40 is not a real number, but rather a fraud and a charlatan and yeah, I'm saying it--- a carpetbagger.

         Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                 
disclaimer: Birthdays are satirical in nature. But not all satire is funny.

this week: My earnestness is no casualty, nor causality of increased sagacity, which is an obtuse way of  saying, I'm how old??-- I call bullshit.

Aries=  I heard that broccoli can feel pain, especially when sauteed. Something about the boiling olive oil piercing its soul. But I don't care, it's going into my belly. It's not my fault that it evolved delicious and nutritious and full of vitamins that helps me enjoy survival, not to mention the colonic benefits of a veggie heavy diet. Broccoli was something else in another, more ancient time. And as it is wont, the river keeps flowing forward and a broccoli-like plants emerged, which we cultivated once the onset of agriculture really took hold, once enough knowledge and climate held steady for a few thousand years, the poles freezing for a plateau in spacetime, and luck being on sapiens' side; how simply amazing it is that broccoli exists. "If you will it, it is no dream",  credited to T. Herzl via Sobchak, ibid/:WikiWiki21572.msg. Pain exists for a reason, rise above, and even boiling along with your veggie melange cannot touch you.

Taurus= Allow me to explicate more specifically why I hate pedestrians. No--- not hate. Deplore, detest, and disparage, to the which I feel entitled. Excluding of course the elderly, or children under, say 12, which is arbitrary considering the discrepancy between draft status eligibility and drinking age. Rather I speak now of those able of body and deficient of courtesy, that if they just took into consideration the flow of traffic and the whole paying shit forward malarky that's creeping around the social scene lately- like a stink after a cat crap; that the world should not revolve around them and depose or dispose them to irresponsibility, and that maybe you should move your ass a little through the crosswalk because there's fifty frakking people waiting to turn right, while you sashay your way 'cross my visage and my time and every last precious second I have in this body, currently being spent in traffic. It is all too un-common sense that says, help others on their journey, so shall you be helped on yours.

Gemini= "The flatulence of the future will ever be a potent and potentially odoriferous mystery...until we get there and we smell them." -- credited to the Grippa, son of Agrippa, descendant of El Grippa the Eld, circa 314 BC, in or around the Tigris-Euphrates river valley, or what is now an oil/boon-doggle. These words, transient thoughts from a distant past, through ingeniously recorded material, lay in wait for each generation's interpretation and implementation. I'm in awe of the inherent brilliance of recordable data. Various forms of recorded knowledge aid our evolution, so inherently we 're driven to find new ways to save data, and hopefully absorb it, and even more hopefully, transforming it into a 'more advantageous' future, thereby driving our own evolution on a more conscious level, or at least I think so. I think so. 314BC. Like minds connected through stuff that we have in common that exists only on paper, or a cave painting, or on a degradable microchip, or DVR, or DVD, or whatever else we can dream up. Furtherlymore©, you are in a unique position. Please enjoy the life that has been waiting for you. The flatulence of the future is only a metaphor.

Cancer= We live under the constant threat that there is magically somehow a right and/or righteous way to dance, that is both proper and cool, and that is guaranteed to attract the femininas, to love me (hopefully) long time and mayhap eclipsing my proclivity towards a pornography more ovine in nature. I contend that right and righteous went out with the downfall of imperial christianity in this country. Full disclosure: I can't dance, not even in my own mind. I lack the capacity, the coordination, the freedom to perform any type of movement set to music, of any kind, style, or century. Simply put, I am a creature of mind and occasionally of body. Contradictorily, You are fluid. YOU are the tides. The moon. A symphony in G minor, that stair steps me skyward with deific leaps of thought, riding on coat tails of the truly munificent, inclined to pay forward the duty and exise, pushing the righteous ohm forward, ever forward, because the dark matter will always beckon us home, to return to a time of singularity, one that is a priori to all bangs, Big, small, multi-dimensional, or love/sex induced.

