Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

 

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                    

                                 

disclaimer: Satire is full of surprises. For example: Boooo!

this week: I’m not telling you what’s up this week. Grow up and figure it out for yourself.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: bloviate. Moi? Never.

Aries-  The appendix. Not the thing that no one ever checks at the back of a book, but the weird little peanut shaped organ of mystery that confounds us to this day. Is it vestigial, a remnant of a world gone by; where perhaps the one thing that saved humans from extinction was this unassuming organ? Maybe it used to be really big and do all kinds of cool stuff. One theory says that when our diets had a lot more plants in it, that the appendix secreted sexy time gastric juices to help digest all that cellulose. Then we domesticated livestock, animal husbandry and sexy time with cows and sheep, and the appendix got outsourced, and the kidney took its job, it being far superior at filtering out all those proteins that were embiggening our brains. And there’s two of them in case one gets lost. I advise you consider all of your vestigials, be they psychically inured or lying in wait somewhere in your colon, just waiting for the right moment to burst. You don’t have to shave down and operate, but keep focused, and don’t eat or drink after midnight.

Taurus- The best person for any job is someone who is efficiently lazy. Someone who knows that in order to get back to moon-eyed indolence and smoking doobies while catching up on Tivo, or what I call, Weedvo®, is that you have to work. Certain sacrifices are necessary in order to maintain the ‘lifestyle’. Dillying and/or dallying often require cash. One also needs a place in which to perform such tarrying and burning of daylight. Gotta pay rent. It’s all about balance. Work just hard enough to afford the maximum goof off time. The efficient lazy person will get a job done correctly and in the shortest amount of time possible. It’s just math. Get your crap done, you silly billy, so we can party; le discotheque closes at 930.

Gemini- The Organ of Bojanus and the Organ of Bo Jangles are totally separate entities—trust me. The former is the ersatz excretory kidney in most earth mollusks. Mmmmmm, sautéed and dipped in butter = mouthgasm®. The Organ of Bo Jangles, on the other bivalve, is the organ responsible for turning oyster juice into sexy time hormones and boner fluid, after a quick ten minute oil and lube job. Oysters are rich in zinc—a boon to sperm production, but if that doesn’t fill your sails, then try some deer penis, or ambergris, maybe some avocado, or my personal favorite cow cod soup. Nothing gets my motor humming like a bowl of jamaican cow testicle soup. I recommend you get in touch with your favorite organs and juice ’em till they hum and dinger at just the perfect pitch. Keep your instruments tuned, Bo-- in case you get a gig, you dig?

Cancer- We should live at the equator, you and I, where the evenings are spread out against the sky, like when we lived as equals; parts of the whole, an unbreakable bread that could survive even the coldest of wars and still nourish us. As I’m thinking of you, I’m penetrating the starriest skies in search of your highest climes, which stretch ethereally into space, beyond the fabric of mere spacetime. You reach the deepest deeps of space that the ‘verse can create; material made of god silk and muddled strawberry souls; it’s a fireball that races from axon to thought to intention to my lips and out to thine ears which hear naught but foolish protestations of faith, and a slurry of boasts that are neither true nor blunderless. At the equator, there is balance, always equal day and night, and my thirst for you balanced by a more gently tilted earth.

Leo- Kowtow: turns out, not Indian with either dot or feather. That’s right, you heard my writing; not my usual style of vaguely insulting political correctness that breathes just a hint of elderberry wine and uber subtle passive aggressiveness, which I attribute to my voracious gene pool that tries to subsume everything in sight in order to survive what is surely an onslaught of pernicious--- Wait, what the fudge? Sidetrack. Kowtow. It means laying prostrate before a chinese emperor. I would have thought cowtow, and it was Indian; you know, the whole sacred cow thing, which at least that expression makes sense from a bovine point of view; and I know that chinaman is not the proper nomenclature-- asian american, please; these aren’t the guys who built the railroad, they—crap, off the rails on a crazy train again. Point is, you don’t know everything. Also be wary of kamikaze seagulls, for they are abound and vengeful.

Virgo- Armadillos prefer the missionary position. Who knew? So vanilla, right? Eagles on the other hand are ass kickers in the sack, or rather the air. Dig your spoon into this: once two eagles decide they like each other enough to take things to the next level, like finding a nice aerie together in a gentrifying soon-to-be-upcoming neighborhood, the eagles fly as high as they can (which has been reported as high as 15,000 feet!), then they lock talons, get their sexy time junk all into each others’ cloacae or whatever, and start plummeting. The entire time they’re having bird sex, they’re falling to the earth. They hold it till the last possible second, and then fly apart before they crash into a mountain. Definitely not vanilla. I would advise you split the difference between the armadillo and the eagle; no need to injure yourself. And remember to stretch first.

