Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

                         Dr. Pants McTurd's

                 MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                    pantsmcturd.blogspot.com

                 (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)                                                                                 

Aries- A beaver named Spiritual Crunch is your power animal of the week. He prefers to be called Crunchy, fyi. Beavers, btw are the second largest rodent; a perfect example of wanting one’s own environment to be a product of the implied me, the editorial--the royal WE—rather than ‘me’ being a product of my environment. Whatever river you’re on, it’s time to tie up your canoe and enjoy the spring thaw by building a fortress of solitude and wood that will allow you and Crunchy to rejuvenate, revive and return to a simpler, more id based economy. Think BIG.

Taurus- Jump the shark, it’s time. Fonzie did it, while wearing a leather jacket and jeans, which seems constricting and not very safe; but I guess the cool factor kinda outweighs the physics and the logic of not waterskiing over a shark in the wrong clothes. I assume naked waterskiing is also frowned upon from a safety perspective. Anyhoo, you’ve been avoiding the shark for awhile, hoping to keep the same continuum going, because change is scary and should be thought out far in advance. But now, NOW is the time for logical change and movement and rock climbing and adventure seeking and mating, both physically and spiritually. Pamplona, 1961, man.

Gemini- You are the perfect size to be a professional jumping rabbit. Man, I can’t make this stuff up. Throughout northern europe and uk, rabbit jumping competitions are damn near rampant. It looks like a cross between the American Kennel Club and an olympic equestrian event. Most of the rabbits I’ve met seem to do little else besides eat and poop and sleep and look cute. But these suckers jump! The record being some 39 inches---three feet, man—wow, neat! I sense the eating pooping rabbit inside of you is awakening from a long slumber after a nice salad. But it’s time to jump. It’s time to touch the sky. Stretch your bunny legs and prepare for springing into action and adventure. Sproing!®.

Cancer- In grammar, contractions are indicative of the past intruding on present time, but with a purpose: slowing the speed of the evolution of society, because it sure as heckfire seems like from where we're standing, time is freaking flying like the Wright Brothers. Language seems to be accelerating exponentially, spread by the web and human curiosity and a love of the english language; which developed out of centuries of law and organization and brute force, meant to curb the will of man, to cull and cow tow to the authority of the stronger. Query: what will happen when society outsmarts the bully, the physically stronger with masterful Ender Wiggins-like intelligence. Once we suppress the samurai class, how will they make a living? How will they survive? This week, don't sublimate; actuate and engender. Save you it will.

Leo- You are the 21rst century version of an orienteer. Wtf is that, you say? Whoa-- calmate, muchacho. An orienteer is someone who can manage the crossing of an unknown land with the aid of a map and a compass. What brings you to your future however, is something far more plump and devious. You’ve been given no map, and your true north has appeared to be truly lost amongst magma displacements and pole reversals, maybe even verboten, all full of schadenfreude and so forth and on…You are not alone, however. Your power animal will guide protect you. Now don’t freak out, but your power animal is a capybara—the world’s largest rodent. His name is unpronounceable in English. Trust him with your life. A destiny awaits.

Virgo- I repeat: I can’t make this shit up: my Irish ancestors are strange and island oriented and hella weird; posit: Irish Road Bowling; no--fer reals: basically, a bunch of (usually) Irish guys “bowl” a metal ball down a road—say for about a mile or so, until one of the guys gets to the designated location first, wherever the marker may lie; probably reflective of the idea that Clyde bets that he can out “bowl” James Patrick all the way to the Callahan’s farm, (my ancestors btw); and that by Joyce--or by Jove, or by Jupiter, or by Jesus—Irish Road Bowling is directly related to golf---which leads me to my Scottish ancestors…wait, wait—the ball’s off the road here; point is: life is a game AND a journey…? Mayhap? Prithee? You shall sample...my….blade…?

Libra- Preceding caveat: this ‘scope is not about Richard Gere. That said, the gerbil, also known as the sand rat—has a fascinating history. First weird fact: A group of forty gerbils were brought over for science folk to probe and figure out back in 1954, and almost all commercially sold gerbils—for pets mind you…not a Lemmiwink adventure up the alimentary canal, all gerbils for sale in the US are descended from these 40 gerbils. Secondly, they’re cute and they build nests and burrow. Thirdly, they’re illegal in California. Apparently decimating crops is a “concern” to some farmers. Whatev. My point? Root out your inner gerbil. He must be free.

Scorpio- Madcap: to be recklessly wild, reckless, impulsive and/or rash; daredevil, harum-scarum, possibly even hot headed lunacy, driven mad by powers out of our control. We are reeds swaying with the current. In times of deluge, the reed must hold on for dear life, and perhaps invent a plant based religion, in order to evolve to the next---wait, wait…listen—do you smell something? Something maybe half baked? Possibly scatter- and/or hare- brained? Oh, sorry that’s me. Point is, your cap that makes you mad has a perfect fit; don’t even consider taking it off. Passion should remain unfenced and unmolested by either government or villany.

Sagittarius- Sagittarius is intelligent fire, the oldest of the fire signs, centered at a crucial turning point in the year--the solstice. And we must transition into that from the teenaged water sign of Scorpio. Marvelous, for those who love drama and fire and ice. Scorp doesn't evolve into the elevated water of Pisces for three more months. And surely, I could be seeing patterns in a chaotic soup that lacks cohesive meaning, but posit anyway: since we created astrology, as a most ancient skyclad love affair, aka old school digital entertainment-- the balance point from your sign to the next--that axis is hella vital and cool, and angled around 23 degrees...there be fissionable material in the generators next to which you were born. Light the sky.

Capricorn- Your power animal for the week is the capybara—alos known as the world’s largest rodent—way to evolve, South America! Your continent is truly wondrous and strange. Google this thing—it’s freaky cool. You will exist, as the capybara does, in an easy going collective, where hierarchy is determined by playing and jostling and well intentioned frivolity. And then we’ll all eat some grass together and play rodentian board games. You particular capybara is named Onok-chi!, which means Pensive One Who Chews Like Cow. Your crown weighs heavy, but your pack animal exterior is more than ready for the burden. You are a giant rodent. Right on!

Aquarius- I have no idea why Little Bunny Foo Foo was being such a dick to those stupid field mice. Yes, on one level, the story seems to be about bullying. If you recall, the good fairy came down and warned him, gave him three chances to NOT bop field mice on the head, and then she turned him into a goon. Yeah, a goon. I don’t know what a goon is either-- very confusing. Point is, maybe Bunny Foo Foo was trying to redress past wrongs. Maybe it was a rabbit form of social protest. Maybe the field mice were dicks. I don’t know. Maybe we only know a fraction about this reality, and everything else is still conjecture. Keep up the sleuthing and delving. Treasure is nigh, and shockingly at hand and well worth all the vexation and hassle and troubles.

Pisces- The bulls are running loose. You are Pamplona in early July. Before we get too deep tho—since 1910, only 15 people have been killed in the running of tauric passions and fire and summer heat. Granted, 2-3 hundred are injured every year, usually in some form of goring, which is highly unpleasant, especially in the buttock area. Now…on to deep shite. Happy birthday. AND, my sloppy obvious metaphor for you is this: your inner bulls are set to be unleashed. It’s the time of the season for you. Take precautions, but prepare for a hell of a ride. These bulls do hunt.