Leo= I don't watch America's Funniest Videos for the crotch punching. There's also animals who bite crotches, amateur jackasses who land on their crotches, and of course, toddlers whose wise parents have entrusted with a bat or a golf club and seem genuinely surprised when the little cur swings that thing right at, you guessed it... someone's crotch. Having been hit in the crotchal region is a time honored and inevitable rite of passage for all males, that while painful, teaches lessons that have to be learned the hard way, so to speak. And I don't know who I prefer more-- Tom Bergeron or Bob Sagat, but I would sit around with either or preferably both of those guys and talk crotch all day long. As hosts and people, they are delightful. How they keep crotch battery so mother fudgin' fresh is a gift. Crotches are like magnets for all the wrong objects. You have nothing to fret, while crotchward missiles are inevitable and unpredictable, everything coming at your crotchal region in the foreseeable future is well intentioned and lubed for everyone's pleasure.

Virgo= I remember every atom and moment about you, at least amongst those I've been privy and privileged to facing face to face, mouth to skin, all dripping and heliotropic, strewn liberally through the cosmos on stradivarian strings. In another life we're lovers, ostentatiously heartbreaking, bhuddistic and sex obsessed, tantric and inseparable. In this life, through which I'm speaking to you now, our dimension is fractal and debased, a shell of the iceberg that formerly subducted our mutual oceanus. We now exist at angles to each other, reflected through multiple prisms, defracted, and diffused. Needless to say or feel, I could stare at your geometric for parsecs upon light years. I am a novatic star, collapsing and expulsing my innards, morphing from energy producing bionic strings to matter and light inducting brain spasms, tingling from axon through dendrite to the ascendancy of genius and mutation; all my information gleanable when interlocuted as one, all dark matter fused from my jurisdiction and my sight, because you are the only thing I want in my vision, my heart, and my aenima exploding at the speed of light only to rest in your arms the morning after, and ever after, and until time has none left, and we continue as something else, equally inseparable.

Libra= In the distant past, let's say roughly the late 1980's, a woman was still wooed with well written words, preferably inebriately penned, then delivered-- preferably to her boudoir at sun-up, possibly by a serf, smelling faintly of a man's scent or perhaps rose oil-- the letter, not the serf..., and seemingly spontaneous; constructed and devised in such a way that the woman would choose a more educated and 'savvy' alpha rather than a hulking hoosier (derived from ancient Indianian French), meaning "something large and/or stupid". Free will is a construct. An idea. An atom on the timeline of earth and humans and god, as we dioxyriboneucleicacidly© spiral into the 'future'; which I believe is also a construct, a device that assists our evolution, every thought a mutation designed by chance, or not, and 'dedicated to the proposition that all 'men' are created equal', or at least ambidextrous. But it was my mistake. No mere words could disrobe one so elegant as you.

Scorpio= I'm a terrible bhudda. I require far too much attention. My id is a lonely child who wants a brother or a sister and never got one; or friends that I feel truly safe with despite my obsessive proclivities and emotional vacancies. An oasis where betrayal is never an option, amongst whom I would walk naked sans fear, provided there's a heater on, and someone has filled my glass with a bourbon based elixir that will warm my cockles and cool my inhibitions. The terrible truth of my imperfections is a backpack laden with gold bricks, strapped to me by god itself. If over time, I release the gold back into the wild, simultaneously releasing my need for the gold, I can give the gift back to god, my id maturing as I walk. By the time I reach the red woods, I can float, the forest's canopy my anti-gravitic domain, and the aqueduct inside my chest carrying the only gold I need for this life to every brain cell and arctic tundra. god is oxygen, not gold. bhudda laughs because he is as light as air and wanton with the will of the wind.

Sagittarius=  Is that cinnamon I taste? Mmmmm. And blackberry, could be a hint of lingonberry too. Your vintage is a visage and a vista past my doldrumic straits and into the oxygenated waters of open sea lanes. When I drink you, I am transported to distant continents, with the added bonus of a just a taint of elderberry and quince at the back of my tongue. You are harmless hemlock in my mouth and an unknown pill downed with a trusting swig of your red, a sluice of your pinot, and a snort of your Zin. You go well with meats of all kinds, the fleshier the better, dipped in aioilic sauces, with a side of beignets sprinkled with sugar to compliment your hidden bitters. Fresh vegetables eaten at the farm next to the fields where they grew, and your alcoholic vapors swilling my snout equate to vino-ed veritasian vitality va-vooming via my vena cava. And hey, I know you're out to make a life, not a a living, but can I have please have a job as a sales rep at your vineyard?

