Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

                     Dr. Pants McTurd's

           MORE Than True Horror-scopes

      (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                 

Aries-  Most regular horoscopes are bullshit, oft filled with promises of love and money and career bounties that are surely en route to your face---fer sure this month! Most ‘scopes let you know what you’ve been lacking or missing or searching for. They blow more smoke up your ass than even fortune cookies. And hey—a little positive reinforcement can be a good thing. Maybe you have had a rough time and things are going to get better. Maybe monkeys will fly out of your butt. HOWEVER--this Pants horrorscope is not here to tell you of the wild and crazy awesome shite to come, but rather the good stuff that lurks in front of your face. You lack nothing, except maybe the forest for the trees. Have a milkshake.

Taurus- The ensuing week may involve some or all of the following ensuing hellscapes: cat herding, wall scraping, tennis juggling, ear waxing, bumble sniffing, cocoa banana butter beanery bribing, ambidextrous water spanking, dandelion surfing, getting noticed at local infamous eateries while downing oysters in hopes of a successful rendezvous sans cameras…not to mention skullduggerous smuggling jobs, flubbering snuffleupeggi® and watered down horsepipes. Don’t kill the messenger on this one, but this is gonna get weird--good weird, but weird. Stay present.   

Gemini- This week you will span the gap and gamut between Godard and Goddard. The former a filmmaker who was quoted as saying, “All you need to make a movie is a gun and a girl”, and the latter, who said, “Every vision is a joke until the first man accomplishes it; once realized, it becomes commonplace.” Bear in mind the Goddard was a pioneer of rocket science and the Godard, a pioneer of movies about explosive situations and emotions using guns as a launching pad. The French guy’s a Sagittarius, and the rocketeer’s from Massachusetts. The parallel between these two geniuses is the beam you will travel. Do some research, walk the path, and we’ll discuss your findings at a café in Roswell where gravity bends to the weak nuclear force, and not the political free for a select few.

Cancer- How beautiful is this shite, originated by the great and wise Clarke: “(1) When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong. (2)The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible. (3)Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Intelligence beatified. Imagination gently caressed by rivers of science. Your week will be replete with waters that are equal parts mystic and explicably mathematically kind. (Also, read Scorpio- we’re all counting on you)

Leo- Lately, have you felt that you’re Bruce Lee in that one movie where there was all the mirrors and a creepy old dude that seemed unkillable and who had metal hands for some reason? Well, DON’T PANIC—I typed that in big bold letters so you’d know the deal. Check this: the mirrors are a weird metaphor for your soul, Bruce. You are blessed to know multiple realities and will stab the metal hands guy in the chest through on of those mirrors with a freakin’ spear. Sweet frakking action, amigo. You’re both Tango AND Cash. Big Trouble AND Little China. Ewoks AND Wookies, hombre. Bet big, go big, and then go home…and get some rest. You’ve earned it, Bronco.

Virgo- A snowball, packed by a twelve year old girl leaves Indiana, Pennsylvania on a more than usually cold night at 12:05 am, headed straight for hell. How fast does the snowball need to travel in order to get to the other side of hell with a minimum of 33.3% of its original mass still frozen? Clue: the girl is a pitcher in a fast pitch softball league, and in future times will receive a scholarship, then playing in professional women's softball, and eventually becoming an icon of the sport—say, the Mia Hamm of softball. Calculate the vectors and moral imperceptitudes® and report back. The future depends on your math being “correct”, unassailable, ballsy and creatively erudite and erect.

Libra- I drink your milkshake. Deal with it. Next time put some bourbon in it. And while you’re at it, get me a sandwich—no sprouts and extra mayo. And another thing, go out and buy a hammock, then buy a house with a shaded back yard, preferably with a pool, and set that hammock up in a peaceful spot; I need some serious naptime. Some mint juleps in the afternoon would be nice too. I…drink…your...milkshake. After all, it’s what brings all the bones to the yard. Wait…wrong advice….take no shit from no one and keep your own counsel---it’s the only one that’s unbiased. If you have time, then yeah, hammock---otherwise, drink your own milkshake.

Scorpio- You’re smart, so check my posit: On a long timeline, the relationship between our understanding of self vs the ‘reality’ of self is probably a wave function that goes hither and yon in some kind of up and down cycle, with the x-y axis representing truth—whatever the frak that is. Spit, fart and vomit, I say. Yet grok this: at times I’ll speak without forethought, perhaps with only the inkling of an idea about something and I’ll let my tongue ramble brainwise till it comes out; hopefully it’s genius rather than gibberish. I figure I got a 50/50 shot. Your future is neither luck nor odds. Rather flipside, your inner reptilian sensoid molecules have been evolving far longer than whatever mammal you think you are.

Sagittarius- I dare you. I double canine reverse eagle transverse corduroy Baltic avenue your ass to get your shite in gear and follow my linguistic pattern making, that hopefully lead to a point both well fashioned and appropriately apt—sorry for the re-redundancy, but here’s the point is---

I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE. Repeat. I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE. PERIOD. END OF MILKSHAKE. But don’t feel bad that I got your number. Sweet sweet, not bloody revenge is sexy and loving and organic and delicate and ...Providential. Providence. Not just a vaguely interesting city, but also a concept, an idea, a—a a-- belief system---an identity! My id!

I feel deep shit has been mined here. But I gotta go, so you dig it out. 

Capricorn- Bro—or Sis…hey Lady, there’s a thing on your…Oh wow, that looks heavy as shit. It’s a giant…what, a pustule, I guess…or a tumor…No, no it’s not a tumor, but jeez it looks like a shit heavy load—a burden, a waste of effort on your part to be carrying, especially considering the moment you set it down, it will try to knife you in the liver, or the heart—wherever you live the most. My advice---once you locate the onus, bide your time and hike to a river or a seashore. Water is your keystone watchword lodestone geographical marker from whence you strayed in your usually anatomical thinking. From there you’ll be able to set your monkey free, not to mention your soul. No kayak needed, you’re welcome.  

Aquarius- Do you really want to argue trivialities with someone you agree with? Preaching to the choir seems so below a mind like ours. However, before words of “wisdom” fall on deaf ears, consider this: despite your questionable knowledge of generally everything, are you not also awash and awhirl in the tempest tossed teapot of multi-universality, that may contain both alive and dead cats in suppos’d boxes? Not to mention illusory corporeality and candy that melts only in your mouth regardless of the fire in your fists? The forge of life is foundried, not upon slabs of steel or stone---but in ideology not yet invented---even by mental giants like us. Be free.

Also read Aries, it pre-lates.

Pisces- An asteroid with its own small satellite passed by us last week. We'll see it again in 200 years, but wow- what an interesting relationship these two random space rocks have found in each other. They’re nomads circling our sun at ridiculous orbits, and they found each other. Yes, yes… randomness. And, hey—there are probably even stranger combinations out there, but these two rocks must really dig each other’s scene, man-- or perhaps they’re unwitting compatriots of gravity and coincidental locales which contain no meaning. Oy, crap. Look, I’m tired, you’re tired, let’s face it-- we’re tired, pooped even. Moons happen. Act accordingly.