Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

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

                       

                                 

disclaimer: Satire is my business. And business is good. Not monetarily, but in terms of availability and cost per market share and whatnot. It’s the best investment we got right now, considering all the hubble bubble.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: makebate. Look it up yourself, jerky. I’m neither your mommy nor your dictionary.

Aries-  There are only two US states that have passed legislation declaring an official firearm. Utah for example, has decided that the M1911 pistol is good god fearing symbolism that represents what Utah is all about. Not to be outdone, Arizona quickly followed suit, making the Colt Single Action Army revolver its official state gun. Arizona also lets most people openly carry a loaded firearm visible to others in a belt holster, gun case or scabbard. Finally a place for me and my scabbard to live in peace! It’s also legal for most Zonies to carry a concealed weapon without a permit. I’m hoping you’ll declare your official state weapon something more civilized---like the pen; which will always be mightier than the sword. Plowshares. Stability. No need for scabbards.

Taurus- Genius is a term so casually thrown around that it has been known to lie with the most vile of wrong headedness as in: awesome, killer, rad, brilliant, fo shizzle, neato, etc. adinfinnauseum®. Granted, as population increases, the amount of genius and/or awesomeness will become more rampant and available to the average radical dude. Which, in turn, changes the definition of words like ‘genius’, or ‘tripping balls’. And in english, we deal in idioms and metaphors---changing the way we use our brains---in particular the speed at which our brains work, evolve, and deal independently with a bizarre matrix where the future always happens after the past, and never before. Point is, genius is relative, and plot holes are plot holes, regardless of the genius of the creator.

Gemini- According to a 2011 survey by Travelodge, about 35 percent of British adults still sleep with a teddy bear. This already feels awkward: 1) How did Travelodge acquire this information? 2) Why doesn’t spellcheck correct the word ‘travelodge’ until I spell it without a lower case T? Should I be concerned about the infiltration of corporate desires into a world where three companies own pretty much everything? 3) Really? A third of travelling business oriented Brits travel with an actual teddy bear? Should I be concerened? 4) Is there a website where teddy loving Brits can go to meet other teddy obsessed limeys? And why haven’t I set up that website and gotten rich off the Teddy Brits®? www.naughtyteddybits.com is my ticket to financial independence. My meandering point is that even the weirdest piece of information can spur you multi tentacled brain toward new weird heights of genius and inspiration.

Cancer- You are a fluvial landform, heading longways and strangways, but always downriver, and only occasionally at flood stage; full of restless quiescent river monsters and catfish the size of saber toothed carnivores of bygone ice ages. You cut your way to and fro across ‘scapes and sounds, leaving rivers and lakes, and the promise of future prosperity for those who refuse to desecrate the land, thanking it for its bounty and life giving essences. And if you’re not educing any of those qualities…you are a traitor to you cancerial sign, and a traitor to a species that has survived our onslaught and fed us for a millennia, despite the poisoning of our oceans, or very life, our very existence. Find a tree. Give it a hug. And thank the river for feeding it.

Leo- There are precious few pamphleteers these days. What a pisser. It’s all left to missionaries and religious nuts whose proselytizing falls mainly on deaf ears as we enter the age of aquarius and religion becomes science, and we believe in a higher god, and a higher purpose---to grok the frak out of this ‘verse, and move on to the next one, preferably in a warp capable luxury space RV. Maybe the 21rst century version of the pamphleteer is the blogger—not to be confused with a writer, although down the line, bloggers will likely be elevated to the likes of Hemingway, Shakespeare, or even Bill O’Reilly. The medium changes, but the song remains the same—continuity through the disjointed vacuum of spacetime. Pamphlets are the conveyance for crazy and sane ideas—our thoughts and designs becoming transferable amidst the stringy connections of the collective conscience. Common Sense, friend---common sense.

Virgo- You are a mixed bag. Much in the style of William Jennings Bryan and Orson Scott Card---those tri-named bastards. Card is one of my favorite writers. And I just found out he’s Mormon. And I don’t hate Mormons, but anyone espousing faith of any kind might not qualify as genius. But Card is such a brilliant guy. Frak, I’m torn. And it’s a good thing that Bryan is dead because he and I would have to have some pretty serious talks about the flip side to his literate genius. He was for Prohibition and against Darwinism. How brilliant people can adhere to false ideas and untruisms®, is beyond me. Your mixed bag is not nearly as disturbing. Yours is more like brownies and broccoli. Stale bread and a perfect pour of a perfect beer. A dove and a hawk. A jingle and a jangle. A savory and a sweet. A little hither and a tad yon. Try to keep the balance.