Capricorn= “Value this time in your life, kids, because this is the time in your life when you still have your choices, and it goes by so quickly. When you’re a teenager you think you can do anything, and you do. Your twenties are a blur. Your thirties, you raise your family, you make a little money and you think to yourself, ‘What happened to my twenties?’ Your forties, you grow a little pot belly you grow another chin. The music starts to get too loud and one of your old girlfriends from high school becomes a grandmother. Your fifties you have a minor surgery. You’ll call it a ‘procedure’, but it’s a surgery. Your sixties you have a major surgery, the music is still loud but it doesn’t matter because you can’t hear it anyway. Seventies, you and the wife retire to Fort Lauderdale, you start eating dinner at two, lunch around ten, breakfast the night before. And you spend most of your time wandering around malls looking for the ultimate in soft yogurt and muttering ‘How come the kids don’t call?’ By your eighties, you’ve had a major stroke, and you end up babbling to some Jamaican nurse who your wife can’t stand but who you call mama. Any questions?”
--B. Crystal via the 1990's. (We only Riverdance for so long. Build your dog sled team, and ride the wild tundra.)

Aquarius= Bullplop astrology decries and proclaims that the part of the body associated with Aquarius is the ankles. When I was younger, my ankles were strong and virile, full of piss, testosterone and vinegar and I never gave them a second thought. As I age, My ankles require actual assistance. Some rubbing would be nice. Maybe some oil, or a healing unguent, mayhap the caress of a hand that loves me, and wants me to be safe. Before you flash backward to the crib, place your mind into the miracle that makes us ambulatory. Focus your con, un-, and collective consciousness(es), into your feet. An earth is moving under it in a greek spectacle of orbital flirtation. Millions of years it took the world to birth your feet. They are the wings of angels and mercy, and a warm dessert made of chocolate ostrich eggs and the french kissiest of toast. Despite the bullplop, nay to spite the bullplop, and in spite of the bulliest of plops, let's rub feet and pray for rain, together, until the savage soothing deluge arrives to assuage our unquieted souls.

Pisces= I am loathe to admit such foolery, but honesty will ever be my downfall. I will know my soul mate when I meet the woman who is willing to trim my ear hair for me, and then still be in the mood to 'get it on'. Alone, it's a onerous task-- the ear hair and the sex..., one to which and wit that even Sisyphus would say, 'Suck it, boulder, run me down and drag me to hell, what are you going to do, force me to push a boulder up a hill? Been there!' And yes, there's a physical attraction to discuss, and whether we have anything to talk about when the sex inevitably becomes routine, but if she would grant me extraneous hair trimming, and maybe even some help man-scaping, I'd be willing to do anything for her, no matter how weird and morally questionable. There are certain necessities in life in order to maintain the dignities of the victorian ego. Ear hair only becomes more unsightly, white, lengthy, and bazillionic©. And my love for you, only the latter.

stay tuned for the Dr.'s upcoming new logo! It's going to be fresh, or hip, or rad, and stuff.

 

            Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                   

disclaimer: Satire was not invented by Sartre. He was too much of a realist.

              this week: My dinghy may be dingy, but never disreputable.

Aries-  James the Just, aka James the Less, aka James the Righteous, not to be confused with James the Great, aka St. James aka Apostle James, was the first Bishop of Jerusalem (nice!) and may have been related to Jesus, provided that the entire church history wasn't simply a well spun technicolor yarn from the Council of Nicaea in AD 325, in order to propagate the validity of the neo-jews, who preferred to be called christians, who used to be pagans, romans and visigoth barbarians. The term pagan inherited a negative connotation because christianity had better press. To my rambling point: can we not agree that using evolutionary and scientific terms and models, is the proper way to describe the evolution of religion, belief and even specific thoughts and feelings that we all share? Everything is science, which is why it's the new religion. god isn't dead. It's simply napping til the next incarnation of our collective psyches can attain a new level. Enjoy some figs and profligate in biblical proportions.

Taurus- I still say that the movie Golden Child could have been saved from its own banality. I grew up watching Eddie Murphy, and have only the highest opinion of him as a performer. That said, when, Eddie? WHEN THE FUDGE is Golden Child 2 going to delight my senses? I'm thinking JJ Abrams, with screenplay written by Orson Scott Card. BTW, don't let them make Ender, dude---they'll piss all over it, with their Taco Bell and Facebook sponsorship. However, there is also a desperate need for a return to Big Trouble in Little China. Maybe we could combine the two. I hear Kim Cattrall is looking for a project. So... the Golden Child grows up and has to save the world again, and he and Eddie and Kim, and that hot girl from the first Golden Child, who I fell in love with after her wet t-shirt karate scene, they all go to Little China and fight some demon dude while looking for Kurt Russel (Jack Burton- duh), who was last seen driving the Pork Chop Express downtown for some dim sum, cause that's how he rolls. Call me, the treatment will literally write itself.

