Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE
Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror
or scopes of any ilk)
this week: I found my Pants!
Doc P’s Word of the Week: BALLYHOO. PSST, BUDDY…OVER HERE!
Aries- The real Batman’s name is
John. John Batman. He helped found Australia, aka the backward southern
hemispherial ex-con brits. I kid the Aussies, cause they’re all the way down
there and under, but seriously, what a great model for anti-recidivism and societal
rehabilitation. Most of those emu humpers are pretty nice, and their treatment
of and treaties with indigenous peoples might be the kindest on the planet, for
what that’s worth. But wait—John Batman. Like the northern Batman, John was a
mixed bag. He killed some aborigines, saved some, adopted one even, killed some
bad guys and outlaws; but his best idea was what he wanted to name
Melbourne-—Batmania. How much better would our world be if there was a city
named Batmania? I say lots better. Try renaming stuff---it’ll change your
relationship to the object.
Taurus- We may be connected—you and
I…possibly spread eagled against the sky, like an impatient etherized upon a
fable-…and yet it’s far more complicated than we could imagine:
Love?--Ha!--what a biological and mathematically rendered piece of work. We
shall be and/or what we think we desire to be, regardless! Ha yet again! To
believe that there’s some cosmic relativity---a moment of balance and unity,
where we come together as separate pieces of the same puzzle...Ha! I say, x3!,
We have yet to intimately blather. Spreading one’s fractures and fortunes face
to face, preferably while lying together showered and naked, til the required
trust phase is allowed for, and we grok each other’s macguffin---that’s where
love may possibly lyeth! Not here amidst coffee grounds and broken parleys
across mountains of non conductive copper. Make and get a room, will ya
already?
Gemini- Translate this, and then
stick it in your pipe and smoke it: there’s no way for you to be more
beautiful. There! I said it. The world desires you, as it does peace, and fewer
Justin Biebers and weather related fatalities; not to mention fewer deaths
related to guns usually of innocents, the blood of lambs. Your mental health is
of the utmost importance here: Maintain an even keel, despite your turbulent
and reasonable emotions. You are the only air sign that sits astride the fence
between emotion and logic—one who is comfortable in more than one world at
once. And you wear it like a crown forged of bravery, fortitude, cunningness
and guile, and full tilt metaphorical balls to the proverbial wall. So you have
that going, which is nice.
Cancer- As our current universe expanded from a somehow measurable bang, as yet
evolved energy cooled and coalesced into simple ideas like hydrogen and helium
becoming nuclear fire and plasma and vortexes and multiverses, mirroring itself
infinitely, creating new timespace in the blink of an eye. Matter evolves
condensing out of furnaces of immense heat, taking billions of years to find
ourselves in the now on a slowly cooling planet made from lightning hot star
stuff. And from the perspective of the ‘creator’, billions of years are like a
new york minute, a heartbeat, or as the Bhuddists say one inspirational breath
of god. Cool your jets, jumpy jill. You got time.
Leo- Roar. Lions roar. Grrrr.
But…I’m on to you—ROOOAAR right back at ya. Point is, that while your aquarian
perfect soul mate may never to be realized due to a mutual fear of true cosmic
intimacy, rather than mere pheromone related incidents on a drunken nights in
old london town, when you hooked up and regretted just as quickly. Wait, it’s
been five seconds, you better give a good ROAR or a nice purrrrrrr, so the
voices from another room don’t forget there’s a dangerous beautiful, almost top
of the food chain sexy beast in here who’s gonna be needing some ripe flesh and
probably pronto. Your fur lined ego wants to be stroked. Aquarians do that with
their minds, and their mates should be so vibrationally attuned; so maybe we
are perfect soul mates only in spirit, as friends and twins. My brains, your
brawn—we are unstoppable. Come, Lion…there be gazelles to harass.
Virgo- Like in any chaotic system,
entropy changes tempo over time and society appears to grow more organized. But
are we moving toward a kind of homogenized chaos? Just looking at the numbers,
the human species is about to get very diverse, what with random mutation
popping off whenever it feels like it. But the how of our daily lives has lots
in common—food, medicine, transportation, education, employment, and they’re
are evolving globally at varying speeds, but towards very similar models. Keep
vigilant of your place in space—it’s moving. Your atoms seem to coalescing
rapidly. Unwrinkle and unbunch your panties though because the upcoming you is
super cool. And taller!
