Dr. Pants Mcturd's MORE Than True Horrorscopes

Dr. Pants McTurd's

MORE Than True Horrorscopes!

(not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                

Aries- You are ripe for a Kentucky Meat Shower any second now. Before the imagery in your head turns to something unintended, let me explain. For several minutes on March 3, 1876, large chunks of raw red meat fell from the skies near Olympia, KY. Several theories exist, including buzzard related reverse peristalsis, as well as cosmic space traveling ungulates that explode upon entering earth’s atmo. Your meat shower, however, is a metaphor. The incoming meat due to rain down on your currently meatless head will be a blessing and a boon, and excellent with bbq sauce and grilled asparagus marinated in white wine. Bathe deep the meat, and reap the sweet sweet meat parade headed for your face. It does a body super good.

Taurus- Your actual hair looks great btw, but I believe that you’ve been wearing a metaphorical toupee for some time now; and all your friends and I have decided it’s time to intervene in your off kilter but not actual hairpiece. And hey—we all wear metaphorical toupees sometimes, to compensate for some fetish or belief that we feel weird about addressing publicly; but the rug you’re wearing is a Chuck Norris special—way too big for your head and about as natural as wearing a penguin for a rain hat. Anyhoo, before we alert the Hair Club for Men, undo your fake do, and let me see whatever real locks you got. You’re pretty, here- have a sandwich.

Gemini- There’s a weird story out there about how at Jimmy Stewart’s bachelor party, two little people, couple of Oz’s munchkins btw, were hired to dress in diapers and pop out of a silver serving dish. I don’t know if it’s true, I’m still researching, could be urban legend, but surely I can link this falderal to your still ongoing birthday horrorscope theme for the week. I’ll start with the obvious—truth is arbitrary and often smelly. Secondish, you are incredibly attractive. Thirdbasely, for now anyway, you reek of awesome genius beauty. The sun is shining on your ass and warming it to a new color of golden brown that I call 70’s Tatum O’Neal Tan®. Happy birthdays, you iconic and wise philosopher kings. 

Cancer- If you deem you’ve been distracted and disturbed, disinterred and discombobulated, decommissioned and demoralized, disinherited and deconstructed, well…the devil doth dwell in details deviously devised, don’t ya dare say?.......ahh, crap. Alliteration makes me so tired sometimes...and how droll, how very stupidly droll. Nevertheless, nervously I necessitate the now time for telling your face about the nigh coming attractions. Let’s start with a life preserver—maybe both literal and figurative. Then, how about a freakin’ yacht, with robot wine stewards and sun bathing sexpots. The good ship Lollipopapalooza® is due in your port any minute now. Your cabin with a private balcony and chilled champagne await. Good voyaging.

Leo- Nappanee, Indiana is way more notable than you can imagine. Firstly, it’s the longest city name in the US containing each letter in its name twice. Neat, right? Secondish, it seems to spawn cartoonists—six notably famous ones having been born and raised there. Thirdmost, Nappanee is probably Native American for flour. Not that neat, but okay, keep reading. Fourth estately, there has to be something absowhatly® freaking fascinating about Nappanee, IN that I’m not conveying here. Perhaps a road trip is necessary. No—too expensive—the Wabash River in summer? Outrageous! Go instead to the Nappanee in your mind; and ask for your destiny.

Virgo- So, btw foo fighters are what American WWII pilots called ufo’s. But here’s something: did Dave Grohl know that when he named the band? Also: if he did, is he implying that he is a foo fighter…or is a he a foo fighter, like he fights foo? The history of foo, btw can be traced to a 40’s cartoonist who coined the word. My point is, is how many people even know that a foo fighter is equivalent to pilot hallucinatory stress fatigue? More pointlessly, is Dave Grohl an alien? Is he an alien hunter? Should we hunt aliens? I say, probably, yes. Cold hearted orb that rules the night / removes the colours from our sight / red is gray and yellow white / but we decide which is right and which is an illusion…

Libra- You are a captain of industry. You’re mother's milk and the funniest of farms. But mere words are but fodder for the droll and slack among us—the plebeians, the hoi polloi—we don’t really want to be known ‘mongst their ranks. You and I—we are individuals and unique and crap; unless we’re all the same, and the difference is environmentally determined? Nay and pish, I say. And piffle…I want my environment to be a product of me. I am THE architect. I am the dolce AND the gabbana, the alpha AND omega, and ETC. I just hope that what I envision doesn’t get corrupted by dysfunction, or subversive inner conscious feelings and biases that may underlie but not exemplify my character, possibly even without my “conscious” knowledge. I may be sitting on swamp gas here. Wait, frak that. Stop guessing. Choose. Choose with your heart full steam.

Scorpio- Thankfully science has solved, and therefore destroyed both myth and legend regarding the will-o'-the-wisp, which it turns out is merely the oxidation of phosphine and diphosphane, which produces photons. In other words, neon swamp gas—like lighting a fart… or magical fairies that can give you luck or help you find your way, or maybe lure you into drowning. Point is, that science has an answer for every---wait a tick…what if the fairy that was trying to light your way influences the chemistry of the environment to give you that sign? And science is how fairies actually operate? Shit—I had a point here about the invincibility of science and reason and provable theories, but now I don’t know. Look for a night lite.

Sagittarius- It seems your recent doodlebugging has been less than effective. Have you checked your divination rod? Perhaps it’s on the fritz. I’m speaking about your virgula divina, or baculus divinatorius—you know, that old timey stick that crackpots and oil shamans would use to find water or minerals or texas tea. And I know you Sag’s are into pointing arrows at stuff, but in this case what you seek is buried deep within the earth, hidden from your archer’s keen sight. From where I’m floating, your rod looks out of whack. Check your rod, and divine a way in—earth is never as solid as it appears. Find a way to move within the rock, and then fire at will.

Capricorn- Thanks to Chevron, the word chevron has become equated with Chevron--big oil and dastardly deeds done for the opposite of dirt cheap in favor of power through might rather than intelligently planned advancement through intellect and science. Chevron comes from old French, meaning a shape like an inverted V, like the rafters of a roof, a military rank, or the angle of a goat’s hind legs when viewing the ungulate from behind. I’m stretching this, but Chevron and oil and the greasing and the lubing and etc, are basically a goat’s ass, and we’re reaping the inevitable kick to the face. But you’re smarter than the average goat-ass-looker. You’ve got your third eye on a much loftier chevron.

Aquarius- Trust me on this, I’m never wrong. Before the week is out, you need to find a well. And not an oil well, like south of Culver City, but like a real well with water, the more old timey, the better, maybe with a bucket on a string and the whole deal. While staring down the well, meditate on what you think is lacking in your life---your wish/bucket list maybe. Then, with all your mental might, send that list plummeting down the well. Give it back to the underground water deities who perhaps spawned your silly desires in the first place. Wishes are far away. Make, through fist and fury if necessary, your here and now. Seize the present and Be the Future.

Pisces- Neptune, the king and designer of dreams and all things, as well as all things non-corporeal, has recently gone into hiding. Don’t take the retrograde too literally though. It only appears to be moving backwards in the sky. The reality is that the earth’s orbit is much faster than that old gas bag, so from time to time, it looks like it’s not moving at all, backstroking in the heavens even! Retrograde is like a telepathic back seat driver, except that the back seat in this case, is probably in the car one lane over; maybe giving you perspective from a wholly divergent pov—could be good advice, could be bad, could be gibberish to be translated later on. My advice: listen with you inner cetacean ear and swim like a neptunian water mammal.