Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

                      Dr. Pants McTurd's

             MORE Than True Horror-scopes

         

                                 

disclaimer: Satire has a habit of getting into your Pants, that never fails to result

                                      in you doing that funny chicken butt dance.

this week: Truth or fiction… we might find out.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: TRUCULENT. I double dog you to look it up.

Aries- We exist as a direct result of diaspora. Millions of years ago, our species needed increasing resources to support growing numbers and larger brains. Leakey was right, we began as a singularity, somewhere in Africa. And then we dispersed; colonizing as far as the earth could hold us, just like koi grow to the size of their container. We headed in opposite directions, promising our caveman kin that we would meet up someday on the other side of whatever we’re standing on, and the world will truly be ours, because we will know it fully. The dissemination took thousands of generations, resulting in different phenotypes, cultures and belief systems. But we have forgotten the face of our fathers. East has met west. We could annihilate our other selves, but what a waste. Up and out. To the stars. Together. A new diaspora for a new age. I’ll meet you on the other side of the ‘verse in say, all the time we have left, which is infinite. Don’t you… forget about me.

Taurus- It’s a good thing that the name of the first european allegedly born in north America was Virginia Dare. Our mythology would be so much douchier had it been Krabnor Frogflicker instead. Virginia Dare sounds like a kick ass way to start a new continent. Take no prisoners, take no sh*t--- but wait… ignore my unnecessary reference to obscure Megadeath lyrics; it was a dubious start at best. Virginia disappeared along with the entire colony at Roanoke when she was just three, a mystery that likely will remain unsolvable, unless time travel is possible and Doc Brown can explicate this jam without getting us into a paradox where the descendants of Krabnor Frogficker have ruled Krabnorland with iron fists, and we are his spirit broken vassals reeking of our bloody plaguing offal. Virginia Dare-- mucho mas cajones. Find her spirit within yourself and get some balls. Frogflicker is the past. The future is Dare.

Gemini- The moment was growing dire. My amigos needed spoons that lay behind the deli counter, in order to eat their yogurt parfait granola crap before a long day of volcano doings. But passage behind the counter is verboten, sinful even. I don’t work here, who do I think I am? But at the Sack&Save in Kona, HI, island time is pervasive and ubiquitous, like pineapple and sunburned tourists. And then like a rainbow after a gentle morning rain that lasted just long enough not to be annoying, a sexy Hawaiian descendant of polynesian gods strolls casually by, hips moving like bobbing hula waves, undulating like quantum energy of her most private dimensions. She zeroes in on our mainlanders’ dilemma. ‘Just go back and grab one’, she said, ‘this is Hawaii, everything’s open.’ Most isolated island in the world. Everything is open and self serve, provided you respect the life you’re given and the life around you. Desperation is a mirage. Get your spoon.

Cancer- The pineapple was the first bromeliad to hit the “New World”. Wowee wow wow! Wait… wtf? A bromeliad is a type of plant-- totally irrelevant. And I hate to harp on the fruits of the “New World” becoming the base for the tyranny of the “old world”, but here’s yet another example of something to NOT be credited to the “west”. Anyhowdy, if you eat pineapple, your sexy time juices will smell and taste better, the opposite of eating asparagus, caffeine, or straight motor oil--- again, totally irrelevant. Point is, they were named pineapple because they resemble pinecones. And then you cut’em open and they got fruit! What a remarkable bromeliad!--- that, technically, was indigenous to south america, and deemed valuable by cultures with no moral guidance, as was everything the “old world” sought, including people.And again with the harping… I say, merge the buddha with the pineapple, and your world will be new again, and you will taste divine.

Leo- What purpose does cruelty serve? Who is its greater master? Probably not Satan, these days he too busy surfing the Napali coast with Loki because evil is so rampant among us regular humans. Evolution is a cruel mistress. It is thru cruelty that we evolve. Imagine how many of our ancestors were taken over by foreign invaders. All of them. Every culture that has ever lived, with some small exceptions based on geographic isolation,  have either been conquered or been conquerors. We are the genetic offspring of people that either by force or occasionally peace, have merged with 'the other', the tribe across the way ho is different from us and threatens our survival. Cultural isolationism simply cannot exist. Cruelty, therefore, must serve a higher purpose. Maybe not whatever the hell god is (no pun intended or achieved),  but to our greater purpose. Divine and conquer. Then coagulate. The pendulum is ever swinging, both cruel to be kind and kind of cruel. What time is it where you are? And what purpose do you serve?

Virgo- The Old Lady Paradox is two fold while on the path of destiny. You’re hanging out, maybe in a nail salon or a friend’s Scottish bathtub (don’t ask, but yeah, it’s outdoors), when you notice an old lady in a parked car sitting in the passenger seat, with her head leaning against the window in a rictus that my eyes decry as not so alive. And the windows are up. The “good samaritan” (a highly suspect phrase considering our habit of repeating history) inside you could tap on the window and check on granny’s state of undeadness. Undeadedness? Anyhowdy, if you do tap on the window and scare granny into a coronary thrombosis, and she drops dead, and the family sues you for a million years and you spend your remaining years living with trolls in Ballona Creek, near a warehouse that smells eerily of bacon and tears. Grampa surely will be out any second, and his wife is probably fine. Don’t fall for the paradox. There is a third option. Kirk it.

