Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True
Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire is 23 in terms of its nature,
the current earth’s tilt, etc.
this week: I am Number 23.
Doc P’s Word of the Week: the. If you can even come close to telling me what it means-- I
will buy you a burrito. And a soda, but not a Pepsi, they suck.
Aries- I had it in my head that ob la di ob la da was a fancified liverpudlian way of jazzing my ears with meaningless
syllables, forcing me to cop to the ways of their isolated island sense of
humor. I apologize. Andy, you were right. Much of the “valid” internet sources
seem to verify that the phrase means either ‘life goes on’, or ‘what will
be, will be”, aka ‘que sera, sera…” There is, however, no way to prove that
African bongo player they knew, wasn’t just the world’s biggest Doris Day fan.
Therefore, I’m not going to pay you the dollar I promised you, Andy. Instead
you can instead take away the knowledge that you have bested a self professed
pseudo know it all on his own pseudo petard. This is your special week, use it
wisely.
Taurus- Conception is a strange conceptual corn
popper of a kerfuffle. It describes a moment in time, where two different
things come together and become a new paradigm; something new gets thought
up—at least new to your brain bucket, right? Disparate ideas that somehow make
a new pattern which hopefully can be articulated by your THC laden brain and
brought to earth by your valium’d mouth and predictably wicked tongue. One or
more rivers of thought energy, one sperm and one egg, one “new” moment that
even god had not imagined happening-- happens. And you are born; a bizarre
mutation in a subset of systems designed to ghost your machine until all sides
of the pan are greased for an idea’s birth; nothing into beingness, matter
brought life-full and dragged through countless previous incarnations’
obsessions and fetishes, all without meaning.
Conceive, but refuse to deceive.
Gemini- Thankfully, ‘total depravity’ has its own Wikipedia page. Turns out, the rabbit
hole goes even deeper. The Doctrine of Total Depravity (DTD) has been bandied
about for centuries. Thanks to a certain Calvin making the whole christendom an
even bigger kerfuffle, the DTD has something to do with the idea that because
of original sin; that man is incapable of choosing to give himself over to
god’s will; in effect, that only god may choose who will receive salvation. Or
as John Edwards, 18th century American theologian puts it: the holy
rape of the soul. Wow, how…poetic? God takes you into his arms in a holy rape
embrace. Who else could use a drink? Your life is not totally anything, save
for you and yours; but what you choose defines a different you for the next
wacky scenario where you have to decide the definition of your mettle. I say,
ride the wild turtle. It may be your last chance.
Cancer- The
damage I could do if I had no filter. If it weren’t for some considerably
strong forces of restraint that I possess; and yet even those, hanging merely
by threads so bare that all hope must truly be lost, probably at any moment, to
a dragon or a criminal with rabid intent, or a torturous tree climbing turtle
with a trunculating turntable of devious deeds and miscreant mannerisms,
designed with love, to find my greatest weaknesses and exploit them, like a
state sanctioned Alaskan Wildlife Refuge. But yet… silence is a teacher.
Putting pride secondary, if only briefly, is a doorway to wisdom, because it
forces the matrix to make another, hopefully less violent, choice; to get
creative and open doors to the potential of a united human spirit
scientifically exploring the multiverse, sans rancor, or divisions, or empty
hearted bigotry. Dump your filter.
Leo- Let’s not squirt fart juice around the
obvious here. Let us also not squat on parsimonious ceremony with knees
spreadeagled, allowing passage for all sorts of demons to our inner sanctums. The Four Tops are legendary, and they
will remain a part of important rock history, until there simply is no more
rock. But The Temptations…they are a
cosmic quartet of unquestionable coolness and vibrational groovy. Papa Was A
Rollin’ Stone, My Girl, Just My Imagination, Ball of Confusion… If you don’t
know these songs, your education is truly lacking. Bernadette? Really? I call
bullshit. Sugar Pie Honeybunch? Please, don’t insult me with your candy coated
crayon drawn songs. Take this with you: The Band Plays On… but you name the
tune.
Virgo- Your oblique asymptote is resistant to change
on any societal level, which in turn, may affect the volume of alcohol per
capita in a divided space such as your rectum or your verisimilitude. I feel I
must be direct, so be not shocked at the voracity and bluntness of my claims.
You’re an inverse trapezoid with a penchant for crab cakes and juice topped off
with booze. You’re a pianist in a world of cornholing, a case of silly string
in a room where all the hands and feet remain bound and all the ids remain
gagged, and nary but a dentist lies nearby. I’ve tried foul mouthing, and carpet
bagging, and depilatory innard scraping. Nothing seems to get through. I admire
your courage of conviction, and hope you can keep burning the midnight oil long
into the time when we use algae for food to fuel our robot bodies and
programmed libidos. Find your x-y axis.
