Dr. Pants McTurd's
MORE Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)
Aries- Posit: Tina Turner created a dome of thunder. Khan via Coleridge
decided a pleasure dome was much a much more enlightened pursuit, despite what
in modern times we’d call gender and race inequality in the pursuit of building
such a decree. Your power dome of the week bulges
skyward somewhere in betwixt. Whether you’re Enchanted Mtn., or the Treasury of
Atreus; the Baths of Agrippa or the Pantheon---hell, the Louisiana Superdome is
in need of your tender ministrations. What’s key here, is that you have the choice
of building materials. Your dome could even be multi-purpose, like a high
school gym. I don’t know—it’s YOUR STUPID DOME. And whether you live it from
the inside out, or scale its granite surface towards perfect solar
ascension---make your own dome a reflection of your soul, and build high.
Taurus- Orison--as in an attempt to contact a deity directly, as in prayer or
ritual sacrifice or some -ism in between…is the only reason I am not a full
blown atheist. For example, Kraknor the Babylonian God of Poop, is not a figure
that I believe exists in real time---However, the object of the orison is not
the point. The question is: can we affect the physical timespace we exist in by
the power of desire and/or thought? Even if we’re praying for something that
makes no sense, like I pray that my cat turns into a dragon; or I pray that I
get taller. You can’t affect things that are innately inane and pointless; but
what if I prayed for cancer to be cured? Or for poverty to end. These are in
the realm of the possible, and maybe we can affect spacetime and the ensuing
order of events. How far we can warp and wrap our wills to the task, is for you
to find out. Don’t find god. God is will. Find a way. And go to there.
Gemini- In the world of today now times, as opposed to ye olde timey times,
which are now floating back and up stream, and diagonal to our current course
and present purpose; case in point: Ain’t
Too Proud to Beg seemed like a good song title. But now, honestly—if I’m
begging you to stay, I’m probably asking for something I don’t really want,
that will undoubtedly mushroom into a post amorous crockpot of clusterfuckery®,
when you begrudgingly acquiesce, probably in an effort to shut me up. Did
begging really work back in the day? That’s how you know a partner is sincere?
And what kind of person wants a lover to beg, like a common tatterdemalion
wanting a bit more of your dyspeptic gruel…where was I? Oh yeah,…Don’t bother
to beg, borrow or steal. What you truly love will come to you, probably because
you unconsciously conjure it.
Cancer- The question that will prove integral to your
upcoming week is this: do zombies get aroused when they watch zombie porn?
Likewise, do zombies only experience arousal from living naked brains, with
their gooey gooey sweetness? Thirdly, will zombie porn leave Los Angeles, if we
pass an ordinance requiring zombies to wear condoms? Fourth estatishly, once
you’re dead—or undead I guess, is there any need for prophylactics? Can zombies
have babies? Can a zombie baby actually turn out not undead, and live a normal
life? Do zombies make good parents? Should zombies be required to have a photo
ID in case they’re stopped by law enforcement? Are we headed for a zombie
state? Should I call Fox News immediately? Ponder all of this shite and get
back to me pronto and stat and asap. We’re all counting on you.
Leo- Ahead, LION, there lieth in
wait, a fork- a disjointing one that will facetize® your singular road and
splinter your reality. Don’t hate the messenger on this one---if you asked
Einstein, he might very well say that there is only one reality, one in which
your ‘will’ is both choosing and not choosing everything in the wake of your
future self—But wait…back to the fork: One tine will be the primrose path, and
the other will be the garden path. The fine line between them is smaller than a
quantum of quarks, so unless you’ve got access to a supercollider, don’t fret.
One is pleasure and the other is a surprise—usually a good one—very Fantasy
Island...Einstein might even posit that you will take both roads—all roads,
because your reality is never singular. You are multi; even if you’re blithely
unaware. Also possibly Einstein: divide and experience, and divide again.
Virgo- Turns out, I’m a plant guy- natural green thumb, and I’ve had this
philodendron for like 25 years. I found it in a state of decay and kept it,
mostly because its stems are a bloody red, which compliment its leafy green
lushness. And the other day this mortal thought occurred inside my brain goo:
this plant may outlive me. Firstly if I don’t keep an eye on it, it may
literally take over my house and strangle me in the night. Secondish, there are
many plants with life cycles much longer than me. Plants were on this earth
before mankind, and will survive our reign of polluted ice-melting terror.
Plants love carbon, especially in gaseous form. They will eventually start life
all over again, and on and on and onward, til the sun gives out, or we collide
with another galaxy or brane or donut shaped bubble wormhole
thingy…Thirdly…relax, you-- go get some houseplants, and just breathe on ‘em
for awhile. Commune with your elders.
