete with madmen, geniuses, savants, shamans and wizards. Every generation you instinctively pair up with your opposite and equal; radically different points of view that coexist perfectly, if at times, tempestuously. Seemingly opposing forces that actually require each other to go forth and multiply. Your quixotic blend of yummy stardust and doppelganging procreation makes me cosmically erect. Go forth and multiply it like it’s 2099.

Sagittarius- The Columbian Exchange is not about cocaine. Well… not entirely. The meeting of the Old World with The New was mutually advantageous indeed. Crops and animals found new homes in both hemispheres. The Old got corn, tomatoes, and potatoes; and the New got sugar can, bubonic plague and smallpox. They also got the horse. Imagine, two continents full of people with no horses until 1500. And in return the New World gave the Old syphilis and tobacco. Not really a fair trade after all was said and done, since most of the New World was killed off or enslaved, but still. Cultural interchanges, even through war, is generally advantageous, it strengthens potential for survival. More variety equals a healthier culture. Homogeneity is dangerous insular bullcrap. Open your windows, and breathe deep the myriad of beliefs and ideas. Save you it can. 

Capricorn- You disagree publicly with the king one stupid time, and for the next 800 years, people associate your name with the dunce cap. Back in the swingin’ 1200’s the king of france wanted to tax churches for more money to fund his war with england. Who wouldn’t? The pope didn’t that’s for sure. And in a long running trend of kings telling the pope to go shit in the woods, the king got his money and John Duns Scotus, a religious theologian and god enthusiast, inherits the dunce cap. Oh, you’re against taxing the church to fill war coffers? Tough cannolis. Your lifetime of diligent work trying to prove that even Mary, the mother of god was immaculately conceived, and that conical hats really help you tune in to god’s secret radio waves, and you represent dumbness forever. What a pisser. For you, I say keep going with your wacky beliefs. Yours make sense.

Aquarius- You need to find Nellie Bly. She is a serious badass. She was a pioneering female journalist, who once faked insanity so she could get institutionalized. She then wrote an expose on the horrors of lunatic asylums, bringing to light the plight of the mentally ill. She also circumnavigated the globe, à la Phineas Fogg, and set a record time. I’m not saying you should fake crazy--- hell, you might have already won that race; but I am saying that role models are good, despite your penchant for your own personal unique foibles. There is nothing new under the sun; it’s all been done. What is new is how you will do it, how you will circumnavigate the globe, and how you will break new ground on an earth that has had soil and rock being turned over and over again just fine without you for several billions of years. Find your Nellie and channel the crap out of her.

Pisces- There are no Pisces ninjas. Ninjas are subtle. You are a freight train loaded with bananas and jelly, running at absurd speeds with no brakes, and headed straight for the station, like in that Gene Wilder movie, where the big climax probably took up most of the film’s budget. Yes, you could dress like a ninja, but it won’t help. Ninja comes from within, not off the rack. You’re bubbling over too much with life and desire and fear and pain and loss and love and chocolate pudding and making sure that everybody’s content and well fed and loved, regardless of the silly martyrdom of your ecclesiastic self incrimination and forced dunce cap corner sitting with no dinner before bed. You’re not going to be a ninja. But you can be someone who cares for themselves as much as they care for everyone else. Try it, you’re worth it.

 

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                 

disclaimer: Satire offers no refunds or exchanges because… caveat emptor, bitches!

this week: “If you do follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living” –J. Campbell

Doc P’s Word of the Week: PERIPATETIC. Let’s walk and we’ll talk, like the greeks of old who preferred logic over war, and reason over destruction.

Aries-  I’ve invented a new yoga pose. It’s called the Fetal Beetle®. It’s assiduously painful and crippling for your spine. It’s only been achieved by a handful of people in the world, and nary a one of them is ambulatory or coherent today. Breathing during the Fetal Beetle® is so painful that’s it’s comical, will probably result in lung acidosis like in that Reiner movie, which was a play. But not a play with Tom frakking Cruise, I’ll tell you what--suck it, theater dorks! Anyhowdy, aside from likely brain damage, achieving the pose will make you sterile and flatulent, I that order. It will also make all food taste like feet, as well as causing ninja invasive butt fungus, or NIBF®. But wait, there’s more! After you come out of the coma produced by the Fetal Beetle®, you will be enlightened and at total peace, with genitalia besotted to your wildest fantasies. At which time, I’d like to sell you this bridge that I know about with a motivated seller.

