Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

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

                                   

disclaimer: Satire is our best system for ferreting out the jerks and image conscious who believe satire is for their benefit.

this week!: Her reaction is immediate and palpable. I tell her that I love her. Instantaneously she blushes, her emotions set afire and her skin growing red like the sea that I have high hopes of parting.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: FARD. No, it’s not a fart donut. It can be used as a noun and a verb. Look it up. Learn something from that expensive smart phone you’re paying for.

Aries- The moving picture has taken our evolution down a dangerous path of deforestation and melting ice. One that is fraught with inevitable abuse, over use and the potential to de-magnetize our imaginations. Movies and video games take us into another reality, like a drug, like an opiate, a kind nepenthe and respite from the realities of a competitive society, where “I” “believe” I have some modicum of control; despite being spoon fed the shadow corporate’s elixir, that’s clinically proven to subsume my will, and focus grouped to form my opinions. Granted, one could argue favorably for homologousness, especially in a world governed by resources that are becoming more difficult to mine safely or economically. Yet, we cannot all be totally unique because the fabric of society could break apart, if our needs and wants were not mutually agreed upon. There’s a balance somewhere, a way to split the difference. Help us find it.

Taurus- Even scientists have a way of copping out. It’s called ignoramus et ignorabimus, which translates to ‘we do not know and will not know’. Basically give up, go home, and let’s watch Star Trek. Yes, the original series, you know my feelings on that subject, it’s clearly the best, comparable only to the films Star Trek II, III, IV, and VI. Any rate, point is, duh, and duh-erer. I call bullcrap on scientists. Everything is definable, figure-outtable, and probably tastes like chicken. We just haven’t gotten there yet. Ergotherefore&whatnot, we’re just ignoramuses. Ignoramusi? We do not know—at least for the present. What I do know now is that the needs of the many do not always outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one. Fuck it, Dude, let’s go watch some Trek.

Gemini- “And the men who hold high places / must be the ones who start / to mold a new reality / closer to the heart. Trickle down compassion maybe? With great power comes great responsibility and we’ve relished and reveled in our power, but with no appreciation for the Source. The source of the multiverse, which is complete and total love, despite the ravages of day to day existence, whose ultimate toll is unknown, save for an incarnate reaper who escorts us, though ragged and blind and bodiless, through ether towards our next string, our energy traveling the ‘verse, till we are met and unified, life without end and peace without war. If you wake up in the next life a powerful magnate, wielder of influential wands, please remember your place in the slime from which we all arose, and speak softly and compassionately, and leave your big stick at home.

Cancer- There’s a field somewhere, I think it’s in the highlands, and in the springtime, there’s flowers everywhere, colour without end; it’s like life is just bursting, overjoyed to be free of a cold winter’s sleep. And that’s why the idea of god is a good one, despite its inherent flaws. Ideas are the matrix of our evolution, the roadmap, which we are creating in every new moment, the future uncertain, though potentially predictable, despite the uncertainty of timespace substratum. Anyhowdy, up in the highlands, is where we can pass time together, amidst fields of flowers doused with warm sargassic winds, new atlantic energy from whence and previous, all was frozen. The idea of god had been waiting for us in hibernation, now we get to decide what to do with it in full bloom.

Leo- What I expect to come out of your mouth is never the same as what actually does. Don’t get me wrong, your impetuousness of mouth is a respectable quality, and your tongue is indeed footed of fleetness. Neverthehayho®, I am saying that foot in mouth makes breath smell like feet. I know you would rather poop in your own shoes than censor you wagging tongue, but consider brief interludes of lip biting and zipped lipping. The more you let people talk; they will reveal their deepest secrets to you. Not in a creepy be-my-naked-therapist-and-lover kind of way, but because you’re likeable and you smell good, and I’m reasonably certain that you’ve haven’t handled any raw pork recently. Listening is the greatest gift you have the power to give. Use it often and unsparingly.

Virgo- You asked for it, so here’s step by step instructions on how to drive me into the loony bin and steal my secret fortune, which I keep hidden inside the toilet tank. Step1: take the songs My Sharona and Rock the Casbah, and play them in a loop, turn it up to eleven and force my eardrums open with needles and pins Clockwork style until my brain bleeds. I don’t care what you say, those songs are annoying and murderous. Step 2: get me started on people who take up two parking spaces because they’re either lazy, dickish or stupid. I could have parked right there, but instead I have to walk three blocks to my house. Thirdandstuff, cajole and coerce me into six shots of cinnamon liqueur, preferably during karaoke while someone sings a medley of My Sharona and Rock the Casbah. Cinnamon liqueur turns my brain inside out—genetic abnormality, long story, some chromosome crap, anyhowdy, enjoy my treasure and thanks for all the fish.

