disclaimer: Satire’s head is ever bobbling, much like my e.a.p. bestowed by my p.h.k., on this pallid bust of Pallas…etc, etc.
this week: What else can we flavor with bacon?!
Doc P’s Word of the Week: absquatulate—I’m so obsessed with this word, I want to elope with it.
Aries- Insects love to fornicate. For example, the average spider can lay up to 3000 eggs. And ironically, I find myself saving spiders that I find in my house and letting them go outside in the hopes that some karmic payback will hit me and I’ll get to be enlightened in the next life. Or at least rich. While the chances of that are fat indeed, sometimes I just squash and flush that sucker to a watery grave. The balance of the multiverse must be more complex than a simpleton’s view of karma or kismet. There’s 3000 baby spiders because most of them get eaten by predators and squashed by unfeeling jerks like me. There’s plenty more spiders where that one came from, right? We’re not in a spider shortage, right? If I were you, I would try to take away from this tangent the fact that killing spiders has helped the evolution of our understanding of made up crap like karma or kismet or fate. This is all a dream. And you’re in control.
cough. read pisces. cough, hack, etc. and probably virgo. and taurus for good ‘measure’.
Taurus- As if I hadn’t already contributed to the world’s palette enough, here goes this little doozy: it’s a little cocktail I call, The Monkey’s Paw®. It’s got bourbon and something else yummy, and it comes with… a monkey’s paw. It also comes with a curse. The paw gives you three wishes, but using wishes to circumvent the curse is against the rules, otherwise you’d keep on wishing forever, and the paw is simply too busy for your indolent imaginarium® and impacificable® wandering tastes. Maybe you should just order a beer instead. Right now, you just need to find one thing to focus on. I hereby steal this (mostly because it’s public domain): If wishes were horses / beggars would ride / if turnips were watches / I would wear one by my side / and if if’s and an’s were pots and pans / the tinker would never work. If you will it, it is no dream. Find your center and go from there.
Gemini- Christmas Island is knee deep in boobies. Boobies of all flavors and sizes! The red-footed booby is my personal favorite, but the brown booby and the blue-footed booby are hella fun at parties—they get soooo wasted. The one to be wary of is the masked booby, named for obvious lone ranger reasons. One time a troop of masked boobies tried to conquer nearby australia, which was the inspiration for Hitchcock’s The Birds. Point is, I’m a big booby fan. And then there’s the vampire finch, one of Darwin’s favorites. They like to peck at the hides of boobies until they bleed and then they drink the blood. They’re also immortal. My thoughts in ascending order: 1) boobies are awesome, but not too bright, 2) beware bloodsucking avians, and 3) I see boobies in your future—a veritable buttload of boobies. Love them and protect them from an undead future.
Cancer- The fine line between hokum and bunkum is often made more blurry by hillbilly claptrap and hayseed humbuggery colloquially spoke by yokels and hoosiers staking out the back woods and waters of entrenched points of view that are mired in a morass of ignorance and outmoded belief systems, probably caused by shallow gene pools where diving is rarely discouraged, and often engendered. Bunko, banco, and osso bucco should be your watchwords this week, friend-o. 1) root out the defilers of grace with the full arm of righteous law, 2) continue rooting and find the root of their scheme, hint: language is always the key, and 3) sit down, have a nice meal and get a good sleep, for hokum and/or bunkum await… let’s say, sun-up around next wednesday.
Leo- The licentious slander in your eyes is paralleled only by the star studded sexuality that flows directly from your ocean deeps and into mine eyes, where it fills my soul like a balloon, you the air and I, the shape. There it gestates, and grows larger till I can barely hold it, and the thought of your cleansing of my aura of all the ills and sins of the past, as well as the ones I will most definitely commit in the future—it’s all I can do to not kiss you full on the lips and pull you towards me, into and onto me. I am not one for false protestations or dastardly oaths made before breakfast and after the moon’s mid night setting. There is so much life force in you that your touch and attention would transmogrify me. I assume you’re inundated with worshippers at your temple mount and lollygaggers on your rolling hills. Your beingness is superior and I await your invitation for oneness, but know that the kiss is yours to give.
Virgo- The first abomination began with Abraham Lincoln as a vampire killer. Then it became my kosmic kindred E.A. Poe being portrayed by John Cusack as a not chronically depressed writer who lost his wife, but rather as a swashbuckler. And I only grant the new Sherlock Holmes portrayal leniency because Downey Jr. is so freakin good, and yeah it would be cool if nerds could fight. But with Poe I take offence because he’s my brother from another century. If I may borrow some awesome 80’s style action lines-- this time it’s personal. Poe didn’t need tag lines. But that’s art, right? Even if it just means more boom boxes for John to hold aloft and steal my heart. And in the end, don’t we mythologize the past exponentially more as the distance of time becomes fuzzy, parallaxed, and red shifted? Once the context is gone, all we’re left with is the legend: wooden teeth, chopped cherry trees, betsy ross and star spangled jingoism. The world is too large to keep in our present consciousness, and we cannot contain all of its information. But, I dare you to try.