Libra- I have just invented a new quandary. You can thank me later. So…you come upon a sealed jar full of live buzzing bees. I call it ‘the quandary of the jar of bees’. And one must ask oneself the inevitable question: 1) how did the jar get full of bees in the first place? Seems like not such an easy task. Bees hurt. Some of them kill. 2) what if the bees are Africanized honey bees that could in fact kill me? Should I be concerned with their individual freedoms, as creatures with some inalienable rights, that even if they don’t exist on paper right now, they will; and I will go down in history as a bee racist? Or a species-ist? 3) So…I’ve decided to leave the jar of bees alone and go my relatively merry way. Is it cruel to leave the jar in the sun? If I put the jar in the shade, is that more human, even though their death is the ultimate outcome no matter what. Crap, dude. Take a nap and get some lingonberry pancakes.---it’s going to be a long night.

Scorpio- The squirting cucumber is not a sex toy. It’s real name is ecballium elaterium, and if you’ve chosen it as a pet name for your genitals or the genitals of that someone special in your life, it’s time you knew the truth about the squirting cucmber. Yes, it looks similar to your average cucumber, but this is one of those rare plants that can actually move. To reproduce, it squirts a stream of mucilaginous liquid that contains its seeds. It’s generally poisonous, but can be used to treat sinus infections. Legal Disclaimer: I’m not recommending that you smear squirted cucumber ejaculate up your nose. I do recommend that we take a moment to revel in the glorious variety in the plant world. They are far older than our own species, and possibly far wiser. Lay us down in fields of green chlorific warmth, from whence we all first sprang. Let us commune with the earth and let the plants show us how to squirt.

Sagittarius- Thankfully, the Pope has been infallible by definition and law since the late 1800’s. Sure, there’s caveats. What would religion be without caveats? Non-binding, probably. In the realm of taoism, mayhap. Like if the holy father speaks ex cathedra for example, or if he’s in the middle of a stroke or possibly even religious ecstasy brought on by sipping wine and counting the church’s assets and wondering what to do about the whole vow of poverty clause that’s technically in his contract. The real holy figures walked the walk. The truly divine know your shoes and have walked in them to activate the all too rare empathy gene, which allows my eyes to be yours, even if only for a spell. Wear my shoes and you shall know my soles. 

Capricorn- William Jennings Bryan has pissed me off once again. Yeah, yeah I know—he’s dead. But the spirit of his wacky ideas lives on in the likes of the tea party. Yeah, I won’t capitalize things of little merit. Bryan was a bimetallist. No, not the pervy kind. Well maybe, I mean he does remind me of a more intelligent jim bakker. Anyhowdy, he was against the gold standard and in favor of a silver based economy, claiming it would engender more freedom for all Americans; not to mention a less stable economy and possibly $80 a gallon gas and $20 loaves of bread. Literati who espouse such philosophies with beautifully written words like, "You shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold", which of course injects theism into what should be a discussion based on an understanding of the principles of Darwinian economic. Keep your eyes peeled for some sound mother fudgin’ theory, and not fear based tripe.

Aquarius- The remnants of past history (what other kind, right?) are all around us, even if in decreasing numbers. Redwood trees evolved from a chemically different earthly timespace, when more oxygen was available to spur such prodigious growth. Today’s redwoods are the heartiest, halest, strongest, most environmentally defiant trees that have survived to present day. The age of our own species pales in comparison. They are our true forebears, crossing continents amidst planet cooling, shifting on plates of cooled outer surface, which in this cosmic moment of mesas and plateaus, we are fortunate to exist. We are witness to the slow death of the planet that trees once dominated. Point is, even there is ever a larger story than can be dreamt from your perspective. And that will never change. In this ‘verse, there is always ‘more’.

Pisces- The white mulberry is the fastest plant in the world. Its stamens, or “junk’ as kids call it today, you know—in the parlance of our times…anyhowdy, its stamens act as a catapult which shoot the pollen into the air at over half the speed of sound---that’s about 350mph at sea level. Holy crap. And I assume that where Roddenberry got the idea for that one Trek episode where Spock got spewed on by some alien plant, and fell in love with one of the indigenous super hot and scantily clad drug addicts from Planet Opium. Point is, just like Spock had to figure out---or at least what the human half of him knew, that when you get spewed on by a plant, don’t believe everything you feel. Or wait-- no. believe everything you feel, but hold tight before you resign your commission.