Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
disclaimer: Satire is bullcrap, and so is your
face.
this week: Sorry, I don’t know what got into me.
Here, have some paella.
Doc P’s Word of the Week: antimetabole. It takes one to know one. Wherever you go, there you
are—which are probably more in the realm of a chiasmus, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.
Aries- Agape, agog, and akimbo, with past checkered,
but never plaid, is your immediate future for the next four and a half days. By
Tuesday, all this weirdness will once again return to hum and/or drum, banal,
jejune, sans élan, avec détente, and coiled within a bubble of safety and
normality, like a snake with a belly full of rat. So prepare to be jarred,
floored, double taked and taken, bowled over and under, split seamways and
lengthwise; transforming all of your previous assumptions into a slippery green
fog that blows seaward, once the Whales enter the Bay, providing the protection
from the mundane and controlled legislated calm. Use your guile and wile wisely
and on the down low. The Whales of Entropy are en route!
Taurus- By virtue of…how skeletal, and vaguely
implying a level much deeper than even artichoke hearts and divine spoonerisms.
Virtue is good—the goodest good that can possibly good, of all the goods in the
entire realm of goodness and gooditude. Example: ‘To act by virtue of one’s legitimate authority’. I am a rightful
individual, able to stand for my own defence by virtue of MY AUTHORITY. What we
don’t have here, is a failure to communicate. What we do have here, is
intrinsically goodness, despite outward appearances; because we are inherently
created and imbued with the divine right of kings—because we say so.
Period. By virtue of all that you consider holy, and the virtuosity radiating
from your spirit---light the world with all your might. As always, the time is
nigh and ripe for something simple, something heartfelt, and something right.
Gemini- After a two liter bottle of something
carbonated is cracked, and you don’t finish it in one large caveman swig, what
is the best way to store it in order to minimize the carbonation loss over
time? My physicist days are over and I refuse to do math, so my best guess is that
if the cap is screwed back on tightly, the best spot is in the fridge. I figure
at lower temperatures, there’s less molecular movement, and hence higher
pressure---we got that jive thanks to ol’ Bob Boyle back in the 1600’s—the
bonds between the carbonation and the sugars should remain more stable at lower
temperatures because the pressure inside the bottle will be greater than at
room temps. There, I’m glad we got that settled. As temperature goes down,
pressure goes up—and vice versa. In this instance, you are the open two
liter---find your preferred state of rest and comfortable pressurization. Don’t
get the bends.
Cancer- Let’s
talk about your aureola. Not to be confused with your areola, which
I will deal with momentarily. The aureola is a radiance surrounding
figures in representations of a sacred visage. It’s a halo—seen in religious
art across all cultures, whether it’s Jesus, Buddha, Vishnu, an Imam or my
cousin Frank, who actually was the inspiration for most of the Baroque period.
Usually the halo isn’t just around the head, but around the entire body; as if
the holiness gradient on these folks is unchartable, even if you were Knud IV,
king of denmark in the 1000’s---(my favorite of all the Knuds). There is a
vibrant aureola surrounding you at all times, as if you were art incarnate.
This week, hang out with people who love you for your inner AND outer beauty.
And we will haply worship at your temple mount.
Leo- I wonder…if
Han Solo hadn’t changed his mind and come back for some hero time, would Luke
have been shot in the ass by his father? I assume not because, at that point,
he didn’t know it was father was trying to shoot him in the butt, and he
certainly didn’t know he was about to blow up his father’s house. Weird. Since
my original intent of point making, this line of interrogatory dumbness has
come to a strange trifold taper: 1) the Father issues---whole weird kettle of
fish. 2) Is Solo the other half of the good side of the Force? The Yin to
Luke’s Yang? More kettle, more fish. 3) Bummer that one of Han and Leia’s kids
becomes a Sith. 4) I will miss you, Chewbacca. 5) I wonder if he will miss me?
6) Happy (nearly) Birthday.
Virgo- You want to get a perspective on how much
microscopic life follows us everywhere we go, and probably even out weighs us
in terms of actual mass; put your iPhone, iPad or any mobile device under a
microscope, preferably electron powered, and take a gander at your screen. To
further the gross-out, do the same with a $20 bill, or if you dare-- the
surface of your toothbrush. For only the truly strong of constitution, try
looking atomically close at your intestinal lining. Hydrogen to helium to
oxygen and nitrogen, to one celled organisms, and eventually us a ‘while’
later, in all our bacteria infested glory. We’re basically just walking
bacteria transporters. Giant taxicabs for the tiny of cell count. What is their
purpose? What do they want? Where are they taking us, and will there be
cocktails? What of cocktails? What?! Get yourself a nice colonic, a strong
dirty martini and take the day off.