Libra- Let’s talk nitty, we’ll get to gritty in a second. Is it better to fake remember someone from your past, or to look them right in the eye and say, no, I have no clue who the hell you are, and fyi, I might be feeling a little threatened right now. Should I spare that person’s feelings, in case they might feel hurt that I don’t remember someone from a million years ago? Is it really sparing their feelings? I could just play dumb and blame my memory loss on brain spasms. Or donut lung. Or how about, hey I’m highly medicated—I’m on four drugs! Who are you? Now, here’s the gritty: I say, ‘fake it till thou makest it’. Leap and the net will appear. (insert tertiary pithy phrase here) And fourth estately, remembering that random person from 19somethingsomething, is in effect a way to remember who you are, and were, and maybe if you’re lucky, who you will be. Pay attention and fear no etiquette. 

Scorpio- Here’s something of mild interest, probably only to me, but nonethenevertheless: in the “final” Clouseau movie, Trail of the Pink Panther, David Niven was getting on in years and didn’t have a strong enough voice to loop his dialog, so they got Rich Little to do it. I think it’s a nifty little factoid, probably utterly useless, unless you’re the weirdo that’s been stalking Rich Little. In the future, everyone will have at least one stalker, not just famous people. In fact, I’m thinking of hiring a stalker just to get into practice. Kind of like Clouseau hired that asian butler to try to kill him all the time. Weird, huh, how things wrap around, even though you and I both thought I was going somewhere else with this. Nonethenevertheless, find something mildly interesting, and stalk the hell out of it. There are depths of weirdness to even the simplest of things.

Also: virgo and cancer. And probably pisces. Deal with it.

Sagittarius- You are sex magic, and the illegal medicine for my dysfunction. You are a primer in bedroom ethics, with an nth degree from Crowley’s madhouse of dirty private practices that would make even a stripper blush. No, don’t be embarrassed about what you’re into. Enjoy the crap out of it. Don’t tell me about it though, and keep your curtains closed, but go ahead and relish in whatever manner of depravity you desire. If it wasn’t depraved, you probably wouldn’t want to do it. Me? Vanilla ice cream and flat 7-Up is all I can handle. But you—you’re a sexy insatiable beast. And you smell incredible. Is that pork? Yes pork and… lilac, amazing. Teach others what you have learned.

Capricorn- The worst thing about the 1986 film, Eye of the Tiger, starring Gary Busey and Yaphet Kotto, is that there are so many awesome things about it that I cant pick just one best thing. A) Gary Busey = brilliant; plus he’s in Point Break, so shut the F up. B) Yaphet Kotto—cool enough to be in the first Roger Moore Bond picture and Midnight Run. And his name is Yaphet Kotto. Amazeballs. C) there’s a bunch of fight scenes and a gang of motorcycle toughs, and of course, Gary Busey is the only one who will stand up to terror, which is what we all want, right-- the courage to leap without hesitation, jump on the grenade, eat that questionable burrito left in a slightly unsealed zip-lock bag from maybe as long as a week ago, and most importantly, look directly into the ‘eye of the tiger’ and sing out loud, sing out freely, the sound of your soul, trumpeting stageward with the ego of Olivier and the genius of Yankovic. To be or not, Duderino. Eye of the tiger and amazeballs to the wall.

ps: read leo, or I’ll poop in your shoes while you sleep.

Aquarius- Here’s why I know how aquarians think. A) people see us as disorganized and chaotic; amok, to use the parlance of our time, ergo: B) we organize the “stuff” in our life according to where we last left it. And henceforth, C) when we need it again, it will be where we last left it, which is how we remember it. D) whether it’s a curse or a blessing, we remember just about everything, thanks to our holographic memories. Bassackwardsly, it makes us seem like geniuses. Frontwise, wow—maybe we should be medicated. Our cleverness is indemnified thru Lloyds of London. Hell, we’re certifiable. What’s next? Hamburger earmuffs? Bipartisanship? Affordable health care?? A Segway that travels through time?? QED: we’re not crazy, we’re just ahead of everyone else.

Also: go six up and read that. Do as I say and no one gets hurt.

Pisces- You don’t have to be an atheist to turn me on. And I’m not implying that I’m a deist of any sort. The what and why of god is evolutionary in form and function, and it’s hard wired into our brains. For now, science is my religion. It explicates things that we observe, granted from our own biased point of view. The universal perspective hasn’t hit our part of the galaxy yet. Perhaps in a thousand years, we will worship science, and take the guessing out of the spin of the wheel or the toss of a die. Our neurons may even be sending completely different chemicals to and fro (up yours, dopamine!), according to the dictates of Moore’s Law and the randomness of genetic drift; godheads drifting like tectonic plates. You don’t have to be an atheist to turn me on. You just have to show up.