Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

                               Dr. Pants McTurd's 

        MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                 

                                 

disclaimer: Satire does not give you the right. But it can give you a hard left.

this week: My personal square root was not, is not and will never be any of your business. However, it’s super close to 3.1415926535897932384626433832795.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: phthisis. As in... phthisis away again in Magarittaville.

Aries-  Your proverbial ship is right now a-righting itself, never a-wrong, and eternally tilting ever closer, closer I say!-- to an axis of freedom, where it will spin for æons in fascinated orbit ‘round a fairer star, sans the burns and spurns of freebooters’ skid marks, and vapor trails that often ride roughshod over the faces of all but the blind—for they are worthy of the truest salvation---not us, Nay!—never respite for those wicked of soul, purloined and masticated under malfeasant jaws and malingering fogs—the yellow kind that jam our gums and restrict our freedom loving intent upon the world. We are newly anesthetized amongst the newly biopic embryos from golden days of yore. Wake up, bring out your arvae, for we burn daylight, and the winds are seeking new sails to fill.

Taurus- Every four years, we’re forced through another election cycle of lying, paraphrasing, misrepresenting, apologizing, and epithet mania. And every four years, at least half the country prays that the other crazy guy doesn’t somehow win the office, ushering in another 8 year era of misguided spending and who knows how deep or evil the bush hole goes, especially when the vice president seems to be an oil magnate with a private safe bigger than a person, and the right to shoot people in the face without repercussion. Ooh-- my bad, pal, sorry about the direct hit, I thought you were a moose. Happens to me all the time. One minute you’re calmly discussing the merits of fiscal policy within the constraints of a reasonable conscience, and the next, my finger just slips and, BOOM: your face meets my counterargument. For the near future, sane winds are at our backs. Fret not-- our future will require shades.

Gemini- Bananaquits are no bullcrap. Yeah, I make up lots of words, but not the bananaquit, aka the honeykeeper, aka sexual innuendo mucho sexy time boom boom...Anyhowdy, it’s a bird, apparently, mostly in tropical regions. It’s yellow like a banana. Or something really yellow. And then the other day, I heard this ‘accredited’ science goon on NPR, whose theory was that yellow didn’t exist until we had created something yellow from our natural environs—rubbing dandelion on your arm for example. Cripes. This esoteric semantic line drawing must be indicative of a dearth of anything intelligent to talk about amongst the overwhelming numbers of grad students with nothing better to study during their break at Starbucks. The same school of thought postulates that the indigenous populations of the ‘New’ World couldn’t see the ships of the conquistadors because they had no prior experience of viewing such a sight. Bullcrap--I’ve never seen a spaceship, but I will know it when it lands in my yard. Bananaquits, Dude. Therein, lay the only objective truthiness. Cling, and find your power animal’s color.

Cancer- Ahhh, to be a nectaravore-- flitting flower to flower, usually amidst the warm sunlight and humid air accompanied by monsoons and rainy seasons; sucking up sweet plant sex juice through an extra long proboscis, or some other tube-like sucking device that evolved beautifully according to the planned-out free will of the multiverse; whose math may presently escape us, but that is nevertheless findoutable®. Oh frak—the free will kerfuffle. Okay…despite my love of Rush---the band, not the crappy movie, and not the Premium Rush, now available, probably on dvd by now, which is probably good if for no other reason because Levitt is pretty cool---free will is a construct, in this author’s official opinion, not true by any standards, save for those decided upon by faith or fear or outside pressure. Your time to decide is nigh. Choose with your heart and nothing can go awry, and sweet sweet plant sex juice will be ripe and juiceilicious®.

Leo- As an an illustration of irony, I posit the adorably named village of Upper Slaughter on the River Eye in Britain. Its little known distinction is that it’s one of a very small number of towns that suffered no casualties from either WW I or II. Nobody, not one guy didn’t come home. And the town’s name is Slaughter. Granted, one guy came home with syphillus because, like Ben Franklin said, “these french whores--they are really tres nice!” Point is, that the people of Upper Slaughter are unbreakable. And that is where we will run, when the zombies come. You and I will merge our beautiful genes into the pools of those that even war cannot destroy---not even world wide ones! We alone will save the human race from ugliness, with a new generation of unbreakable zombie killing adepts.

Virgo- One furlong per fortnight is very nearly 1 centimeter per minute (to within 1 part in 400--duh..). The speed of light may be expressed as being roughly 1.8 terafurlongs per fortnight. That said—the beard-second is where our deepeth concern layeth. Yes, a beard grows at a speed we can measure--roughly 100 angstroms, or 5 nanometers per something something. We measure time by things that happen at levels of reasonable sensory perception for every human on the planet; save for the select few who are in tune with frequencies beyond our ken, those destined to be transcendent of mere timespace. You’re not one of them btw. You and I are destined for a purpose maligned and mundane and pedestrian, but that is actually de- and be- atific to a max that is indeed hardcore and extreme and tubular. It will hit you when you are quiet, when your mind stops being you for a good five seconds. Let go and be what you’re like, be like yourself. 

