Dr.
Pants McTurd's
MORE
Than True Horror-scopes
(not associated with horror or scopes of
any ilk)
Aries- You’ll have to read Leo first before proceeding. Sorry, but
your intellect is worth the extra homework. I’ll wait til you’re finished…
Point is, I have been attempting to
stall you. It’s the first day of spring—your time of year to do whatever the
fudge you feel like doing. Happy birthday, this is your equinox. Not that I
really espouse the idea that you are a balanced individual. I mean, you pop out
the womb at the start of the astrological year (the western one anyway), and
hey, it is an equinox after all, which seems to prefer to propel you futurewise
and headlong into bold choices and occasionally rash decisions with
surprisingly happy outcomes. Spark a blue flame that heals instead of burns. This
year is yours.
Taurus- The propaganda you’ve been
disseminating is coming through bloody loud and boomingly clear. I have no idea
what you’re selling, but people are lining up to be spoon fed your version of
the way things actually work--the real scoop and the straight poop. I drank
your Kool-Aid, man, and I’m tripping balls...I would like to posit however, that
the Kool-Aid mascot---a giant pitcher of blood red fake juice that busts
through the walls of your house to deliver sugary addictive chemicals to
children—is probably a little dated. We get it-- corporations want our money.
There are rich people to over feed. Where was I? Oh yes---your immediate future
seems pretty cool. So, I guess…enjoy it and stuff. Peace out, and peace in. And
fear not the fruity drinks that will undoubtedly teem and abound your imminent future.
Gemini- You’re an unlikely cowboy, a
rescuer of the ill framed, and upholder of rights for those less endowed with
either physical or mental prowess. You’re no savior—let’s not get ahead of
ourselves—but you have a knack, a talent-- a certain je ne sais quoi—I don’t know what; like you’re a maverick that
gives a shit. Like Kung Fu, and you’re just wandering the earth---and thwarting
bad guys along the way, A Team style. You’re no Jules
Winnfield —your
wallet don’t say bad ass mofo on it
or anything. Grow up, put your anger aside and travel, even if only in your
mind. Imagine and create and engender justice. You’re genius at it.
Cancer-
A whale’s penis can weigh upwards of 150lbs. Ponder that shite, right? The
hamster, on the other penis, requires a magnifying glass to see. My point? Size
is relative? Mammals evolve penises according to the dictates of environment
and speed of mutation, while supporting a brain capable of evolving into a
‘higher’ matrix? We’ll never know what my point was, because I’m tired now; my
brain blasted with nightmares of a whale dick that outweighs me. That aside,
--relaxi taxi® this week and take a deep cleansing breath. Everything you have
is the perfect size, color and temperature. You’re sex magical. You’re a
bonfire of vanity giving rise to a much humbler phoenix. Your junk is as big as
a cetacean’s. Dive deep and fret not.
Leo- Phallusy® is a word I just made up, with several definitions: 1)
when a man lies about the size alleged of his endowment. 2) a lie that is so
bald and or bold faced, that one should be ashamed for committing such an
egregious phallusy®. And 3) a penile
implement, such as a dildo, that does not exist in our timespace, but has been
theorized mathematically to ‘exist’, and whose verisimilitude is on CERN’s list
of shit to conjure. If it exists, this dildo will be the last link in the
physics chain that’s been stumping even super porno nerds for some time.
Anyhoo, the expression, don’t believe
your own hype, may be applicable to your upcoming week. Which side of the
hype you should choose—is yours to decide. I suggest honesty with thyself, and
nothing tween the twain.
Virgo- The Icelandic Phallological Museum is exactly what it sounds like. If
you’ve ever had a desire to visit one location, which could house examples of
all the penile or penile parts from all of the animals in Iceland---well, you
have just found dong heaven. Apparently phallology is an ancient art-- who
knew? And Sigurður Hjartarson has undertaken a mantel of great momentous gravity indeed. His
mission: to gather all the different penises of Iceland under igloo; so that we
can…study them, I guess. I don’t think it’s for mere titillation; but decide
for yourself at www.phalus.is. Meantime, I
say to you, Virgo person—gather all of your genitalia and even your
metaphorical cajones—your mojo if you
will—because there is an icelandic dragon penis out there stalking you. Yet
fret not—you will be vaingloriously victorious. No penis can touch you. You are
immaculate.