Taurus- Addiction isn’t all bad. I reckon every behavior is either/both genetically hard wired, and/or learned, passed from parent to offspring, or born of a dynamic environ where change produces phenotype mutation right there in the field in real time. Thereforely, I posit that in some other form, in a time past, that the chemical processes in the brain that have evolved into what we now negatively connote as addiction, was at one point-- beneficial to our evolution. Yes, addiction is in theory anyway, partly good. And yes, I just threw up. The alchemy that took billions of years to evolve after something as trivial as a ‘larger than normal’ Bang, are indeed, at times, advantageous. If they were they wouldn’t exist. Thatsaidhereinthedisclaimerlieth: Don’t seek opium; seek science.

Gemini- It’s better to be poor than to be a fat man in the eye of a needle. Fat, because it’s implied that he’s greedy and unsharing with the thin man at his gate. Wake up, it’s much too late. Take the space between us and fill it up. Fill it up some way. It’s the space that separates us, creates distance where there is none. I promise you, this is all a fight for resources, whether it’s oil, food, water, emotional reassurance, proper parenting, a perfect donut, or a handful of sand to represent how short our time is on this earth. Feed the poor. Shoe the children. Because it is right to do so. And the men who hold high places shall be the ones who start to mold a new reality, preferably one where we don’t make child soldiers, starve undeserving populations, and steal the souls of men and women we have never met only because they stand on soil we crave. Let reason rule us all, and don’t get anything stuck in your eye.

Cancer- Yes, you could go all in. Or you could leave the table and go up to your room and plot your escape from the ego baiting mecca that promotes only greed, avarice, and the slow burning urge to be better than you already are; which on the surface seems like a good thing to strive for-- to be better than you are. To want more of everything is a perfectly reasonable trait that is generally advantageous in a society that evolves because of chemically based desire. Yet… is not desire sometimes based on a falsely assumed deficit within your own psyche? Like everything in the ‘verse, it a double sided dimension we’re in. To want is good. To believe yourself not good, unless x, y, or z happens, and that you’ll be a better person after you attain those things, is a rotten way to believe. You already have everything; you just need to remember that you do.

Leo- I guess potpourri smells good, if you like dried berries and crap. I was recently given a bottle of Poo-pourri Crap Shooter, which you spray into the bowl after dropping friends at the pool, which in turn will prevent your significant other from becoming hateful of your smelly sojourns, producing discontent over the long haul of your friendship, which may or may not result in a restraining order, costly court dates, and legislative proctologic exams. However, the Poo-pourri smell isn’t that great; frankly it reminds me of burnt knuckle hair… nevertheless&therefore, the Fetal Beetle® does one thing very well. Its crappy stink masks my crappy stink, thus reversing the inevitable future history of colon related break-ups and heartache. Potpourri serves a vital evolutionary purpose--- keeping us together at all costs regardless of stink. Don’t stink bad—stink yummy.

Virgo- I’ve decided to Émile Zola your ass and penetrate your most inner sanctum/santorum with a hale and hearty J’accuse! Not because I don’t relish the condimentary lifestyle you’ve chosen to accompany your sidecar fetish, which is part of your innate feral charm and gastric pendulum swings. Ergotherefore&whatnot, I cry bullplop on your attempts to de-, re- and/or in- construct the coming generations, ignoring the ills and injustices of the past. Yea, the double edged sword of knowledge vs. ignorance of the past. Perhaps we do repeat it, and maybe it’s a balance between acknowledging and comprehending the past, and saying, No(!), J’accuse, you fat plumbed stinker; this time it’s different. This time I make plans and god doesn’t laugh, he nods in acquiescence, and thanking me for bringing something new to the cosmic table, rather than the same ol’ same olllllllllllllllllllllllllllll….. Go binary, and multiply.

Libra- I doubt you realize this, but the tauntaun is an omnivorous reptomammal (self explanatory), and comes in three flavors: glacier, scaly, climbing, and giant. Asidedly®, you don’t want to meet the giant tauntaun in a dark alley unless you’ve got a red light saber and a bottle of space gin. I will stand over here for a moment while that information oil baths over you, dawning a new age of understanding and ken and Lucas oriented entertainment. Little known talent of the tauntaun? They’re super accurate at spitting. A tauntaun with a lot of midichlorians can spit right into your eye up to a parsec away, which if that means time and not space, then that could mean light years, and all your friends will be long dead, and you’ll be left wondering, who am I, really, with a bunch of gooey tauntaun spit all over your face. Keep you eyes open for space poodoo getting slapped in your direction. 