Libra- If someone tells you, ‘You’re no
Jack Kennedy’--your response shouldn’t be sheepish, coy or dumbfaced. You
look ‘em right in their beady shrunken eyeholes and say, ‘Yeah? I’m also not a guy who’s pretty much already decided to punch you
in your fat face right now’. If you say this in a calm and overly confident
manner, you will become the new monkey king; and from there on out, your
airborne feces won’t stink; they will in fact, be praised. I’m not saying,
HOWEVER, that there isn’t a time and place for shutting yer big yap, and
quietly moving on to fight another day, preferably after a quick arms race,
ensuring your vainglorious victory, rather than a quick solution to an early
grave—politically speaking of course. This week, you will exercise both: Quiet
as a churchmouse one minute, and then rampant like a pooping monkey king the
next.
Weird, but fun.
Scorpio- Not to alarum you, but your grunion are due for a serious run..-nion.
(Ha.) For those unfamiliar with this lusty So Cal event, the grunion is a small
fish that spawns on the beaches in droves. The smell of fish sex is indecently
prominent, so I suggest a mask as well as hip waders, which should also protect
you from all the extra fish fluids—it can get squishy. The females rush
onshore, dig a hole, lay some eggs, and then are bombarded by hundreds of male
applicants--at high tide btw, and for the next twelve hours until the tide goes
out. It’s exhausting, but apparently effective. My point is not about your
fishy sex life—but rather all the prep time leading up to the night of the
spawning. Ritual creating belief, and emotions—environment and free will with
equal flow of energy betwixt---…pretty rad.
Sagittarius- Your own personal Icelandic Cod War is now coming home to roost and spread eagle the
swift arm of aggressive military-style justice across your fertile seas and
nascent bodies of lush verdancy. There be fishing rights in and around your
territorial waters that are in legal dispute amongst nations who possess larger
armies than yours; especially considering you have no draft and no standing
army. You are Iceland, surrounded by fish—and volcanoes; and the local
ex-Viking tribes want to dip a pole in your protein farm in the hopes of a
mouthful of yummy yummy fish guts and meat. I envy you; in much the same way I
envy Thor Heyerdahl. Wouldn’t want to actually be him—too Nordic, but still…you
are precipiced edgewise of dangerous beauty and scandalous verisimilitude. The
Cod War is imminent, but fret not—the fish are on your side and the waters are
warm—for Iceland anyway...Happy angling!
Capricorn- Your power avian of the week is the bobolink
and here’s why goddammit. Actually wait, I have a better one, you mountain goat
son of a bitch, you. Cautious most of the time, constantly studying the landscape,
which is rocky and craggy btw and not for the drunk of heart. But here’s the
pink of it—when you goats make a move, it is calculated and sure footed and
momentous. The world shifts with you, from the force of your feet. Animal vs
rock; and both usually dressing future battle scars, fitting reminders of how
important our chess moves should be---or can be---and hey, sometimes they’re
sloppy and grossly misunderestimated and erronically® calculated, sure.
Sometimes one has to jump more quickly than one would like. I’m not sayin get ready, but you should be at least on
top of: one for the money, two for the---…
Aquarius- Here’s why Lucas may be the dumbest genius
ever. He dreams up rad awesome names like Skywalker and Han Solo, and then
pisses me off with names like Porkins—an X-wing pilot, who just happens to
resemble a pig---no offense, Mr. Hootkins—you’re a rad fucking gentleman. And
then there’s Captain Binaca. Binaca. Really? Like the breath spray? Marvelous.
But then, get this: Yoda’s original name was Minch—as in mensch, a Yiddish word
for a person of integrity and honor—c’mon. Salacious B Crumb, also dumb. And
Darth Sidious? Like, oooh, I bet he’s insidious--duh. Really? And why is Jimmy
Smits in Star Wars anyway? And likewise why is Wynona Ryder Spock’s mom? What’s
my rambling point? Don’t be a dumb genius that makes obviously silly choices.
You’re clever; find another way to be smart for the public good.
Pisces- I know you’re a detail oriented person, so I want to alert you
specifically to the bounty of juicy gooeyness and mirth en route to you and
your face even as you read these word usements. So, let’s get nitty and/or
gritty, down to the brassiest of tacks, the bottommest of lines, the crustiest
if cruxes—where was I? Oh yes, the booty and bounty—shit, wait---I just
realized I might put in jeopardy the existential potentialism of the magical
shit coming your way if I tell you exactly when it’s coming—part of the
(bullshit) irony this particular section of the multiverse rejoices in, right?
So…good things coming, not sure when—but soon…I think, and wow—looks great from
where I’m sitting, so just cross your fingers, and forget you read this and
scoot your cute bottom on down the road. See ya around the bend, where there’s
ample sunshine ahead.
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