Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

                  Dr. Pants McTurd's

         MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                

       (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                 

Aries- So, foy is this word that I imaginated one afternoon whilst mid crossword, and thought, could foy be a word? It seemed suspect, so I looked it up, and apparently foy, dammitall®, is indeedily a word. Not oft used, probably not even in an esoteric and moldy 15^th century way; but I guess my seemingly rambling point is probably that, to quote the Bueller, life moves pretty fast; if you don't stop and look around once and a while, you could miss it. Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the moment last… Your mission is to make a toast, take a journey, and go on a groovy adventure. Even if you don’t leave town---cheers and god speed.

Taurus- If you don’t believe I can connect the tyrannical king Nimrod the Evil to Bugs Bunny, then you better hold on to your panties. Nimrod was a powerful despot, but hey—who hasn’t felt more powerful than god, right? I suppose we all have our Abrahams ready to knock us off our pedestals. Anyhoo--I figure most tyrants make good hunters, what with the need to smite and all; which brings me not yet to Bugs, but to Elmer Fudd. Bugs calling Elmer a nimrod ushers into the 20^th century an updated definition for an ancient word; simultaneously bringing king nimrod down to the lowest level of stupidity in continued payment for his sins. Mock evil and we win. It’s how we rise above the bad shite that inevitably goes down. Find your Bugs, and mock the evil. Mock it good, Doc.

Gemini- Man vs man. Man vs nature. Man vs society. Man vs banana peels casually tossed from car windows onto sidewalks replete with unaware passersby’s destined for fateful spills. Man vs giant mutoid octopus donuts. Man vs Klingon. Wait, my head is spinning… I don’t want to argue grammar here, I just disagree with its tactics sometimes. Pain as a teacher? Piffle! Just so we can justify why terrible things happen? And here’s both th’ rub and th’ poison’d and ink’d prick—MAN vs HIMSELF. The seppuku sword of Damocles, destined for an eternity of pyrrhic emptiness ---WHOA! Hey, hold your four horsemen—you can totally relax and stay beautiful. You’re tubing down a nice river headed for a kick ass lake with ducks and otters and picnic tables. It’ll be fun; there’s sandwiches and cookies and bourbon! Groovy.

Cancer- There’s been much radioactive quackery emanating from the southern portion of you ancestral mountains, and yet-- the rate of decay will only enhance your powers. And far to the north, the poppies have had a warm wet spring and the opium tinctures are being prepared by enthralled Lotus Landers. Keep an eye out in your local grasslands and steppes tho; I smell snake oil, barnum and/or hokum, and fraudulence and calumnies that threaten the enclaves of usually burgeoning life on your tidally affected supercontinent. Luckily, your astro weather report is full of madly sunny days lost somewhere on a mediterranean coast. From here, your map looks like a sun lit tapestry, whose only reason for existing is to be seen and pondered and maybe napped upon. Breathe deep the groovy sun.

Leo- Gird your loins, is not usually a welcome phrase. Later in the day, after lunch and preferentially a beer, a hammock and a quick snooze, possibly after either snuggling or preferentially canoodling-- maybe I can handle a little girdling, but not before noon fer sure. And by maybe, I mean no, most likely not ever, not even if we were invaded by fascist aliens, armed with butt probe drones and watered down beer. Unfortunately, the hobbit-like existence I’d like to live tends to be interrupted from time to time with noisy jerks telling me to hold fast my crotchal regions, and I get all tense. I’m NOT telling you to gird anything. Unclench at least forty percent and it’ll be cool with all multiversal® powers that be. No butt probe aliens. You’re cool.

Virgo- Relax, and have a Death in The Afternoon. Not the novel, but rather the cocktail invented by the author. Of which he said, “Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these.” He’s right; three to five of those babies and it’s a farewell to more than just arms. Besides your pants, there’s no more war, no more atrocities—just boobies and happy endings and six toed cats. I’m not endorsing you drink five of them—you’re no Dr. Pants to be sure…but this week, feel free to indulge—wisely that is, in a forbidden fruit, a taboo, or a sexy moral imperative. I’ll meet you at Hemingway’s place for happy hour, and you can tell me all about what may have been hallucinatory and yet seemed so real and life changing.

