Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

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

                     

                                 

disclaimer: Satire won’t dance. Don’t ask me. It won’t dance, darling, with you.

this week: Balls-- balls of all sort, color and shape. Mostly rounded ones though.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Sardanapalian. I don’t want to point fingers, but Assyria might still be here if not for a certain namesaking, snake fornicating hedonist. Too soon?

Aries- Allow me to make this unclear: Hey diddle diddle, / The Cat and the fiddle / 
The Cow jumped over the moon / The little Dog laughed to see such sport / And the Dish ran away with the Spoon. The bunny hole goes deep on this one, so get out your conspiracy hats. It could be an Egyptian reference to worship of a god named Hathor—creepy name, yet decent god, one of life and protector of people and principle. It could also be referencing the Exodus. Yeah, like the Exodus, from Egypt with all the polytheism, snake worship, and pyramid fetish, and eventually, canal building. Or, maybe, the Brits were into anthropomorphizing stuff that particular decade, because as the British Empire took over the world, they became too knowledgeable, too worldly, and their insular island nature took over and the meaning became esoterically lost amongst star patterns long gone, that their logic is simply ungraspable to us; like the first humanoids to control fire. We are simply too different. Maybe Jung will help. Define your cow, and the why of her lunar jumping.

Taurus- Sardanapalus, the last king of Assyria really blew it. He exceeded all previous rulers in sloth and luxury, dedicating his whole life to self-indulgence. He also dressed in women's clothes and wore make-up. He loved concubines, both female and male, and allegedly equine. He wrote his own epitaph, which stated that physical gratification is the only purpose of life; which fueled a whole generation of influence on people like Byron and Delacroix, who were trying to reconnect with a lost age of decadence, both in abuse of spirit and pursuit of art and beauty. And what is left now, besides paintings and poetry that will never again be read nor seen en masse again, is just a word; one so out of context that it too will be lost to time. Don’t be so sardanapalianish, it’s rude.

Gemini- I assume Beckett was inspired to write Waiting for Godot while he was doing laundry. There are few places where one can witness human beings doing nothing but pure waiting. Sure, there’s bus stops and airports, and the ubiquitous lines for the women’s bathroom, but those are waits with a much grander purpose: to go somewhere, to do something hopefully fun, but probably just work or urinating. Laundromats, on the other sock, are havens for the mundane. Televisions playing telenovelas, getting a sore ass from uncomfortable benches; and in the end, watching the socks compete with the jeans as they spin their mathematical cotton guts out. And as a reward for the waiting, you get to fold clothes. Banal and jejune indeed, much like waiting for godot, whoever the hell he is. This week, there may be waiting involved, but I assure you, that the reward is much greater than tumble dry freshness that smells like country rain.

Cancer- You are crazy wisdom. You’re a modern day shaman. It bears grokking that as a shaman, the changeling, the intuitive mind tuned in to other frequencies, you have a great responsibility to translate for society the minutiae of the unseen world. Most of us do not possess your abilities; which is what the Emperor wants. But he’s creepy and I suspect also into little boys---in an illegal way. Palpatine is a pederast, Dude, he did 6 months in Chino. Point is, one mind out of 12 thousand, is an adept; sym- and em- pathetic to the depths of human feeling, while simultaneously in constant contact with all the cool stuff outside the purview of my mortal scientific reach. I am a mere mathematical empath. You have the tools and the talent. Come forth and bring out my mind’s eye so that all truth may be granted air to escape into space.

Leo- You are a chemistry of cocktails, with an alcohol content proof enough to change electrons to asparagus and innards to jelly, all the while maintaining a slippery hold on my grip on the earth. Sky dive with me and meet the ground with me, all gravity and fearlessness and joie de vivre; and we will see how the two of us are meant to be, irrepressible like the seas, oceans of water that connect our planet to god, and us toward procreation and youth oriented fountains. Yes, deism is arbitrary and at times, barbarous

, but the beauty of it is inescapable: one universe creating others, creating others, copying us via subatomic strings ad infinauseum®, dancing together for eternal life times, with multiple incarnations. Let’s do lunch.

Virgo- The new Rock/Paper/Scissors will assume the following order, phylum/etc: French Toast /Waffles/Pancakes. Assuming a traditional maple syrup is available, as well as an agreed upon quality designation for each item, the rules are as follows: French Toast beats Waffles. Waffles beat Pancakes. And Pancakes beat French Toast. The main reason for the change is Belgium. As usual, the same folks who brought you blood diamonds and delicious beer, feel the need to market more waffles to a growing global population. Consequently, the fist will represent pancakes, the two fingers will be french toast (the new version of the Longbowman salute), and waffles will be the flat palm that used to be paper. And try not to think about the irony that maple syrup was a product of the New World, and that prior to 1500, waffles had to be covered in fruit. Your future, like the game of representational fisticuffs, is unwritten and all the world is green.

