Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

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

                                                        

disclaimer: Satire, like a dragon’s mind, floats ever higher on wings made from the darkest of matter, creating the deepest of space.

this week: damaging effects are usually helpful in the long run, despite appearances.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: scapegrace. Princess Leia’s favorite.

Aries- When applied to relationships, does the term ‘mutually exclusive’ mean that two people can’t be individuals and be dualistic, simultaneously? Monothematic, and not divergent? Do couples take on a new dimension of personality, becoming one person of two minds; and depending on the level of attachment to one’s independent mindedness, cease and desist all commerce and chattels, upon ordinances set forth by powers we cannot explain, but who to rule us arbitrarily and at times, without mercy? We spend so much time developing who we think we are, as a self governing autocracy, that to give in to the demands of another, combining forces, while sacrificing “certain freedoms”, becomes an apocryphal anathema akin to self immolation and denial of self that usually results in botched marriages and unintended consequences. I suppose the only real answer is, that you’ll know when you know. Chillax your faith.

Taurus- Cripes, Michael Bey pisses me off. In an age when we can scientifically explain almost anything, there is no need to dumb down sc-fi movies with crap that makes Arthur Clarke roll over in his grave. In the “movie” The Island, the future society makes clones so that we can have fresh organs in case I drink my liver to an early demise. The clones don’t know they’re clones, and the main “theme” (as if Bey is creditable with such dramatic necessities as either story or theme) is that the clones find out they’re clones and try to escape. Movie negating problem number one: if our technology has achieved human cloning, surely we can clone just a liver, or just a heart. Cloning whole personalities with independent drives and wants and needs will only lead to conflict. Science is not ignorantly shortsighted. Science, unlike Bey, is logical. My advice to you: Don’t be a Bey. False realities will only slow your progress and piss people off.

Gemini- What it is exactly that Meatloaf won’t do for love is up for debate. The list of what he will do is long and tedious, and seemingly endless; all totaled it is a twelve minute song. But if he’ll do nearly anything, what is the final caveat? Wtf is that one thing, that even Meatloaf would say no to? A guy like Meatloaf doesn’t seem to have a lot of boundaries. I would ask Michael Bey, who directed the music video, but I doubt his knowledge of anything, considering the outrageous iniquities and dumb plot points in The Island. Point is, that grey area confounds things every time. X is always true, unless Y = grey scale, and thus what he won’t do is limited to what ultimately does her no harm. Hippocratic rule number one: Do no harm. Rule number two: attempt to make happy all things feminine, who’ve been subjugated by an ignorant past.

Cancer- There is evil under the sun, and Hercule Poirot, the famous belgian detective will figure it out. And while I doubt that Belgian is a real language, I do not doubt that in league with the likes of Miss Marple, Remington Steele, Charlie Chan, Nero Wolfe, Johnathan Ames, Phillip Marlowe, Encyclopedia Brown, Clouseau, Dirk Gently, Magnum, and Ace Ventura, their grey matter, quick work will be made of a case based mostly on hearsay and falderalic heiresses with convenient alibis; and in the meanwhile, fully embarrass the bungling local constabulary. Lestrade, you are a buffoon! Oh, fudge… what if the confederacy of dunces that abound are the reason that superior detective logic prevails? What if the idiots point the wrong way, so that I can see the right way? What if they are Judas and I am on a fool’s errand? Be the shamus and find the evil.

Leo- According to the Yauch Institute, it is legal using any necessary force, in order to fight for your right to party. No one is going to give it to you. You must wrest control from the anti partiers who would seek to restrain your libidinous gyrating paroxysms of pleasure and saturnalia. It’s right there in the our Constitution via the Kiss Party of the 18^th century, that the these rights are inalienable: life, liberty, and the pursuit of rocking and/or rolling and partying every day, not just some days, but all of the days. You feel like Wanging a little Chung? Put some in your mouth and brace yourself for the onslaught. You want to bang on the drum all day? It’s your destiny made manifest. Bite the apple and free the animal. Adam approves.

Virgo- The Milwaukee Brewers know how to run a sausage race. Before you decry the implied imagery of sausagian eugenics, and the inherent ethical dilemmas, allow me to explicate. Klement’s Sausage Company sells their meats at Miller Park, and during home games five people dress up in sausage costumes and try to outrun each other, much to the delight of screaming children and sausage eating, beer swilling Milwaukeeans. As an aside, yes, the bratwurst character is named Brett. However, my top concern is the Chorizo. His sausage character wears a sombrero and dons a healthy Pancho Villa mustache. Originally a mid-westerner, I understand how political correctness is generally ignored, and/or mishandled. Wisconsin is generally as white as its cheese. Percentagewise, humanity is in a process of futuristic homogenization, and it will take more time before Wisconsinites understand that the sombrero and the Mexican are not synonymous. Be patient. The Lennon Ideals® are in transit.

