Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

      Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True         

                            Horror-scopes®

                  

disclaimer: Satire is not without pitfalls, just like the old Atari game.

this week: Last week the Pants were off. This week, the Pants are fully on, loosely buckled and ready for the party.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Anastrophe. As in, "If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny, consume you it will, as it did Obi-Wan's apprentice."

Aries- A-B-C. A-always, B-be, C-closing. Always be closing! Always be closing!! A-I-D-A. Attention, Interest, Decision, Action. Attention -- do I have your attention? Interest -- are you interested? I know you are because it's fuck or walk. You close or you hit the bricks! Decision -- have you made your decision for Christ?!! And Action. A-I-D-A; get out there!! You got the prospects comin' in; you think they came in to get out of the rain? Guy doesn't walk on the lot unless he wants to buy. Sitting out there waiting to give you their money! Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? The coffee is for closers. (But that’s all crap. Have some coffee, add some Bailey’s and/or whiskey, and meditate about opening, and maybe never closing—who knows, it just might work.)

Taurus- Since its inception and trademark, Lego claims that over 400 BILLION(!) Lego pieces have been created (probably not all of them equal). Point is, there’s a guy I know of in Sacramento that makes like 150K a year selling used Legos on EBay. (Thank you, George Lucas, I guess..). Even fifteen years ago, such a business would not have been possible. It’s the beauty of diversity and ever changing environment and elastic genomes, that stretch to fill whatever space needs filling up. As my pal Gordon once said, ‘Everyone I know is lonely / And God is so far away / The fat man in his garden / The thin man at his gate / My God you must be sleeping / Wake up, it's much too late / Please take the space between us / And fill it up some way / Take the space between us

And fill it up some way….’ And maybe visit LegoLand for some blockish, yet interlocking inspiration.

Gemini- Ok, here’s my plan to kidnap god: I hear from certain angelic sources within the administration that he/she/it/holy plasma, is planning a fact finding trip to Columbia. While god’s getting a personal tour of the Medellin coca fields, we distract the Medellins, grab god, jump into a Piasecki H-21 paramilitary helicopter, and head for the Galapagos; where no one will ever think to look for god, because it’s just a bunch of turtles and endangered bird crap. Then we shoot a video to show how serious we are if our demands are not met, that we send to the President. No President is going to let god get tortured by tortoises, especially in an election year. We’ll be rolling in billions and sipping mai tais on some Malaysian beach, where we make the laws, and justice is free to all, or at least us anyway. First you get god, then you get the money, then you get the power.

Cancer- For your consideration, let us ponder the poorly designed lawn darts known as Jarts; which are absurdly dangerous and could pierce an armored tank if thrown from a decent height. Back in ‘my day’, Jarts could be purchased right alongside toy guns, mostly old timey western style ones-- not the glocks and automatic armor piercing types of today’s blood tipped killing machines that emulate the very firepower which we are trying desperately to deal with and contain: the Columbiners, the Batman movie-emulators, the McVeigh’s, the Kaczynski’s, or the guy who casually walks onto a military base with full credentials and explodes our soldiers who aren’t even in the literal midst of war. Anyhowdy, my advice is to make sure all your toys are for building rather than taking down.

Leo- Let’s go down to the crib and let it all hang out-a. Where soulful people knows what it’s about-a. So, it turns out the word crib, has been in use for years. 21rst century Hippity Hoppers ain’t got nuthin’ on the Godfather of Soul, and in this futurist’s opiniation—the greatest entertainer of all time. James Brown stopped a riot with music---try that today, Adelle---Rumor has it, Rumor has it…frak that, dude; rumor has it that that song is annoying. Surely, the colloquial crib had been used prior to James, but he’s the one who injected that hot beefy word usement into our metaphorical communiqués, so that we could, from my aural interpretation, get past the people, get past the hoot-ma! A continued happy birthday, and bless the rains down in Africa.

Virgo- Drunken trees are not alcoholic arboreals that drive under the influence mowing down innocent shrubbery. Forests that grow in permafrost areas such as the Yukon or Siberia generally grow straight because their roots are encased in icy ground. But as the permafrost melts, and chunks of earth shift, the trees can start leaning every which way, similar in appearance to a bar full of drunks who smell of wine and cheap perfume. These trees were meant to sing the blues, and for a smile they can share the night, and it goes on and on and on. Drunken trees tilting and swerving, up and down the boulevard; their shadows searching in the night, living just to find emotion…or at least the return of the permafrost of the Little Ice Age, likely due for a quick 21rst century return, after a short period of temperatures spikes and hot air blowing from our collective mouth holes. Drunken trees and disappearing bees, don’t stop believin’-- hold on to that feelin’. A new age is nigh.