Scorpio- Mr. Roper is transdimensional. He transcends timespace. As prima facie evidence, I submit to the court this primary and damning evidence: in a show that jumped the shark somewhere in first season, they let Mr. Roper break the fourth wall with sneery lascivian creepiness, implying a more ribald, verboten and homophobic point of view. They made him creepier than he already was. As an aside, I’m pretty sure that Peg Bundy is a rip off younger version of Mrs. Roper, but that’s for another ‘scope. Point is that when Mr. Roper looks into the camera, I feel like he’s putting his smuttiness into me. And I would not normally advise this, but I want you to find your inner Roper. I want you to let him out just a bit. Let your inner creep out into the light. He’s bored. And a bored creep is a dangerous creep.

Sagittarius- Your luscious blathering is endearing and mathematically verifiable, but impossible to resist or interpret. You’re indefatigable and surreptitious, and there is no bear trap in the earthly realm that could snare your clever feet. I fire syllables at you in random fashion; your way of dodging and paratroopering reminds me of Trinity; and the way she taught him to dance, after being so long in utero. The three pronged dimension you created so long ago, that started rivers a-flowin’, bellowin’ and a-burstin’, and all the divots and valleys that we all inevitably inhabit and retreat to when we get frightened by the sheerness of the ‘verses’ scope. This dimension is ripe and fertile and full of the moments that your tongue so ineloquently upends and tumults in saults of summers that never seem to end. ‘Nuff said. Eat some citrus.

Capricorn- I don’t know why I hate Bob Seger. Wait, yes, I do. It dates back to the mother frakking Chevy commercial with the Like a Rock crap that plagued my ocd’d brainwaves in the 80’s, when I was searching for my near adult identity amidst a sea of acne and pathos; unsuccessfully trying to erase from my mind the image of that damn red Chevy climbing up an absurd mountain of rocks, which probably has its own page-long legal disclaimer against, on about page three of the owner’s manual. I’m a child of the 60’s parents, whose media and philosophies urged me in the direction of not selling out, and maintaining the voracity of my soul, spirit, intellect, not to mention my future works and deeds. Sellout, Bob Seger! But, Dude… money=roof+safety+food=survival in a more pleasant fashion than sleeping in the savannahs, and grasslands, which are now overpasses, bridges, and  – an assayed and smelted metal monster of self incriminating infrastructure. Go ahead, sell out. Buy some food. Translate your existence into a house of pancakes with cosmic toppings, grab a vat of maple and go directly to town, bonnet and all.

Aquarius- Your congress, sexual or otherwise, has been incongruous and slave waged of late. Yetbut fret not. Legislative bodies will soon be in session, and forced into bipartisanship, whereupon, they will enact laws designed to augment and bolster your cockles and inner vesicles; and whatever else you have that needs defrosting. The smoke filled back room deals that have been keeping your bills from the house floor, where you might do some good, are about to be broken up by the Justice Police®. Your adversary’s filibuster has run completely out of steam and he’s been taken to recuperate in rehab due to exhaustion brought about by his own insatiable hubris. The cherry blossoms are about to bloom on your national mall. Follow them, and they will lead you to a phallic monument dedicated to our greatest american hero, the guy who stuck it to the brits, up yours, ‘king’ george! We am unbound and unfettered.  

Pisces- What was taken from you, I cannot give back to you. No one can. It is your birthright. You must claim it. Stick your flag in it, with your newly designed family crest. Tell the world who you are in whatever fashion you deem appropriate. As long as you’re not hip on crossing the rubicon, everything is going to work out brilliantly. Wait, hold thought-- nuts to that. Who cares if anyone else knows? What’s important is that you know, and can admit it freely to yourself and to anyone who would challenge your core beliefs, which despite the rumors have remained intact. The totality of who you are is entirely in your hands. This is a dream and you’re in control. It’s time to take back the grasslands and realistic  dreams of a prairie that goes on forever, past even the mountains and the sea, past all obstacles that would hinder your clarity or peace. You are transcendently chocolate and justifiably righteous.