Libra- I often forget that in my younger life, so
many things didn’t exist that exist now, and the new crap seems to fling me
personal and facewise in a true constancy, that I can hardly expect myself to
keep up—what with Moore’s damnable law and the irrefutable math, proofs and
evidence and whathaveyou, that just make me eager for cookies---freshly baked,
with chocolate and butter and things rich in the bounty and bosom of the earth.
We eat the earth all the time. We are what we eat, and therefore: we are the
earth---or at least a healthy subsidiary of it; a colony, all obsidian and self
obsessed, and determined to further the matrix into ever more complicated
helixes of various---awwww, look at me, I’m rambling again…Let’s all be glad
that the Dude is out there, taking it easy for all us sinners. The Dude Abides.
Scorpio- You are elusive like a broken spectre—a
glockenspectre, or a brocken bow… light being split and splintered, and ringed
in the shapes of a halos that deceive and lure me deeper into the foggy forest
of your redwoods, through which I tromp in search of you; in lieu of you,
shoeless and soulless. The moon is your illuminer, for she searches for you as
well. Or perhaps she’s only trying to help me find you. Maybe you don’t exist
without her. Or she’s funking with my wild head, treeing me owlwise and spiderprone,
all branches and brambles, futilely hoping I will eventually learn my lesson
and stay far from woodside under
openair and skyclad. Chasing the ethereal is madness surely. One can only hope
to appreciate it when our eyes get enough light to see it and drink you in.
Sagittarius- Pluto is a messed up little dwarf planet, or
in a preferred nomenclature hopefully somewhat less ignorant, a little planet.
Pluto and Charon, its largest moon, are tidally locked, meaning their
attraction for each other is so ‘great’, that Pluto and Charon always have the
same side facing each other; much in the same way that our moon always shows us
the same face. In addition, Pluto’s orbit is elliptical, so that sometimes it’s
closer to earth than even Neptune. These are weird facts that I want to occupy
your mind with, whilst over here, behin’st my back, I wave a magic wand,
resulting in weird fairy tale type crap that whisks you away into a realm of
fantasy jerk off time, and you end up finding your true destiny, which, spoiler
alert---involves the ukulele and a dragon. Reality check: You will never see
Pluto close up, sorry--but your Dragon is on its way. Take music lessons stat.
Capricorn- For now, we are still ahead of the machines.
Case in point: it takes spellcheck less than a second to decide if I’ve spelled
the word antidisestablishmentarianism correctly and whether its place in the
sentence is grammatically correct. Guess what? Up your spellcheck; I’m already
on to the thoughts for the next sentence, from my imaginative brain, that
you’ll never fully achieve, you robot flesh eating monster!---and I don’t cite
as proof MERELY old episodes of Star Trek, or Bladerunner, or countless Asimov
books, but we humans will always be on top of the evolutionary tr----oh crap,
this just in—machines already smarter than us, the challenge remains: who will
learn to control the other first? I say humans, because of Rutger Hower. Think
back on him and his travails. Learn from him you could. Rutger. Hower…
Aquarius- The efficacy of the ‘5 second rule’ is variable and affected by several environmental
factors. 1) The gradient level of filth that the floor exudes. Is it a bathroom
at the beach, or the kitchen of a germaphobe with a lot of time on his hands?
2) The inherent value of the food dropped. Is it cauliflower? Then throw it
away immediately. Or is it a brownie? Is it a pot brownie? How much can be
scraped off while maintaining the brownie’s integrity and endorphin educing
choco power? 3) How much more pot brownie is left in the pan? Do the needs of
the few or the one--mainly me-- outweigh the needs of the many? What is my
responsibility to the group dynamic. Am I my brother’s pot brownie keeper? This
week, keep your floors clean and all your ridiculous questions will be answered.
Pisces- The more I attempt to ill conceive, the more
I self deceive; I require to perceive a different value system relying of
another string, and suddenly I’d
become vaporous and vapid amidst the world of collective consciences---what a
strange breakdown: con & science; skeptic vs fact, indolent vs bored vs
ennui vs out, out, out, out, ou, outttt, outttttt……..OKAY. Major Tom, this is
MIssion Self Control, and Tom Cruise has left the building, possibly even the
closet, so mind your p’s and q’s; because you are a Solo, distantly Han
related—a rogue’s gallery of rebels and rapscallions that err to the side of
perceived right and get hot chicks and princesses just by walking in the room.
All you need is a good blaster by your side and you will be ready to explode
that death star that’s been occluding your sun through so many angry regimes
and ritual bloodletting.
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