Libra- ‘Less Lust, By Less Protein: Meat Fish Bird; Egg Cheese; Peas Beans; Nuts. And Sitting’, as touted by the self proclaimed Protein Man of great Britain, is the surest way to a better life. Eat less protein, which will decrease your lust, which is the root of all evil in the entire scope of human society, and then don’t forget to spend some time sitting---it’s fun and not horny---and you will be free of all earthly and natural, yet non-Victorian approved emotions and drives that if we didn’t have, would probably engender more pajama tv watching Ho-Hos eating during daylight hours; rather than burning neurons into new ideologies and strapping on our future cones with gentle yet pornographic intent. In the meantime, don’t eat graham crackers, or anything Kellogian until you do some research and hey—let’s engorge our nerve endings with life blood and wanton lust.

Scorpio- Let’s talk cuckoo. This suspect avian has us all fooled. Its biologically inherited cleverness has somehow switched around 20^th century-wise to mean something stupid or crazy. Not even! The cuckoo lays its eggs in other birds’ nests in a span of about 20 seconds; and the host bird who ends up caring for the foreign baby never knows---although some do, but even they can’t tell the difference once the egg is hatched. And this is just the tip of the cuckoo iceberg. Now, let speak of the gowk stone…Cuckoos often bring the first tidings of spring---and gowk stones are remnants of glaciation, just big ol’ rocks sitting in the midst of nowheres--- through which the spirit of the cuckoo beatifies itself…spring comes earlier and earlier at the end of an ice age cycle, and these rocks and these birds will ever remind me of you and your inescapable tenderosityness®.

Sagittarius- The ancient greek pentathlon went like this: foot race, wrestling, long jump, javelin and discus. Purportedly, the events were modeled after a finely honed soldier’s skills---and while I want to know exactly how you could kill a man with a discus, I’m not here to discuss today’s discus related killings. The modern pentathlon goes like this: ride an unfamiliar (and likely pissed off) horse, fight with a pistol and then a sword, and then run really far and swim a lot---much like every 19^th century cavalryman had to do in order to avoid having your leg amputated in the field by a guy with a hacksaw and a bottle of bourbon. What should the 21rst century pentathlon contain? X-Boxing, Jaeger shooting, Tivo-ing®, keg stands and beer bongs? Your unique skill set is about to be called upon. Prepare yourself.

Capricorn- A Muse is a must. For some it could be flowers. For others, maybe pizza. On the weird side, it could be buying lots of fresh mackerel and drawing a cold bath for some alone time. If you believe Marcus Aurelius and/or Dr. Lechter, we fall in love with what we see every day. And you are a most potent obsession. There are powerful forces at work in what I espy in you; and all of them are true. You are the vessel, the way and the light, and your spirit is mightier and more beautiful than any sword. I leave you with this, friend: ‘they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Amen and thanks for hanging out so resplendently.

Aquarius- You haven’t looked at me that way in years. You’re my black market baby…a diamond who wants to stay cold-- my chocolate jesus. I’m gonna change my name to Hannibal, or maybe just Rex. I look good without a shirt, I’m gonna drive all night, gonna get some speed. Maybe get some pasties and a g-string, beer and a shot-- Portland through a shot glass and a buffalo squeeze. You send me blue valentines, though I’ve tried to remain at large. And the ghost of your memory, baby, it’s the thistle in the kiss. But your hair smells like meadow grass on the tide, and the raindrops on my window, and the ice in my drink. So a secret kiss brings madness with the bliss. Pretend that you owe me nothing and all the world is green. We can bring back the old days again when all the world was green. Take my hand; I’m standing right here—hold on.

Pisces- In theory and per se, what would jesus do? What would mohammed do? What about walker texas ranger? Yes, I refuse to capitalize what should be venerated, but not idol-ized; but rather be kept holy in spirit in a mentally figmented fashion. The blood of a martyr and a thousand million others who have died for this cause or that; all in praise of a metaphor made literal for the benefit of the ego driven, the usurpers of decency, and the absconderers of justice. This matriarchally oriented pile of arbitrary evidence---which all testosterone and y-chromosomally leaning lords would deny and forfeit—tells me what the wise and judicious would do to save themselves from drowning terror of empty nights and fruitless days. What would they do…? First, they would forgive and bless and give a metaphorical roundhouse kick, maybe Swayze style. Anything that follows is organic and righteous and made from your own being-ness.