Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE
Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror or scopes
of any ilk)
Aries- Even easy going religions, like
buddhism have been trying to find me lately. There have been several incidents
of obvious symbolism invading my conscious arena in a not so understated
manner. The ‘verse doesn’t often deliver such absurd symbolism to me unless
there’s really something I need to know. So…after a weird couple of weeks/months/year
or two, here’s what I have learned: if you lose your wallet, try to do it in
front of a church. Odds are better that an ‘honest’ person will find it, take
the time to track you down, calling your still in existence land line—crazy
right? Returning the wallet to you, and eliminating the need for an actual trip
to the DMV. Angels walk among us, apparently. Act accordingly.
Taurus- So, dude,
I recently watched Sorcerer---You
know, Roy Scheider, William Friedkin, and the way way way way way way way way
way over-thunked plot silliness and giant special effects and explosions and
jungle locations and oil rig fires and stories of moderate human redemption,
and oh yeah, the monster truck things crossing narrow mountainous roads and
rope bridges and flooded rivers, and guys with cool accents and mucho manicured
mustachios. Actually a pretty cool movie, the parts that made sense
anyway…Friedkin was Spielberg before Spielberg was Spielberg. Right now, you
genius SOB, you are about to start filming French
Connection, so you’re basically fuckin’ set. Party on, Mr. Hackman.
Gemini- Don’t let
any electric windbags or automatic doorbell ding dongs distract you from your
present course. The shenanigans they offer seem intriguing, but are designed
only to befuddle and waste your time. Instead, take a moment, metaphorically go
downtown, find yourself a cool leather jacket, buy an old but repairable
motorbike, read Zen and the Art of
Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert
M. Pirsig,
don’t forget to gas up, and let the fools and parade pissers flounder in your
literal wake. Be the path, and ignore the douchebaggery. Don’t suffer fools—let
‘god’ sort ‘em out.
Cancer- Dear
Reader, as you know, the Dr. Pants is normally all up in your face and/or
grill, brutally honest, and sans fear of etiquette, protocol or
zombiepocalyptic® outcomes; where society breaks down Lord of The Flies style
and poor Piggy has to eat a rock with his face; and the glasses are broken and
that’s how they made fire, so even if we catch a boar, they won’t be able to
cook it. What a pisser. Okay, so—mob mentality and rule by law stolen by either
strength or money, are not necessarily good ways to run a railroad. However, in
this moment, you are not Piggy. You’re not even Ralph Wiggum. You’re the adults
who got to the island just in time to prevent further killing in the name of no
reason. Help us save all of us.
Leo- What the fudge is up with the
word buy
anyway? Why does it rhyme with by? Or bye for that matter? By and by, and buy and buy, and then bye bye,
and buy bonds. Doesn’t anybody give a crap about the silly sounding buoy??
Boy, oh boy, oh baa baa buoy. And
then boa
crawled into the room. Whoa---it suddenly got very confusing and scaley in here. Way and weigh, wait and weight are also on my short list of
usual suspects. However, that’s what makes english the coolest lingo on
anyone’s tongue. It sucks up words from other languages whenever it feels like
it. I bring this up because you will advantage yourself by embraceably tackling
any upcoming confusion and orally related obstacles. When in doubt, don’t
fumble, just mumble---sotto voce style, incognito and unrepentant.
Virgo- This
week, prepare thyself for a lot—and I mean a lot of themes and motifs dealing
with deer penis; which according to some cultures holds healing and nutritional
properties; just like turtle blood and tiger penis. Maybe Charlie Sheen had the
right idea, but the wrong animal part. But keep in mind that the deer penis of
the future is probably digital. So, the deer can keep their real penises, and
we can invent a sustainable way to get pumped up on the blood and animal parts
that inspired Viagra. We don’t have to espouse the antiquated cenozoic notion
of an eye for an eye, nor even junk for junk. Your mojo is totemically composed
of zeroes and ones and lucky sevens. Drink
of the cybernated tiger blood. Do it now!