Libra- Hey world—let it be known that I own this: SCHNERD!®. And yes, my Pops can share credit, but I’m the one doing the legwork and I’m the one taking this to the next level—SCHNERD!® It’s a unit of measurement that is equal to a mmpphhhner-- which I could only dream of owning; but alas that divine right belongs to the kings---the Sagan, the Seldon, the Clarke---food for gods beyond my ken and ability to ken, both noun and verb, simultaneously future and past…Shithowdy, no, I refuse to be distracted from destiny: the SCHNERD!®--- a distance equivalent to: “this much minus two times the power of splitting the difference”, end quote and bless us everyone. I bring this novelty to your attention because you need to move a SCHNERD!® to your left—emotionally that is. Not too much! Just enough to see around the white elephant that been blocking your view of the Taj Mahal that’s right in front of you.

Scorpio- Consider this a quick first draft of one of my upcoming theses on the language of evolution, infuturely® published by whatever unknowable entity can efficaciously publish literature for the science minded yet lazy of degrees: The Tree of Life (the Haekel version) is a nifty early analogy for understanding the shape of evolutionary progress. And here’s my underlying postulate: some trees, like aspens, form clonal colonies, meaning that all trees in a given area are part of a singular organism that spreads by its roots. Therefore: the Tree of Life is more accurately a clonal colony, with a nifty third dimension, so that we can travel through timespace along evolutionary lines, better illustrating our relationship to everything else, not as one tree heading ever skyward, but multiple trees over time spread throughout the galaxy, like a virus or a plague, or collective human thought and intention. The world is, the world is love and life are deep. Maybe as your skies are wide…

Sagittarius- Your power animal of the week is a buttonquail. Thereforergo®, keep a wary eye out for sheathbills and megallanic plovers, for they tend towards the stabby end of the avian spectrum. If you encounter a fairy warbler, be not concerned howeversomewhat, for it is your ally, and will ride down to hell with you, should the need arise. Also, they have access to the best drugs. Now…there are nicators out there who will tell you that it’s all bushtits and field mice and bopping ‘em on the head. But I’m here to tell ya, the real danger is the shrike. A shrike kills its prey by impaling it onto thorns. These birds invented the kabob. They make the megallanic plovers look like the Amish. Maintain the buttonquail in your mind at all times. Get a buttonquail tattoo on your most delicate private part. It’s the smart move, and you’ll be safe and unimpaled.

Capricorn- You are a bourbon democrat that utilizes aggressive mimicry to achieve your fowl ends and corny corollaries concocted by cannibals from Ceylon’s Isle of way olden times gone by; times left for dead, lain strangling and gasping on foreign beachheads and lonely strangways; time that would sooner eat your liver over a millennia than let you destroy it through self anointed inebriation and insultation by next Thursday. You are crepuscular, utilizing the dawn or dusk for true inventiveness, shying away from the bright light of day for fear of the circling brain predators; who would steal your thunderous inspirations to hold as their own, being empty headed thieves and jealous knaves. Get your own lightning. Make your own boom stick. You are the plethora of independent awareness. And if anyone tells you what to do, just kick ‘em shinward, and say, you can speak your mind, but not on my time.

Aquarius- Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. And, no, I’m not just whistling dixie cups. Patterns, patterns, patterns. And often I ask myself whether my point of view is objective enough to understand all these patterns. Am I really seeing the world with the clarity and distance, or do I always see what I want to see, because that’s what makes sense. Make the facts fit the theory, because odds and Occam agree with me. Do the rules of the very large translate to the world of the subatomic? Does this Higgs field contain anything that is not formed first in my imagination. And is distance even possible in a world that only exists because of some will, a god, a creator, a thinking and desiring machine that spins world upon world from an unseen loom hiding deep in the zero dimension where odds and Occam will never travel? One cannot be separate from that which you are synecdochous.

Pisces- There are a million things to be whispered softly and aurally that could benefit your current state of affairs. There are a billion salves that might ease whatever pain you might be swimming in right now. There is a googol of nepenthes and succors that exist in this ‘verse, some beyond your scope that could provide you comfort from cyclonic embolisms and recurring seasonal fracases that mar and bloody your nasal pride and empathetic urges. A googolplex exists for your perusal and plucking, that most likely contains the seeds of inspiration and rainbow means of travel to propel you to the next big stage-- the place and time amidst timespace where you own everything and no one can take it away. However, here’s the rub: you are the source. You are the salve. You are a font with enough water to last for eternity. The font of strength inside you is nowhere near depletion because it cannot be depleted—ever.