Libra- Your power animal for the week is a crocodile from Burundi named Gustave, who has allegedly eaten over 300 humans and has never been caught; partially due his Rambo-like craftiness, but also his size—estimated at over 2000lbs. Gustave is not a croc you want to meet in a dark alley after the dessert bar at the Carnivore’s Buffet ran out of seagull sundaes. And nobody really worships crocodiles anymore, what’s up with that? They even got booted from the zodiac. We got a goat and a ram, but no croc. I call bullshite. I’m NOT saying that you should go Hannibal and snatch unsuspecting people from the street and eat them wholesale; but I AM saying that you possess the strength of ten Gustaves. So…the buffet opens at 5, dress casual, and remember to smile those powerful reptilian whites.

Scorpio- Your power flora of the week is the King Clone, a stinky creosote plant that lives near Mojave; mostly because it’s a pretty short commute over to Edwards AFB. King Clone has been carbon dated as one of the oldest living organisms on earth, at over 11,000 years. If you don’t know creosote—it smells like a combination of roofing tar and dinosaur farts—you, howsomever, smell way better. Nonethenevertheless, you and this desert bush possess similar qualities; for example, even in extreme droughts—both the temporal and emotional kinds—your roots can hold water better than a ShamWow!; protecting you for future deluges and cyclical seasonal snows. You are a wise and possibly immortal creosote plant. Live strong, stinky.

Sagittarius- You are beagle nosed and eagle eyed, not to mention wild, riled and never tired. You’re the leader of the freshly notar- and motor- -ized Shotgun Bear Army®; trained by a master in leg sweeping, twisting the pig, and decrying righteously the foully unjust, the cretinous and the cruel, the takers and the never givers—people who play politic with principles---OUR principles, which are intended to fuel our healthy appetite for life’s bounty, the blessings of existence and the plaudits of self examination and catharsis; psychological evolution that leads to the next level, the next incarnation of a soul’s journey through weird fibroid strings dancing ‘mongst mysteriously dark matter. You are ready for anything. No thing can stop you.

If you’re gonna be a bear-- be a GRIZZLY!!

Capricorn- The Carpathian Mountains have given us so much---nosferatu, goth fashion, and bad guys from ill fated Ghostbusters sequels. Submitted for your approval: the chamois. However, before your ‘scopes grand finale that contains a ShamWow! metaphor, let’s start with the goat-antelope bovid called, a chamois, that lives, guess where---Carpathia. Whew, okay, long intro—so the skin of the chamois is super absorbent, and then blammo® centuries later---the ShamWow! takes care of your wettest and clumsiest needs. And yes, I could ham handedly hand down a Cap ‘scope comparing you either to the transylvanian goat, or something vague about being able to soak up a lot of water. But my point is about the history of stuff. The evolution of stuff. The causes and catalysts behind every effect and affect. The eternal and omnipotent chamois. Long live Carpathia. And ShamWow!

Aquarius- "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of god.”  Not to get preachy--as if I could give two shites about the new pope; but we finally get a spiritual leader whose first speech was about taking care of the poor and disenfranchised; as opposed to check out my fancy pope pomp and circumstance, with the cool shoes and jewelry fetish. Point is, we all spend a lot of time trying to get rich, and inevitably dying in the process. And I rarely predict anything for a future oriented sign such as you and me, but I feel that in the next week you may have to thread the needle. Humility will save you many bactrian and avoidable conflicts. Irrelevant addendum: does the pope shit in the woods? I’m guessing no—there’s probably a private papal shitter.

Pisces- I’ll be your huckleberry. I guess... I’m not sure if that means that I’ll threaten you with a gun fight and tuberculosis; or if it means that despite being a metaphor for someone of little consequence-- I’ll be your Huckleberry-- as in Finn, who may seem like a lowly person, but who Twain himself described as the most free and independent of anyone. You be the huckleberry this week and you make the call. I say you go with the latter. Let the world remain ignorant regarding your misnomed nature. You don’t have to play the fool, but you’re not that fast of a draw, and you don’t have TB-- I checked. Do what you know—be free.