Libra-
Spellcheck knows who Steven Spielberg is. I recently found this out when I
mis-typed, and Spellcheck immediately knew who I meant. Point is, who else does
Spellcheck know? Should I be gathering a coalition? Or creating my own private
‘army’—maybe buy some desert land and start a cult---that worships the sun! Or
maybe sand—lots of that shit out there… Will Spellcheck eventually know me?
There’s only one Dr. Pants McTurd in the world currently—the other Dr. Pants’s
were mostly lost at sea. Point is, when you say the word, you and I, we bail,
then snatch up some property in Hawaii. Maybe Guam, we’ll chat and research—and
then we’ll live all jungle like—with WiFi of course and air conditioning---but
then you know, a garden and stuff. Spellcheck is almost on to our game—be ready
when it happens, somehow, and we can start our own matrix/cult.
Scorpio- You are
no ordinary chrondite. Your chrondules are super molten and probably as
radioactive as a truckload of selenium 77. Your silicate is hella olivine and
pyroxenic, I would even go so far as to say feldspathic. And I don’t say that
to just any ol’ geology major, nuh-uh, no sir. The sound barrier hasn’t been
the same since you broke atmo. You’re literally insterstellar, intergalactic,
and born ‘mongst stars, forged in incredible heat; and crash landed here some
15,000 years ago, found by some dude in Mongolia a thousand years ago, who
carved you into a statue of Buddha, which wasn’t found again til the 1920’s.
You are a god carved from space god rocks. Shine on you crazy chrondite.
Sagittarius- You’re an
unlikely cowboy, a rescuer of the ill framed, and upholder of rights for those
less endowed with either physical or mental prowess. You’re no savior—let’s not
get ahead of ourselves—but you have a knack, a talent-- a certain je ne sais quoi—I don’t know what; like
you’re a maverick that gives a shit. Like Kung Fu, and you’re just wandering
the earth---and thwarting bad guys along the way, A Team style. You’re no Jules Winnfield —your wallet don’t say bad ass mofo on it or anything. Grow up, put your anger aside and
travel, even if only in your mind. Imagine and create and engender justice.
You’re genius at it.
Capricorn- You’re
the only one trying to poop on this picnic here, pal. The weather seems
plentiful and even though your worldview is strange and located at high
altitudes and usually smells of goat hair—no offense, it’s cool, whatevs; but
this picnic is about eating outside for some reason, checking out a vista of
some kind while eating premade sandwiches, or maybe cold chicken with coleslaw,
which I always despised—it looks like it’s already been eaten once before in my
humble ass opinion. Unnecessary and slimey? No thank you. Point is, listen up,
turkey: Summer’s here, processed meat tubes are grilling and the SPF is like
OMG. Okay? So...
do you want the chicken salad or the
tuna fish? Bring a flask.
Aquarius- Annie
Edison Taylor was the first person to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Amelia
Earhart was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic. Gertrude Ederle
was the first woman to swim across the English Channel. Junko Tabei was the
first woman to scale Everest. Sally Ride---first woman in space. My point to
you Aquarii is that regardless of your current genital situation, this is an
excellent time to be the first at something unbelievable. So unbelievable in
fact, that you may have to do it a second time in front of a witness for anyone
to believe it. To save yourself the time, set up a camera and record your
upcoming first. Maybe you’ll finally clean the bathroom. Maybe you’ll be the
first person on Mars, the truth lying hopefully between those two poles. Dream
big. Go bold. Grab cleaning supplies. And put on your scrubbin’ pants!
Pisces- Someday,
you and I---we’ll take part in a giant monkey wedding. There will be lemurs and
orangutans, and bonobos and other somewhat related rodentine outlaws gnawing
and conniving their way into a rather flourishing existence that makes perfect
sense given their innate gnawing and sneaking talents; based on what
environment dictates of course, as well as the availability and endurability of
previous models that survived every oncoming cataclysm, from plague to drought to
over abundance of certain chemicals known by the state of California to cause
rectal cancer, and/or impermanence of being, aka non-corporeality; and covering
our collective and individual butts, from ruin and/or damnation; and yet nay
and nevertheless, I say to thee: get ready for the party; break out your monkey
wine, put on your red shoes and dance the blues.
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