Libra- Full disclosure, I'm a dude and I've got a johnson, and sometimes when I pee, I flush before I’m done. It’s a race against the physics of the toilet. In a guest bathroom, the race is even more exciting because I’m unfamiliar with the nuances of its foreign flush. If a second flush is needed, I feel the guilt-- the wasting of water, all in the name of pointless etiquette, and yes, I did eat a “buttload” of asparagus jello shots earlier and this could be considered a state of emergency. The next thing I know, FEMA shows up with matching funds that help divert my excess urine, until a future time when we use futuristic sea shells to clean our backsides… or holographic bidets™. How insane that we flush perfectly potable water in uncountable gallons simply to avoid smelly pee, and/or unusually large art movements, unpredictable ones like Picasso’s blue period, or Van Gogh’s earless era, or the mish mash of Warhol realism that mocks the bubble we blow around ourselves vainly attempting to protect us from a well intentioned multiverse. I suggest you pee out loud. Pee out free. Pee with impunity and righteousness for those who can’t pee at all. Open your fly to the possibilities.

Scorpio- Discretion is a higher octave of valor, not the running of your fat mouth to the delight of all who would mock and calumniate, branding you a snitch, a rat, a loose lipper and sinker of shippers: a slipper and subtle knave, a finder of occasions, that has an eye that can stamp and counterfeit advantage though true advantage never present itself. Or so I heard. However—balls on the table here: I’m not telling you to shut up, even if you need to be told that, which isn’t my decision to make; so grow up—I’m not your mommy nor your master. Theoretically, a wise person speaks slowly, with direction of intention, and sans a suicidal scuttling of one’s own ship on rocks of desperation and crushing loneliness. Neither am I saying you should speak freely, afraid of no consequence save the fear of using a friend’s toilet that breaks on you right in the middle of a serious art movement, refusing to flush, because the chain isn’t attached to the rubber thingy. I am saying to use the bathroom now though, because it’s a long ride to the higher octaves.

Sagittarius- The time when the frontier still existed flashed like a green sunset, burning brightly my retinas; and newly emboldened, my compadres and I grabbed our sporks, and set forth for check out lane number three, not realizing that the coalescence of our land-lubbing fears and need for an ego-istical clean and jerk, replete with unflattering squats and groin ripping, was waiting for us outside. Our direction is up, towards the stars. Not away from the earth, but out, towards new islands, where we may spread our seed like ferns, the first colonizers of remote islands. We are embodied spores, traversing the ‘verse as far as we can, regardless of sagacity or forethought. Leap and the net will invent itself, said the spider to the future. I am destiny, and each moment I create anew. The now may resemble the past, but it is I who emboldens the next matrix. Even if I have to throw out the old one. Go ahead, erase the board. A new one will appear.

Capricorn- Nuts to this, I said, and I lay me down in a field of azure stars and pontiac peaceful coexistence. I spurn the forced bondage of the free will of the market and corporate robot monsters that often exceed a healthy appetite. I want to be turned towards mine own intentions, not ripped asunder from them. The unholy foulness would have me suck down the Ganges from peak to sea, my gullet dumbly agape. But not I. Never, I. My question will not beg the questioner, I am moved to radicalize, disenfranchise, and repudiate my righteous anger regarding the slow moving pathwise horse plop that’s designed to slow my progress and fetter my mind to paltry isms and modalities that benefit only an elite few. But now I lay me down ‘mongst azure stars, making my environs a product of me, of my choosing, my god, my sight, my self.

Aquarius- I jibber an/or jabber a lot about esoteric baloney,  pretty much whenever the mood hits me. It’s usually during sexy party time when normal people don’t talk about anything, except sexy time soft nothings whispered sweetly into my--- whoa, Nelly…   Point is, I’m always out of sync, whatever sync is. I’m backwards ass backwards can be. Unless I only think I’m out of sink. Wait, no, not kitchen sink sexy time, but sync, as in syncopation, as in the rhythm of the sex of life. I’m in the river. I am the river, and I’m bending like a reed, going with the flow… and not stepping in my own poop, which I hope isn’t on the floor. I can’t be that far gone. At least let me keep my Pants on! Deep breath. Ohm. Magic baloney. Ohm and let go. Ohm and let go. The river is as long as it is deep.

Pisces- The Omnipresent Goat Machine™ is a device which-- wait, scratch that… will someday be in every house in the land. Some houses may even have two. And no, I don’t have a clue what it does, but it sure sounds nifty. I assume it has something to do with psychotropic goat telepathy, or maybe a way to get milk from the future, or maybe something J. Edgar was into funding back during the good old days when war was cold to balance our post war fever. I may never get around to actualizing my goat-tastic vision, but for me it’s more about picking a starting point. A launch pad. And then my creation will form from the space around it, creating something never before dreamt of, even though the sun insists it has nothing new under its skirts. Imagine, and it will come.