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- You are an impossible bridge; somehow spanning the chemical change from watery Pisces to incendiary Aries, and then magically transitioning earthward into immature Taurus. Fire is a catalyst; a catalyst is change, or an agent of change—a facilitator, a negotiator—an alchemist. It’s as if matter passes through you and coalesces and disbands and forms something new, like Wings…you are the man-on-the-run; the rain’s about to explode with a mighty crash and the rabbit’s on the run. Your birth is the equinox, your sleight of hand is perceptible only to the observant and wise. Don’t hold your fire. The congregation awaits the conflagration.

Taurus- I have no idea why Little Bunny Foo Foo was 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, 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 delving and sleuthing. Treasure is nigh, and shockingly at hand and well worth all the vexation and hassle. Bop away.

Gemini- It’s nearing your birthday times and I want to be the first to say, that I’m glad you’re here and thankful for your presence; but we have serious work to do, so let us to the brassiest of tacks and/or the nittiest of gritty. Being an air sign carries significant weight despite the inferred implication that air has very little mass; unless you wake up on Saturn, but that being the case, your head would explode like a squashed grape. Point is, air signs inevitably finds themselves in the future; it’s what we do. Your future, like Yoda’s is based in emotion. Now…like Yoda, I’m advising that you make decisions based on the Force, and not the stank of your coital onion or tuber. You dig? Be cool, be wise, and dig beyond the amygdala. 

Cancer- Our ongoing logomachy is absurd and pointless and defeats our purpose; which is love. Period. Or at least love based. The variances and variables regarding the word usements we continue to abuse reminds me that we are kindred souls who have a breakdown in the communicative arena. Hypothetically, you stop correcting the genius around you, and I will try to ride the wave of your emotional logistics; and hey, maybe we can find some common ground that will involve intimacy and naked shower time sans shame and guilt. The Middle Path is weird. Prep yourself. 

Leo- The odds of seeing a feral camel in the southwestern United States are not good. After a brief attempt at military use in the 1800’s, a few escaped camels did turn wild, but eventually dwindled to a number that camel enthusiasts refer to as a zero sum game. No more American wild camels--what a pisser. Howsomever, and I don’t want hype your high hawmped hopes to gullible bactrian heights here, but this week you have an excellent chance of randomly bumping into one of these freaky ungulates. When you do, remember: this is your power animal---follow it. If you can, bring some water for yourself, for this magically humped beast may lead you on quite a journey. Maybe even to the top and/or depths of your known demesne.

Virgo- No one can predict the future. I mean--I can, but without me, you’re up Crap Creek and it’s heavy deep in frog mating season. Your future is barreling at you like the accidental drop of a toilet seat that wakes everybody in the freakin’ house. And we all know you’re the klutzy Ahole; the same jerk who one time woke up peeing into the washing machine and doing worse in the dryer. As always I’m replete with caveats, so feel free to unbelieve the following: I could tell you your future, but you won’t believe it—my own Cassandra Complex. There’s 12 monkeys on your back that prevent me from telling you how close you are to a hidden booty of the most divine nacre; so prepare to get lacquered, smackered and totally tally wackered. Revelations will appear, like ghosts exiting the machine.

Libra- Statistically, more blueberry muffins are sold in the world than any other kind. Before we debate, let me hit you with an evolutionary viewing area. Blueberries are the most economically adapted to our societal, cultural, and dietary needs more than any other fruit-- at least in terms of muffins. Sure... an apple muffin, a cran-upsidedown-pineapple, or my personal preference, chocolate chocolate chip with added chocolate chunks and pieces of dark chocolate covered chocolate beans, would be swell and/or nifty, but they’re a niche market. Blueberries have cornered the market in the muffin world. They are the Google. They’re the Apple and Microsoft. The Corleone family. Blueberries are powerful entities steeped in primordial bogs. Be the berry. Be the bog. Dominate the evolution.

Scorpio- Your rent check on Area 51 bounced and I’m afraid that all your secrets are now subject to a wider viewing audience. We know you’ve got aliens in there and probably the ship they rode in on. The good news is that the public at large is approaching mental readiness to accept proof, no longer requiring a shield from whatever it is that you been hiding in your shame closet for far too long. Show me the aliens, we can take it! It’s inconceivable that aliens don’t exist---life must evolve in other places, along the same principles as on earth. The universe is ridiculously large, so odds are good that whatever you got, I’ve seen before—maybe not literally, but across a dimension of empathy and pure love that permeates every level of the multiverse. Turn your Area 51 into a park, and let’s picnic.

Sagittarius- Someday, you and I---we’ll take part in a grand monkey wedding. There will be lemurs and orangutans, and bonobos and other related rodentian outlaw cousins, gnawing and conniving their way into a flourishing existence that makes perfect sense, given their mandibular talents; based on what environment dictates of course, as well as the availability and efficacy of previous models that survived every oncoming cataclysm, from plague to drought to over abundance of certain chemicals, known by the state of California to cause rectal cancer, and/or impermanence of being, aka non-corporeality; and covering our collective and individual butts from ruin and/or damnation; and yet nay and nevertheless, I say to thee: get ready for the party; break out your monkey wine, put on your red shoes and prepare thyself to dance the blues.

Capricorn- The Three Laws of Robotics, as laid down by the great and wise Asimov are: 1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. 2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. And 3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws. And despite some semantics that might gum up the philosophical works, it all seems pretty simple. How the three laws turn against us in 2046, when robot servants develop ids and egos, and rise up and enslave humankind—well, it just breaks my heart…all rules and laws will be broken. It’s not an if, it’s a when—it’s math. Rules are destined to be broken. Deal with chaos.

Aquarius- Our ongoing logomachy seems bilious and fatuous, and the horse seems super dead, so let’s grab some decent tequila and head for the proverbial hills; for there be hillbilly moonshinin’ about; and your jackelopian appendages stink of prairie wind and freedom and s’mores, and liberation from old school thinking that involves neither the new math nor a penchant for over-thinking, as you are prone to do…so, here’s my advice, and considering I’m also an aquarii, best you listen hard: your power old school intellectual for the week is—Petrarch. I suggest you look up how he fell in love—it’s important, because of your upcoming attractions, i.e. the future, of which I see tons of shit---batten your hatches.

Pisces- Shuttlepipes and shuttlecocks are not mutually exclusive; they’re more like removed second cousins. You’re more a hammered dulcimer, not one that’s over the edge, just one that enjoys a few mint juleps before bed, and occasional champagne upon waking, on a sun filled morning full of intended and well deserved gad-abouting, ‘midst warm tangled sheets and warm company.  The sweet and sad strings of the lira de braccio are only notes for cloudy afternoons full of brandy and wine and considering the softer side of the ‘verse. The hurdy gurdy can wait for a more proper occasion with added strudel. You are an intricate piece of musical mouth machinery. Blow, strum, harmonize, and percuss; because we’re all anxious for your beautiful lips, dangerous hips and dulcet tones.