Libra- There’s still oil leaking from the USS
Arizona, which currently resides at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. And the men who
never escaped the doomed ship are still on board. And to this day, the
survivors, may opt for cremation and internment within the sunken Arizona, so
that they may rest alongside so many of their comrades in arms before their
time was fairly due. The most tragic is that an early version of radar had
discovered the incoming Japanese fleet and could have warned the island’s
defenses, but were dismissed as nothing important. There’s nothing funny; I
have no jokes. Sanctioned killing involves no mercy. My point is about when you
authorize slash and burn strategems, and eye for an eye justice. I’m not saying
turn some other cheek. I’m saying, react differently, and surprise yourself
with ensuing empathy and naked peace.
Scorpio- The honey bear is a brilliant invention, no?
A) It looks like a cute little bear; B) you squeeze him around the middle and
he pours out his sweet sweet bear nectar, and most importantly, C) the bottle
is designed to stay upside down, ensuring that it will be ready to pour when
you are. If you were a honey bear, I would squeeze the bee juice right out of
you till it covered us both in sweet sticky ropes of life force that would mold
us together toward some new end, some new purpose; two into one; you, me and
the collective makes three. Flowers draw bees, that extract pollen to serve the
queen, bears eat honey, then I read another adventure of Winnie the Pooh, and
get a craving for honey toast, which makes me think of you, and we come full
circle. Sort of. Eat sweetly, my sweet.
Sagittarius- When I was recently in Kauai, I arrived at
the end of 50 inches of rain, which, for the wettest spot on earth is a lot
when it happens in 2-3 days. The island’s rivers were brown with mud, roads
impassable, and even the natives could not believe the rain soaked poi and
preponderance of rainbows that seem almost criminal in retrospect. Turns out
that annually, Kauai loses thousands of metric tons of dirt; wettest spot on
earth equals highest rate of erosion—math, it’s boring, but it’s all true.
Anyhowdy, that means that the current height of the island at 5200ft. minus all
the erosion that has taken place over centuries, means that the island may once
have been as tall as 14,000ft. Wow, numbers are big when compared to human time
scale. Our global terrarium is immense indeed. Consider that when immersed in
planning your biodome.
Capricorn- People like you, and me, although this is
about you, don’t want to steal any thunder, but WE CAN’T STOP BEING SEXY®.
Yeah, I own that. But it applies to you. Your oversized glands, your obsession
with pancakes made with human produced yeast, your sarcastic flattery, you swarthy
hips and feminine thighs that call to me like a yodeling moose pack, travelling
in witness protected herds… where was I? Your Mary Pickford sashay, your
impudent bowel movements and clown-like appendages… You, with your nacre
knickers and frost bitten fingertips. WE CAN’T STOP THE SEXY. You may as well
ask if I will settle down and/or find the proper medication. WE ARE SEXY. AND
NOTHING CAN STOP US. NOTHING CAN STOP US. NOTHING…
Aquarius- I grew up in the 80’s. And yes, and it was
true, the 80’s did make the 50’s look like the 30’s. Part of the glue that
holds society together, part of the basic framework, is fear. Fear of the
other, the opposition, change, new ideas, anything really, because fear
actually makes us stick and work together while not being pulled apart by our
chaotic individuosity. And in the 80’s, we were dealing with a known quantity
of evil: the soviets and nuclear armageddon: Red Dawn, mutual assured
destruction, nuclear fallout and zombie mutant hunting on what was christmas
day. Today, kids grow up with multiple and unknown fears: global warming,
economic collapse, weaponized viruses, identity theft, overpopulation, etc ad
infinauseum®, and oy vey. Just a reminder to include environmental perspective
in your ongoing analysis of everything. When you are defines the pedestal of
truth upon which you sit.
Pisces- Now that I have plied you with my words and
cajoled you prettily into a semblance of order, rather than boundless depth of
despair, might I make one more plea; for you to use your intellect—which is
impressive, but that your intellect is the key to not getting lost in the
emotional morass that poops and pops up in your territories, provinces and
chattel farms; the quicksand of self denial, originally intended for Judas, but
whose mantel you have claimed as a bithmarkright® and entry into the highest
realms of self immolation and unnecessary surgery. I urge you to remain a
scientist for as long as possible, without letting go of the hurricane about to
hit land on your shore. She will take you exactly where you want to go.
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