Libra- Dahl found Bux, and Sugar was created. Kuda Bux was an Indian mystic who refined the practice of seeing without his eyes. He would cover his eyes with soft balls of dough and wrap his head in cloths, until his pedestrian sight was utterly obfuscated, and he would divinely and accurately “see” the world around him. Roald Dahl is the guy who created Willy Wonka, and case in point, Henry Sugar, and while fictional, learned the art of the non-fictional Kuda Bux; and while starting out greedy, Sugar evolved his munificence and tossed his riches to anyone in need. Dahl + Bux = Sugar > the insatiable greed which is universally promulgated based on its freedom engendering qualities, and promised equality for all. Dahl, Bux, Sugar. Focus on the blackness at the center of a candle flame and all will be revealed, not in fiction, but in the ‘real’, and more ‘now’ than is dreamt of in your current philosophy.

Scorpio- Your medieval bestiary houses paradoxes and anathemas known only to the inner psyche and most hidden loose affections of those who would wrap you in celestial rose petals and melted dark chocolate. Your griffonic sound waves are like a bullet train breaking the speed of sound in a vacuum, where the only mode of aural transport is through mnemonic memory that’s passed down orally and aurally, generation upon generation. Your fortitudinous imagination is stronger than in most people. You are creating this as you read this. The world is a unicorn bound for your virginal lap.

Sagittarius- The female platypus has two ovaries, but only one of them is functional. They also locate prey by detecting electric fields generated by the muscle contractions of living things. They also release venom and have a mouth like a duck. They are descendants of a strange earth, one that was blinded by science and darkness, when mammals had to be inherently ingenious to survive; in particular mammals who laid eggs and had no teats. Platypi are weird cousins of ours from a time when family definitions changed with the prevailing winds; tropical lands where volcanic ash and asteroid induced smoke resulted in lower and lower light levels, even in the middle earth equatorial safe zones. They are weird cenozoic survivalists, and I hereby recommend you channel them right into your downtown. Embrace your power animal no matter how strange.

Capricorn- If you’re a cat owner, there are certain inevitabilities that come with the territory. They are as follows: smelly food, hairballs, in-house pooping and consequently, scooping, as well as ubiquitous cat hair, and in my case a twenty pound furball that prefers either my head or my nuts as a pillow. In exchange, their stubborn personalities mold themselves in subtle ways to our personalities, becoming a part of us, as well as reflections of us. They are a perfect extension of ourselves, independent, yet tied to us because we feed them and clean up their bodily waste. It’s love, or something like it. Your power animal is feline, and she’s hungry for meat. Don’t disappoint.

Aquarius- The following is rhetorically moot, yet it bears repetition, since sometimes your hearing isn’t as keen as your brain to tongue expressway. Fight not thou the wars of attrition that have plagued your capitol steps and stained your liberty with the blood of unnecessary battles. Interloping aliens have been roosting in your belfry feeding on the bats of discontent. Mmmmmm, bat meat… Anyhowdy, the aliens of which I speak are not the metaphorical kind like the Blob that really represents communism; and not like the Eye of Sauron, forcing you to carry a ring that makes you insane, or sit through a well made trilogy that’s about a half a movie too long. Rather, I speak of the carpetbagging demogogues that tell your brain that you always know what is best. Sometimes when you’ve done something right, no one will know you’ve done anything at all.

Pisces- Row, row, row your boat, when sung in a round is one example of a fugue. What a great word--- fugue, derivating from an old eye-talian word, which means to flee. Doubtless that has been forgotten by one so fish based as you. Life is but a dream, an amnesiac fantasy floating down the dharmic river, due to head trauma or emotional distress calls that were never answered. Your time floating with the current has been productively prodigal. You are returned refreshed from Lotus Land, and the damage done is judiciously self correcting. Your new identity is molded from the olden, and emboldened by something borrowed, and blue, and inexplicably new. So propel, propel, propel your craft placidly down the liquid solution, ecstatically, ecstatically, ecstatically. Existence is but an illusion. And your future is unwritten.