Libra- You are made of the stuff of
Robert Burns. Yeah, yeah..little bit of the ol’ Auld Lang Syne, a little smack
of some for a’ that and a’ that and y’adda y’adda y’adda. And Meredith-your
secret name…Welsh and Scottish, all haggis and baskersvillian, racing ‘round
Wrath on bones made of basil and blood, and scintillating and rapidly
deteriorating portraits of our self worth and refusal to obey the lack of
inhibitions that our soul demands—the greyest of dorians. Fudge, shit, terror,
tits and acceptance…of something—a larger reality—where a hidden pool of secret
knowledge juice, thought to be extinct and out of fashion, exists that wants to
be our Calgon, and take us away like a sailboat, course plotted for somewhere
warm and fruity drink worthy. Happy New Year.
Scorpio- You are a perfect hybrid of
the chalky buttercup and the buttercup lucine; grasping onto rocks and
crevices, direly surviving against the sea—which is your nature: to be one with
the sea…sodium and water and ratios aligning perfectly, so that we never notice
the barriers betwixt and between us; skin melding and molding and justifying
and condensing into one being, made of two and twixt and twain--strangled
amidst unassuming strangers who befuddle and misdirect us—or who seem and are
presented as reasonable suitors; but in the final analysis end game realization
technique, verified by science minded celts,… are merely adequate. You want
mystical? You want grokking and rocking and scottish jewish hindu pagan
freedom? Pretty sure you’re already there, but keep on digging. The earth is
warm.
Sagittarius- You are Bartholomew Bundy,
The Bully Butcher of Bourbon Street®, ready to punch through that fake wall
that’s been separating you from your adventurous future. Once you break through
the wall, it may be dark, so bring a torch, and maybe some trail mix and water;
I don’t know how long you’ll be in there. Maybe just an apple and some beef
jerky—anyway, point is—start the journey now while you have the muscle. I’m not
trying to scare ya, for all I know there’s butterflies and shamrock shakes in
there, just be prepared. Also, bring your trusty ax and your big blue ox. And
maybe a couple chairs, some throw pillows, maybe even a bean bag chair—spruce
up the joint while you’re in there. Start an illegal guinea pig breeding farm
in there—whatever, go nuts. Get your ax.
Capricorn- A quasi war is just that:
half assed, ill planned, brutal and most likely disastrous. Quasi, my ass; kill
or be killed, right? Eye for an eye—tit for a tat, and a turd for
Tartuffe—right? The universe can’t be black and white. I like to think of it as
layers of orange upon green, and when inevitably mixed, generating a slurry of
weird uncomfortable brown, murky and mucky, primordial and oozy, like from
whence we crawled. And as you walk through the layers, the colors probably
smell like coriander and sage, evoking memories of a time when things seemed
more concrete, and all we had to worry about was getting our vocabulary
homework handed in on time. I know, I’m waxing rhapsodically nostalgic, and I
suppose the grass is always greener on the other side of 4th
grade….where we we?—ahh, yes, DECIDE, DETERMINE, CHOOSE! Gauche
ou droite? Orange ou vert --what’s it gonna be, mon ami?
Aquarius- Upheaval, case in point:
digging in the dirt, finding places we got hurt. Mayans and long dead
philosophies are all that’s left of pre-human thought. We are different now, I
swear it. And yet…our needs remain the same: food, shelter, warmth, ding-dongs,
kung-fu movies preferably starring Bruce Lee, free wi-fi, soft serve ice cream
on a sweltering midwestern eve…and so many, many more wonderful inventions of
human desire. Praise the Creator!—whoever it is, or isn’t—or frak---what if
we’re a soap bubble in an infinite bath tub of infinite soap-streams, and an
abundance of ‘verses ‘pon ‘verses, ‘pon plethoras of ‘verses, ad infinauseum®.
Such an absurd abundance that it simply takes too much potential timespace to
get a hook through. Just throw your line in the water, where matters not. Fish
and they will come.
Pisces- Man vs Man. Man vs nature.
Man vs society. Man vs banana peels, casually tossed from car windows onto
sidewalks replete with unaware passengers destined for a fateful spill. Man vs
giant mutoid octopus donut. Man vs Klingon. I can’t keep all these versuses
straight. I don’t want to be against the universe, I just disagree with its
tactics sometimes. Pain as a teacher? Piffle…just so we can justify why
terrible things happen in a chaos that doesn’t even have to post the
ingredients on the menu, self legislated immunity from any form of civility or
justice—like not creating tsunamis or causing cancer or letting old people
drive. Especially this one: Man vs self. Oy, what a poisoned prick, the damoclean
sword of one’s ego fighting the tides of the multiverse, and calling it
evolution! Relax, you’re in the river headed for a nice lake with ducks and
otters and picnic tables. It’ll be fun and there’s sandwiches.
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