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 ♈ Ironically, DefCon 5 is peace. I guess because you either count up or you count down, and the decision betwixt the twain is arbitrary. So, to recap: DefCon1 is definite deep doo doo. And my usually correct gut feeling about you Aries tough guys is that you may have been feeling ironically at DefCon 1 for the last couple, let’s say years, and perhaps due to your innate positivity, you would prefer to count up to five than down to one. If you’re going to lift off, isn’t it wiser to aim high? To recap, you’re at DefCon 5, and it goes without saying that No. 5 is alive, so hang loose and shake your caboose.

Taurus ♉ You need to let go of your transitional object. It’s weighing you down, and is merely a placebo that comforts the estranged and fearful mind parts. I’m not calling you a Linus and laughing at your blankie, but I suspect there is an object, a thing, or an idea that is being used as a psyche’s transcendental snowmobile. Maybe it’s an outmoded way of thinking, or it could even be a term of art, totally froo-froo and laced in silk and confectionary neurons. Grab on to a new object, one that defines you in the now. October is transition month. Movin’ on up!

Gemini ♊ To escape earth’s gravity, you’re going to need to get up to at least 25,000 mph. Big earth, small you. And check this: even at a whopping 740 mph (sea level), sound waves don’t escape the earth. However, be glad you’re not a sloth, their top speed is 0.18 mph. From a sloth perspective, 0.18 is like driving a Ferrari—look out, sloth! Sloths are in no danger of reaching escape velocity, but perhaps you are, at least metaphorically. This week, I recommend readying your rocket. Your potential energy for some Major Tom action is about to explode into space. You’re no sloth—you’re a freaking astronaut. Take your protein pill and put your helmet on.

Cancer ♋ When swedish astronomer Anders Celsius decided that 0° for freezing and 100° for boiling water made perfect sense, which it does---very nice base 10 math that we can all get behind--not like the English, the folks who brought you ‘my way or the highway’ with meaningless pounds, feet and fathoms--but old Anders didn’t consider that water boils at a different temperature at depending on your elevation. However, 0 to 100 in general—very handy. This week you will have to account for different temperature gradients when meandering through your alpine walkabouts. Your peripatetic elevation changes may affect your science, but as long as you keep the math simple, it will all make perfect sense.

Leo ♌ October for you Leos will be like a beer commercial from the 70’s about a group of pals hanging out and laughing and probably watching some sporting competition, with emphasis on how beer and friends make life worth living, provided they come in equal quantities and never a dearth of either, for like how fish are akin to visitors—both stink after three days, one needs beer to make friends palatable and vice versa. So to recap, October is like a bag full of snakes. Wait—no, no…beer makes friends? In vino veritas? For now---bottoms up!

Virgo ♍ You are beagle nosed and eagle eyed, not to mention riled and wild and never tired. You are the leader of the newly minted 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 my principles---OUR principles, which are supposed to maintain a healthy appetite for the bounty of life, 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 amongst mysteriously dark matter. You are prepared for anything, I assure you. Fear no thing.

Libra ♎ According to Hoyle, the planet with the shortest known orbital period, aka KOI-55.01B, orbits its host in 5.76 hours. Time there must literally fly. Imagine, a whole day in less than six hours. According to current physiology, you’d be sleeping a third of that just to stay alive. Eating a slice of pizza would take around 6 seconds. Falling in love might take a heartbeat. Just like it does here on earth. In a moment, life can change drastically, regardless of the pace of your continuum. Yet fret not—your upcoming orbital period suggests finding such uncommon buried treasure as love in a heartbeat, or at least a couple New York minutes.

Scorpio ♏ You are Bartholomew Bundy, The Bully Butcher of Bourbon Street®, ready to punch through that fake wall that’s been separating you from your adventurous future. Once you break through the wall, it may be dark, so bring a torch, and maybe some trail mix and water; I don’t know how long you’ll be in there. Maybe just an apple and some beef jerky—anyway, point is—start the journey now while you have the muscle. I’m not trying to scare ya, for all I know there’s butterflies and shamrock shakes in there, just be prepared. Also, bring your trusty ax and your big blue ox. And maybe a couple chairs, some throw pillows, maybe even a bean bag chair—spruce up the joint while you’re in there. Start an illegal guinea pig breeding farm in there—whatever, go nuts. A door you thought closed is begging you to knock it down.

Sagittarius ♐ I don’t know that I have anything for you this week. My wisdom has been bounding and splooging all up and down the other signs, but you guys---you guys seem to have had it easy. And I’m not here to forecast upcoming calamities, losses of faith, hemorrhoids, pickle related infighting, salamander tasting, coups—military or civilian; no impending omens of zombie dentists, nor travelling of the Jundland Wastes, no trekking to Seti Alpha V. You guys are the Starchild. You Sag ‘s just want stuff and then you go after it. This week you will find many opportunities for chasing the craziest of rainbows. Take aim, and light it up.

Capricorn ♑ I don’t know what Pyrotechnic Futurism is all about...sounds like barleyed milquetoast malarkey to me; nevertheless you will invent it. You will also become known as the modern ancestor of the future reanimated dodo bird, a cousin to the emu, flightless and big of beak. However, that irony will be eclipsed by the fog of war that retreats to the sweet clear morning air of a nice onshore breeze, clearing all the way to Catalina. Your future is perfect weather for getting a tan, or reinventing the great american novel---even bringing back empathy! Why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in your will! Your body is your garden, and your will the gardener. How can you not create your eden?

Aquarius ♒ The ball’s in your court. You’re wearing the pants. You own the fabled catbird seat, my friend. You’re the top of a macho sandwich that’s slowly dripping down to coat the meaty layer below with a fiery picante-de-na-na funky style cream sauce that makes delectable whatever it touches. You can watch all the gladiator and kung fu movies you want because this is your pursuit of happiness—your inalienable right to making one with the happy. Stop focusing on what you don’t want. We both know that’s a hella long list. Distract yourself and discover what you actually want. It’s yours for the imagining and yours for the taking.

Pisces ♓ Someday, you and I--we’ll take part in a giant monkey wedding. There will be lemurs and orangutans, and bonobos and other somewhat related rodentine outlaws gnawing and conniving their way into a rather flourishing existence that makes perfect sense given their innate gnawing and sneaking talents; based on what environment dictates of course, as well as the availability and endurability 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 dance the blues.