Libra- The Most Noble Order of the Garter is not a one of Victoria’s secrets. And while it does have a history with sexy lady leg straps, it is also the highest order of brit chivalry, or britvalry®. The current queen is the Monarch of the Garter and the Prince of Wales is The Knight Companion of the Garter. Garters have been a thing for centuries amongst the uptight Brits, not only as a symbol of sexy time with various duchesses, but also among knights, whose garters were part of their big metal ensembles. And not unironically, the Order’s origins have to do with shame. At a court ball somewhen in the 1300’s, the Countess of Salisbury was dancing a jig and makin’ it rain, when her garter slipped. Oh, the humanity! King Edward III, to save her honor, coined the phrase, honi soit qui mal y pense, which in Middle French means, shame upon him who thinks evil upon it. The lesson lieth in a state of grace and acceptance of the inescapable inner sexy that you exude like sun from the stars.

Scorpio- The now defunct Hawaiian code of conduct known as kapu, was unreasonably harsh when dealing with bananas, pork and cocoanut. Those foods were considered the earthly forms of certain gods, and consequently off limits to all women. Men can eat pork tacos wrapped in banana leaves all they want; but to allow women to ingest god flesh---that could cause all sorts of damage. And punishment for such kapu was of course, death. Except famously for the young girl Kapiolani, destined for queenhood. She was curious about the taste and sent a servant boy to fetch her some. We’ll never know what she thought of the taste of such forbidden fruit, but we do know the punishment of death for committing kapu, went to the little servant boy. Beware forbidden fruit, but if you’re gonna eat it, savor it until the pigs fly home because we only live once, probably.

Sagittarius- Three Blind Mice is a much older rhyme than the Stooges would have you believe. The most common interpretation is that the mice actually represent three protestant bishops burned at the stake by Queen Mary the I. Ahh, burning at the stake; what a lovely way of saying how much you love your savior, and how much you believe in papal supremacy, the engendering of martyrdom, which in no way entrenches the beliefs of the opposition. Believe it or not, we are about to enter an age where such lines in the sand, will be erased by tides, both neap and red. The armchair pastors of late night television that we’ve grown up with, are now meaningless electronic blips on a radar screen that no one is at the helm of. The common idea is that there can be no ONE THING, one ideology, belief, or any philosophic system whatever. We are too large for homogeneity. Tolerance is the watchword. Do with it what you can. Save you it will.

Capricorn- The Peaches of Immortality are a real pain in the ass to get a hold of. The leaves take a thousand years to grow, and it takes another three thousand for the fruit to grow and ripen. But they are damn good peaches. They’re so good, they make you immortal. Hopefully you’re not spending the next thousand years moving the peaches through your immortal bowels. You know, there’s always a catch. You can live forever, but the world ends next week, sorry. These peaches taste like god’s open mouth kisses, but you’ll have the runs for a millennia. But, it’s not like you wouldn’t eat them. A thousand years of intestinal distress would surely be worth an infinite amount of time, right? Just think of all those centuries without irritable bowel.

Aquarius- When the zombies come, I’ll need an axe. I’m uncomfortable with guns. I would consider a machete though; some kind of jungle hacking weapon. Neartimes, you will be upon decisionmount and need praywise find a weapon of choice, a friend on whatsay, you can depend: bullets and fire and killing in the name of…Trust and Betrayal. Fire and Ice. Pancakes vs Waffles. Will we ever get out of this place? There’s something happening here. It starts when you’re always afraid. Paranoia strikes deep. You better stop, hey- what’s that sound, everybody look what’s goin’ round. The zombies are just  a metaphor and a defunct band. Lay down your arms and let them rot into plowshares.

Pisces- The Lost Monarch is a sequoia tree in NorCal. It’s the third largest living tree on earth. And its location is secret, known only to a few rarified botanists, so that the general public won’t go traipsing around, carving initials into her bark and littering the ground with beer cans and used condoms. It is telling indeed, that to protect parts of the earth, we need to keep them secret. Like the underground seed bunker and repository in Sacandahoovia somewhere. Or the alien ship in Area 51. Or the secrets of the freemasons. Or Michael Jackson’s kids. The Lost Monarch should stay lost. As humanity matures, I find it comforting that there will be secrets to be uncovered by a farther generation, one less populated and strained, and one more interested as a whole in leaving no footprints; a civilization with a Prime Directive, allowing life to evolve without tainting its course. Whatever you do influence, do it sweetly.