Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

      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.