Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror
or scopes of any ilk)
disclaimer: Satire should never be over cooked. It’s way better al dente
and al fresco.
Doc P’s Word of the Week: Ultracrepidarian. Dude-seriously-- I really am an expert on
everything.
Aries- The Rafflesia arnoldii, best known as the corpse flower is your power flora for the week. I’m
not saying you stink, but you do have your own personal aroma that to me is
like a snifter full of fine brandy that was lost at sea during the Revolution,
and recovered by James Cameron. The corpse flower has no stems, no roots and no
leaves; and it lives as a parasite off a rainforest vine. Why am I calling you
a fetid hanger-on? Because here’s why it’s super cool neato wow—it is the
largest flower in the world; probably descended from even larger individual
flowers from night on æons ago that
once ruled the planet—or at least ruler of all the other puny flowers. Flowers
are all about a plant’s sex life and reproduction—which is maybe why we give
them as gifts, especially in order to grease the wheels of getting some Friday
night date night action. Google this plant and envision yourself as a powerful
aromatic sexing yourself up for hot hot jungle sexy time.
Taurus- Our lives are a landfill, and I durst think
that my particular pile of buried refuse is worthy of record keeping status.
Yet…the type that would value the size of one’s trash producing largess, is
probably someone with whom we might not wish to associate—like having drinks
with OJ Simpson; or Nixon, or Custer, or Caligula—those who are drunk and
addicted to power and selfishness and self aggrandizement—I tarry not with
their ilk. Perhaps we are all refuse pilers. Perhaps we all hope to recycle and
reuse, maybe even refuel the future---which is never as we plan. Irregardless
and irreproducible, build high your pile of trash, and you will be blessed by
cycles greater in size than you would ever imagine, as the wheel of Ka goes
round and round. Nothing stays buried. Everything exolves.
Gemini- Chironex
fleckeri, aka the sea wasp is a jelly
fish that shoots off micro darts of poison into anything that gets in its way,
pisses it off, or campaigns for states’ rights in your neighborhood on its
watch. It holds enough venom to kill 60 humans. And peeing on the sting will
not help. By the time you struggle back to shore, you’ll be lucky to even find
your junk to start peeing on yourself, because the toxin kills in 3-4 minutes.
That said---my advice to you this week is twofold: A) if you’re in Australia
this summer which is the cool hemisphere’s winter, watch your ass while
swimming; and B) be extra careful around anyone you know that has similar
poisonous micro darts; give them a wide berth, and don’t try to change them.
Jellyfish and venomous humans are who they are, usually for cruel environmentally
determined reasons. Tread carefully.
Cancer- The
gunslinger killed his mother. And the Line of Arthur Eld stopped dead in its
tracks, and important faces were forgotten; and the leader of the pack of
wolves, the Man in Black, he fled across the desert where the time had moved
and was leaning toward the vampiric and the twisted and opposite the Beam’s
Path; but if Ka willed it, there’d be water. Thankfully, we we are ka-tet,
bound like Jake of New York with the Oy of olde Throkken times. These are the
Near End Times, insane trains and thinnys and lobstrosities are abound, all
seduced by orbs of fetid power. The Turtle, the Bear and the Eagle all have
ways to help you find your way back to the Beam. Good advice for this week: aim
not with your eye, but with your heart, and you cannot fail.
Leo- You are the highest paid taxi dancer in all
of San Fran. Guys are lining up around the block for one song with
you---preferably Private Dancer by
Tina Turner. However, your lucrative dime-a-dance career will soon be shut down
by the vice squad. Your Barbary Coast is now a mini mall with a questionable
massage place next to a store that sells leather choke chains and bondage gear.
All of our vices wind up busted up, and relegated to back rooms and dirty
dealings. Above the water mark is where we can all keep an eye on our
underworld activities. Bring all the stuff out of your own closet, or your
inner spanking room, or the secret place you go to where carnal stings are
allowed and encouraged to guide your actions. Moderate though, and stay out of
the deep end---but you should definitely be getting your freak on, or out, or
whatever. Party on, Garth.
Virgo- Your power animal for the week is Bill
Richmond. Check this guy out: an African American born in New York in 1763, he
worked for a british dude and was the guy who had to tie the rope to the neck
of superpatriot Nathan Hale; but from there went on to become arguably the
greatest welterweight bare knuckle boxer in recorded history. Bare frakking
knuckle. There was little concern for blows to the head in the 1800’s. He would
often fight bigger, meaner, drunker and Irisher dudes that often outweighed him
by 4 or 5 stone—and he’d win. He narrowly lost to the guy who later became
world champion---in the 60th round! His wallet even said bad ass motherfucker on it. I’m not
saying you should go start a fight, but you should channel this dude---use his
spirit to rope the dopes that plague your life and times.