Libra- As opposed to side A, which is a tape of the Venice League Championships 1986, side B… is Bob. Just Bob. I don’t know what the hell 45 minutes of Bob could be, but I tell you what—the Dude knows. And I take comfort in knowing that the Dude is out there takin’ it easy for all us sinners. Shush. Don’t speak. It will only ruin things. I won’t speak either and we’ll just ride off into the sunset, knowing that we did some good here today. And I happen to know that there’s a little Lebowski on the way. Get ready, you’re about to eat the bar. Or the bear. Either way, you’re boss, the honcho of honchos, that certain je ne sais quoi, you’re the BIG Lebowski, and we’re gonna roll our way into the semis. And yes, we can hit the In N Out on Radford. Some burgers, beers, a few laughs, etc. Our troubles are over, Dude.

Scorpio- So, I have this red bottle opener, pretty simple, nothing fancy and/or noteworthy. Astonishing history it has though; the metal and refining that it took centuries, nay millennia, to produce, all the way back from our simian ancestors roaming african plains and olduvian gorges, who had to dig-- after a millennia of learning to dig, then inventing fire, then separating and smelting and reforming and reshaping; inventing non lethal long term liquid storage, fermentation and carbonation, distillation and cultivation, not to mention societal glue and advanced thumb manipulation. Long journey, no? Best part is, on the back of the red bottle opener, it has a warning label that reads, Not Intended for Children. For now, let’s assume the moral of this blathering is that we should reintroduce smelting back into the elementary school curriculum, lest we forget from whence we came.

Sagittarius- George Dzunda and M. Emmet Walsh are the real deal. And yes, their names are super cool, but more importantly, the latter (or his doppelganger) I saw driving up La Brea years ago. He was driving a beat up old hatchback, and I thought, hey that’s the guy from Blood Simple, not to mention the diving coach from Back to School. Neat. And George Dzunda--- always the best friend/partner who inevitably gets killed, like in Basic Instinct, No Way Out, and a little film called The Rape of Richard Beck… granted, just a tv movie, but a fine lesson on what happens when Richard Crenna gets raped. This week, enjoy the mild ride of the best friend co-star role. The pay is decent, especially if you get syndicated, and there’s way fewer lines to memorize. Upsize your downtime a tad and enjoy.

Capricorn- Apollonian decay, or so they say, is a delight to revel in as you swill your day away. Isn’t science beautiful, that it can describe in exquisite detail such frivolous timedoogles®. I’m speaking, of course about the mathematics of beer foam. Yeast eats sugar and poops out CO2, which under pressure “bonds” with the liquid, which releases back into a region of lower pressure as soon as you pop that top. As the beer sits open and preferably poured into a cold mug, made preferably of glass, tinier and tinier bubbles of CO2 escape the beer, head skyward to make foam, or head if you prefer. I mean, we all like good head. Point is, we should open a microbrewery together, and sell the most scientfical beer ever made-- Future Beer®! Soon we will watch bubbles rise in our beers on top of a pile of future money!

Aquarius- Yeah, it’s autumn in “new” york, but it’s springtime in Cali. You should be girding your loins for their imminent freedom. Sadly, they’ve seen little shaking, almost no hula-hooping, nary much of any-thing fun inducing. The fault line that runs from your crotch to your forehead is due for some heavy quaking and tembloring. The landscape is about to shift. However, forewarned is forearmed, not forsaken. Stock up on lotions, lubes, hot cop lingerie, lacy underwear, viking outfits with all the leather trimmings, or whatever other kinky stuff used to float your boat back when you were actually in the water having fun for fun’s sake. The new land will be fruitful and you will multiply. Your time in the demilitarized zone is up and you’re to be released on your own recognizance in a mucho rapido approaching moment. It will happen in a flash when you stop paying attention. 

Pisces- If I thought you could handle it without becoming a flight risk, I would tell you how much I want to hug the stuffing out of you. But you get defensive and mistrustful, probably because of all the destructive inefficacy of interpersonal love claimants and their inevitable courtroom outbursts that get silenced by teams of super steroid bailiffs, armed with genital tasers and heart squeezing tongs that bleed you dry as a stone. But hey-- you can keep your stuffing. As long as I have gravy, I’m cool. The turkey is the main attraction here anyway. In the fowl supreme courts of the future (after the inevitable invasion of giant space emus, sometime in March of 2017), just before you’re convicted by an avian jury of your peers and sentenced to serving time in the oven, I’ll surf in on a river gravy and turkey drippings, and snatch you away to safety. Fear not, there will be gravy.