Libra- Our war against ice: posit: for millions of years, the earth has been making ice, and storing it up around the poles, presumably for some future purpose. Maybe earth is where all the other planets come for cocktails. Anyhowdy, along come humans who eventually, after a millennia of trying, finally learn how to make ice on their own, in a device that adds heat and CO2 to the atmo, thereby speeding along the melting of all the earth’s ice that it’s been saving for the big cosmic cocktail party next friday. (invites went out late, sorry—all Neptune’s fault) Then, we invent the Titanic, our strongest weapon against the planets’ happy hour plans. Tell the moon and hangers on, like one-eyed Jupiter, to take a short hike into a long wormhole. We’re ramming this berg at full speed and having a party of our own, this time in the desert with man-made ice. Posit: reverse engineer, conceptualize, and end your conflict.
Scorpio- Lifeforce: A space commander and a scotland yard inspector search for a naked vampire loose in London. I wish I could make this crap up. 1985 was a great year for movies. And luckily for Patrick Stewart, the Picard job was just around the corner. Naked vampires. Brilliant. Unfortunately, not the sexy kind of naked vampires. Mostly animatronic corpse-like things that growled a lot. Shockingly, it did not do well at the box office; especially considering the film it was up against—a little Opie-iffic gem starring the inimitable Steve Gutenberg (which I believe means ‘nice town’ in my understanding of sie deutsch), called Cocoon. Why did we have to scare away the aliens who had a pool that gives you boners? Why?? Point is, that same director also brought us such joy as the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Body Bags, and my favorite, The Mangler. Ergo, you should find something lame and deliciously disgusting and make it live. cough. ahem. read leo.
Sagittarius- Tele-vision: it’s a vision being transported to you in some ethereal fashion that is actually common science, and completely mesmerizing. The more paranoid among us would classify it a controller of population, a despot and a manipulator. But that’s assuming that there is a singular force acting upon society toward some single minded and likely self serving sociopathic goal; that of mind control intended for some nefarious purpose. To no balder dash have I e’er been witness to. Evolution’s matrix is far too complex for one societal force to control ALL of us. Just ask China. We are evolving together as a myriad, as a weird disparate collective. Irregardless, I advise you to turn off the idiot box for the duration of the summer. Clear your mind of the overly influential, those with too much money and no inside voice. It is your vision that should be streaming through the airwaves.
Capricorn- I don’t want to piss you off, but you’re going to die. Someday. You will also be reborn. Probably as a monkey with huge red genitals. Then you will die again. But after that, you’re a sports car-- a lime green Italian one. And, then scrap metal, after a fiery crash on PCH in the year 1973. Yeah, it’s weird; being reborn doesn’t follow a linear time scale. Sometimes you live another life in a time that already happened, before, sort of. It’s also possible that you exist in this time in more than one form. And hopefully, you’ll get to meet yourself. And fingers crossed—you’ll even know that it’s you that you’re meeting, and some holy vibe will course through both of you and the purpose of a greater plan for your soul(s?) will come to light. Man meets ape meets ‘god’. However, based on your current numbers of red assed encounters, probably not gonna happen. Instead, have a cocktail and pray for a preponderance of pretty palaver proffered by passionate propositioners providing piquant epiphanies in primitive positions.
Aquarius- Ad infinauseum® is a concept I invented, hence the trademark and the italics, so feel free to use it. Just don’t piss me off by exploiting my wordliness®, and getting rich on zazzle.com selling t-shirts with my cleverness on them. Any rate, it means the incessant nausea that accompanies the interminable silliness that this universe insists on shoving up my palette on a regular basis. The question is this: if I want my environment to be a product of me, then what the hell am I doing in pajamas at 2pm, watching reruns from an era when there were actually westerns on television; and thinking about the quickest escape route to a tropical island where I can start my own commune and commune with the world in my own way. The nauseum stems from my environment making a monkey out of me. But then… I make myself a white russian to cure my nausea, and I get down to work. Time to build, time to invent, and time to eat the bar.
Pisces- Nihilism is exhausting. And say what you want about the tenets of national socialism, at least it’s an ethos. Nihilism is cowardice. And anarchy is no way to run a railroad. The natural order of things is just that—order. And then some new order, and then re-order, and then order again, and for the heck of it, keep ordering till the cows come home to roost. Order upon order upon ad infinauseum®. Even buddhism gets boring. I found enlightenment a while back, and frankly, it’s not that great. It’s a lot of dudes in robes that really need a shower. And it’s a good thing some forced labor made those temples so durable. The ascension of our souls takes physical labor, not just the slow imaginary unfolding of our consciousness into a ‘verse that has already been there and done that. Here and now, Dude. Abide.
No comments:
Post a Comment