Libra- Are you Canadian? Cause I’d like to taste
your bacon. You’re like a blow up gorilla on the side of the road; and your
flailing arms are drawing me in and convincing me to take you for a test drive.
You’re sitting, sans spinning, all tentacled and tapestried. You’re all over
midtown, and your iMap says you’re right on target. You are the penultimate
quacksonic horticulturismo that founded the university through which we all
matriculate and extenuate. You’ve evolved past war and are currently designing
new power supplies for all of us, and we will live forever in fusion powered
robot bodies, and continually drunk with praise for you—you that have made this
gift possible. Life without end, which gives us more time to love, brew beer
that tastes like apples and eat chocolate that makes our robot junk bigger and
harder. Nice work if you can get it.
Scorpio- The cheetah in my cummerbund is running full
speed straight to your hot spicy chutney pot; and yet…we’re floating and clad,
in my dinghy and jodhpurs, we’ll be a juggernaut in the jungle, you and I; all
khaki and pundit and mogul, til pajamas and toddies fill our dreamscapes with
punch filled bowls of smokable hashish and pancakes and blintzes and sushi and Æbleskiver. Transduce the
preceding into something more keen: use your Hobson-Jobson for good and only
occasionally for evil. Ride the snake and turn your eyes to the rising tides of
wonderment of what is sure to be a perfect blend of you and someone you love. Hobbes—find
your Locke. Freud—get out your Jung, you need him and he needs you. And hey,
Dean---grab your Jerry. Let’s do it, let’s fall in love.
Sagittarius- Here’s a brief list of what not to do
in your upcoming state of pleasantly received non self aggrandizing munificence
in actualis that’s about to hit you
facewise and heartsteady: 1) Clench tight the whortling baffles that may give
you away. 2) Hold fast to beliefs that currently leave you pissed off,
regardless of your previous assumptions of their logicality, 3) Don’t do that thing,
because of a needless fear of waste or fraud or sin that probably plagues your
soon to be kick ass mother truckin’ soul! There’s balls all over your court,
man; and there’s no one to stop you. NO ONE! Just jump, the earth will catch
you.
Capricorn- Lampreys have no jaws, and yet they are the
purported murderer of Henry I. Besides the jawless thing, they’re known in
science-type circles as a “true” fish due to some interesting morphology---well…interesting
if you’re an ichthyologist. They’re like Mynoks without the wings---anyhowdy,
how did a bunch of gilled armless eels kill the King of England?
It’s Occam and his razor this time! Henry loved lampreys, probably even more
than his mistresses, and especially in stew and pie form; and one night he got
really wasted and had a bunch of problems on his mind…cough…the French….frog
faced stew eaters….cough…and he ate a ‘surfeit of lamprey’. The modern
equivalent of surfeit is shitload, btw. And Henry died, while simultaneously
inventing the concept of what exactly is too much lamprey? I don’t know what
your lamprey is, but don’t overindulge this week. You need to stay in fighting
shape, and not sewn into the hide of a bull for your long journey home like
Henry. Stay lean and stay away from all surfeits and shitloads.
Aquarius- Life sure can seem hopeless sometimes. And
indolent. And stupid and slothful. And greedy and full of a sick need to purge;
first, slashing, then on to the inevitable burning, and plundering, and
destroying---all in an even sicker need to hit bottom, pull yourself up by what
are hopefully, actual and literal bootstraps; pull on some pants, even be they
sweat-ish in nature; grab hold of your literal junk and scream AAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,
I’M MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE!---a la Peter Finch circa
1975, and goddammit—I’ve been alive since then and frak it all if it doesn’t
seem like the same crap we put up with then, we put up with now. The only difference
is now we can tweet about it. Whoopity-shit. The secret fortune baked inside
all this metaphorical horsecrap is that we have pants. We need to keep our
pants up! Belts to the ready! Pants, to me!
Pisces- The Vice Squad is onto your parlour games and
colouring sticks. The Sherriff means to end your days and congressional
lampreys of both the means and ways that favor not the true nature of your
intellect, nor your deepest desire, nor vice and verdict. For yours is a mind
with a strong connection to the illogical heart--a rare perfect union of
thought and emotion, like Spock said in that 80’s song—pure energy. Uggh, I
can’t believe I went there…anyhowdy, your penultimate synergy is rampant with
sonorous vibes and latent tendencies of acceptance, empathy and resoluteness.
You’re a flag at full mast, a conjurer of missing consignments and you reek of
the effervescence of enclaved mountain artists who crave solitude for company and
nature for inspiration---the breath’s inhalation- being tantamount and
precipitous of enlightenment.
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