Libra- This week, prepare thyself for
a lot—and I mean a lot of themes and motifs dealing with deer penis; which
according to some cultures holds healing and nutritional properties; just like
turtle blood and tiger penis. Maybe Charlie Sheen had the right idea, but the
wrong animal part. But keep in mind that the deer penis of the future is
probably digital. So, the deer can keep their real penises, and we can invent a
sustainable way to get pumped up on the blood and animal parts that inspired
Viagra. We don’t have to espouse the antiquated cenozoic notion of an eye for
an eye, nor even junk for junk. Your mojo is totemically composed of zeroes and
ones and lucky sevens. Drink of the cybernated
tiger blood. Do it now!
Scorpio- The Scorpio Guide to
Understanding Aquarii, Part One: Our brains work in hypersonic flashes of
sublimely lit insightfulness; that’s generally not emotionally based. We dip
toes into the piscine subspace of the tangible reality, in order to pluck the
answer or idea or revelation out of ‘thin’ air. Our minds are oft aloft on
stony tangents that seem masturbatory and pointless to the untrained water
sign. We’re hardwired into stuff that hasn’t happened yet. It’s like our own
private inter-dimensional pool with a swim-up bar and happy hour all day, every
day. Everyone else just isn’t privy to all the new shit, Dude. Hopefully an
iota of this has been helpful. If not, you’ll catch up to our elect-ronic spin at some point past this
present moment.
Sagittarius- Okay, prep for a high
density info load: Sag, Capricorn, Aquarii and the Pisces-- the last four signs
of the zodiac, represent the oldest or most ‘mature’ signs—one fire, one earth,
one air, one water. In that order across the zodiac btw---And while this is
true for all groups of signs, for us more advanced ones, here’s the straight up
schizznit: Depending on what date you fall in Sag, you may be more headstrong
and less rueful of hasty action. Personally, I find Sag’s born within +/- a
week of about Dec 2nd to be the most…take no prisoners, take no shit
kind of fiery badasses, compared to later mid month, whose galactic center
positioning mellows their way into Capricorn; no doubt with equal amounts
passion, but perhaps less willing to start random meaningless fires, but rather
using flame as a catalyst. You are promethean—wield it wisely.
Capricorn-
You can vote at 18, but you can't drink till 21,
however, you can be drafted--- should the need arise, due to alien/zombie
invasion, or an asteroid, pole reversing, a super tornado made of ice and space
alligators with laser weapons on their snouts--or maybe everyone just gets
really sleepy and we all just drift away, colliding all brane-like; creating
new multiverses ad infinauseum® forever and forever, amen. Apologies for my
waxing of the rhapsodic, yet dulcet tones, but if I can vote on whether we go
to war, but I can’t have a sip of beer in a legal fashion, then I call
bullshit! WTFudge? Remember—this is the same country that made alcohol illegal.
Something you can make at home---they banned. For the near future use your
logic, avoid the draft and don’t take nobody’s illogical guff.
Aquarius- Dear Reader, the Dr. Pants is normally all up in your face and/or
grill, brutally honest, and sans fear of etiquette, protocol or
zombiepocalyptic® outcomes; where society breaks down Lord of The Flies style
and poor Piggy has to eat a rock with his face; and the glasses are broken and
that’s how they made fire, so even if we catch a boar, they won’t be able to
cook it. What a pisser. Okay, so—mob mentality and rule by right of power by
either strength or money are not necessarily good ways to run a railroad.
However, in this moment, you are not Piggy. You’re not even Ralph Wiggum.
You’re the adults who got to the island just in time to prevent further killing
in the name of no reason. Help us save all of us.
Pisces-
The sex strategy of zombie worms is both oddly
fascinating and creepily masturbatory. The females are dominant and the males
are all dwarf love slaves. Yep—zombie worms are like reverse harems. Don’t
worry—they live in the ocean, they’re really small and they eat whale bones.
You’re super far ahead of that bored game. Actually, you’re sitting in the
fabled catbird seat—the crow’s nest, the throne of golden awesome butt
massaging—why, your pole position is legs up and full throttle. No force in the
multiverse, with a possible caveat re the strong nuclear force; I just have a
feeling-—Nothing can stop you now. No thing. Not even dark matter. You’re a
juggernautical dynamo and you’re about to hit Warp 9.
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