Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

             Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                       
disclaimer: Satire is a lighthouse, a beacon and a dessert after a crowful meal.

this week: You can crane your neck, but if you neck with a crane, you'll get pregnant.

Aries- We all step in poop. I choose to believe that it is the poop's origin which is the of the utmost of importance in determining one's fate, much like chicken bones in a tea cup. One's fortunes invariably vary according to the defecating animal in question. In the "business", we call that poop zero. Not to get tangential, but poop is always involved, am I right? Nevertheless I can tell by the state of your current underfoot poopprint® that possibly due to subconscious dieting or even a negative impact diagonal design that you are overdue for a sorely needed mojo enhancement. Your genitals are there to help you in times of crises. Scrape it off, put it in a brown paper bag, find your spiritual doorstep and.. light.. it.. up.

Taurus- In 17th century France, an invitation to a salon was quite the affair. Rather than hair and nails, it was a gathering of people (generally women) held to amuse one another, to refine taste and increase the knowledge of the participants through conversation, literature and ideas. A female think tank. Hoity and/or toity to be sure, but in olden times the intellectuals were those who could afford to be so. Flash forward in the evolution of the salon and you get the founders hammering out a constitution, or the fun loving guys who brought us the atomic bomb, or further still the folks who sat around and planned the Iraq war over coffee and eggplant sandwiches. When planning your next salon, invite smart people, make finger sandwiches shaped like real fingers and spread the breadth and wealth of your enlightened self.

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 their apparent lack of manners. Show me, don't tell me that your crotch glands reek of awesome.

Cancer- The 1990's were the 1920's. Now it's the 1930's again: endless crises struggling for air in a meatless ragout of questionable capitalism, soaring unemployment, and dangerous experimental politics. I'm hopeful that when we get around to repeating the 1970's, I will still be young enough to enjoy the drugs, the risky sex, the rebirth of disco, a young Spielberg and Lucas before they started to piss me off, the re-release of the improved Ford Pinto (no explosions!), and a simpler time when you could buy fake guns for your kids to play with that looked pretty much identical to real weaponry. The new Cold War with China is already getting started, so I'm getting excited about the prospects. Stand by me because-- next stop, the 1950's. Prepare your El Vis ®.

Leo- Never Say Never Again is double-OO-awesome. Even though it's a remake of Thunderball, and it's the only Bond not produced by Eon Productions, and you bet-- lawsuits, acrimony and the not unanticipated prick waving. Anyway, Connery had this great toupee, worked even under water. Also an early role for Kim Bassinger and weird cool Max von Sydow temper tantrums, who I'm willing to bet is creepy in real life too. And directed by Irvin Kershner, yeah... Empire Strikes Back, so derrr- awesome, right? And Rowan Atkinson, Mr. frikkin' Bean is in it too, so yeah probably my favorite Bond. As for the title, Connery said he'd never play Bond again. Never say never. You're next. What what was it that you foreswore again?

Virgo- I have a new bug policy. Bugs that I find inside my house, provided they possess some measure of non disgustipating® respectability like spiders and crickets, I will do my best to capture in some hastily devised contraption, such as a cup and a piece of paper, and then release outside, back into the wild where they may be free to copulate or do whatever. Call me racist, but ants, despite their close kinship to our own worker engrossed society, will all come to a squashing end under my fist of justice. In fact, I freely admit that I enjoy killing ants, not everyday mind you and never while pleasuring myself, but when the time necessitates and they have invaded my domicile uninvited. Spiders and crickets do good by us, they eat other bugs. Ants are only out for themselves. Adjust your bug policy appropriately, including all of your human-bug relations.   

Libra- The coffee houses of the 1600's were what Starbucks aspires to. Coffee was relatively new to the west; ideas and thinking were popular back then, not bullshit like now times. They were places for discussion, "a place for virtuosi and wits, rather than for the plebes or roués who were typical patrons of the alcoholic drinking houses".  I do not, however advocate teetotalling® your world until you see the clear sober light of day. As Homer said, "I prefer illusion to despair", but I would recommend that during your typical engagement of mind bending alteration, that you find some moments to discuss the ins and outs of the philosophy of the evolution of your person within the con and sub texts of the 7 billion sharing air with you right now. The world is not what you think.

Scorpio- You are a mythological mustilid. You are a scintillating scimitar, slicing and scavenging on carcasses avoided even by carrion. Eat of the dead. Eat of their history. Chew thoroughly and swallow and digest and defecate, and ponder. You are a dragon, a wyvern, a wyrm and a cockatrice, eater of snakes and crocodiles. Your mouth is electric and your feet reverberate with the syncopated jumps and sprints and jigs and air walking that your conscious mind wills into being out of string theory and breakfast cereal and sitting up in bed out of a sound sleep knowing, sensing that this is a moment of your own mortality, but only of the body; the spirit is infinite and ever existing. You are a neuronic string dancer and the king's most prized fool.

Sagittarius- My propensity for discounting the assets and blessings in my life is rivaled only by my short memory and lack of focus. Speaking of which, I like cinnamon rolls, in fact I'm a bit of a connoisseur, a cardamonaphile® to turn a phrase, but eventually I sate myself with sugar, or alcohol, or sex, or or self pity, or running full speed into whatever wall I can find, and then when I'm retracing my steps as to how I got such a concussion, I remember briefly the blessings that I'd discounted and forgotten, as if they were only the beginning of my ego's leaps into obsession. Not good enough, never going to be good enough, are they? Will I ever be good enough? Never. Wait. Breathe. A brief sky dalliance and and then return to alight on this earth, this grand firmament, albeit only a temporary refuge for my spirit.

Capricorn- 23 Across, Kyrgyzstan border town, three letters. Crap, all I know are Kyrgyzstan border towns with four letters. Up yours, Will Shortz. Really, that's seems like a relevant enough clue? Sounds like you got into a corner and had to punt, and got lucky that there actually is a town called Osh, which I assume is the headquarters for the eponymous home supply company. I call bullshit anyway, with your Wiki-degree and your fancy pants, and hey, there's no secret puzzle here, pal. I mean = you stink. I pray that you can recover more relevance than Will or I in your search for epic truthiness.

Aquarius- Should you find yourself of a mind, as oft I am wont, that none of this be real, our legs dependent upon strings of questionable fictional samsara, then you will surely reflect and emulate my obsession with nondisambiguation™. Rather than clear, I muddle. I oppose order, until I don't, until clarity is needed, then I don my best stout zephyr and blow moroccan fog to its saharan demise to be dispersed like my brain's effluvium after a much needed enema. Find your muse, and use the crap out of it/her/him. It's your only hope.

Pisces- When I orders a pizza pie from my local paisan, I always tips big, see. I figure, hey-- you know me, I like pies, I tips yous nice right, yous makes it hot and spicy, capiche? Give and freakkin' take, you dig, spartan  soul child? Random intersecting points, nucleic nexii where we can interface with each others' individualitinessocity®, and grope each other sans eyes searching for our soft wet spots in the hopes of satisfying these reptile brains and limbic loins. For yous only da best. But hey, don't forgets my tip. Pizza ain't free. I heard from this schizoid minstrel that only love is.