Gemini- The wiring in my apartment is pre-war. Crimean, I think. Case in point: there's a porch light that I share with my next door neighbor, that both apartments have a controlling switch to. We both agree that having it on when stumbling home in the pitch dark which envelops our en-jungled building, is a big fat plus. And since she and I both have off hours, the light remains on all the time. As in any relationship, there are terms and conditions that ideally create balance. After much cud chewing, I realized that our relationship is based on the predicate that I would rather flip my switch, and foot the bill for it's constant shine, because it's just easier-- less headache I guess, but hey, where's the equanimity, the camaraderie, the shared-- ah screw it, I'll flip my switch. I hear chicks love passive aggressive guys. Bear in mind that the channel of least resistance does not mandate that you bear the burden. You are not the victim, but rather the vixen. You're a minx with an alley cat's stare, desperate perhaps, but ultimately a world-wise jazz cat fresh from the forests of azure and a hankering for the god tuna®.

PS: you probably need to read Aquarius and Aries. Sorry for the extra work, but do as I say.

Cancer- The Messinian Salinity Crisis was hardcore and not very bitchin'. The Strait of Gibraltar closed due to tectonic activity about 5.5 million years ago, and the Mediterranean dried up. Luckily humans hadn't been invented yet and the tomato was still a 'new world' fruit that was only being eaten by central american nothosaurs with highly developed palettes. Even to this day, the Mediterranean is saltier than the Atlantic, which is probably why my ancestors always salt their tomatoes before they eat them. Columbus came back with tomatoes and hey, we have a lot of salt, let's use some of that! Which eventually lead to a history of heart disease and hypertension that persists in my bloodline to this day. Your salt crisis is more metaphorical and sublime and doesn't involve salt, but a more divine element for life to develop around. No, not arsenic or silicon, that's only for the weirdo outer planets and old Star Trek episodes. You're made of neon and gypsum, titanium and krypton, einsteinium and blue lotus flowers. And your straits will remain open to cleansing abundant rain indefinitely. NaCl in da house!!

Leo-  It took me many years to fully appreciate the genius of snot. Mucous is the most beautiful of all the slimy and sticky fluids in our lives. It's a brilliant invention, even if it is due for a mutation pretty soon. It coats you innards, killing infections, and then drains from your favorite orifices, taking the lousy virus with it, broken and defeated. For years, the logic eluded me. When you get really sick, you need rest, so you try to get some sleep, which we do in a prone position, which results in snot flowing into the lungs and making us even sicker. That's what I mean by mutation. Maybe a quicker release system, like having a better oriented snot valve, probably somewhere near my genitals, that would allow excess snot to exit the body and prevent build-up. It always seemed counterintuitive to me that the defense we evolved over millions of years can make us sicker and even kill us. Or we should only sleep sitting up. Either way, I guess we leave it to the engineers. For now, keep tissues nearby and remember that every time you survive a virus, you prove to the world that you are invincible. Me and my mucous, we killed that contagion together! You might think it's funny, but it's snot.

Virgo-  To know the how of everything, find some animals. And some rocks and trees; and water and the skies-- for seasons upon seasons, the 'complete' cycle of the forever elusive. Even the Mayans are basically full of ye'e. Calendars are pejorative and biased, like that gay transvestite commie hunter from the 50's who 'blackballed' all those people. No group of humans has ever been advanced enough to know the full cycles of everything, especially considering that the Grand Unification Theory is still a thousand years from grokability©; current estimates place it in the year 2988, right after the war with genetically modified dragons that eat Mars. Find some bears, find some bees, eye the tides, and our morphemic moon. Somehow, humans is the only specie that has forgotten where they live. Intelligence has an isolating effect. Individualism goes up, the more the 'natural' world slips away, and we become an illusion of our former selves. Evolution is a sadistic mongoose, who wants to build his house on your face. Be the bear and the eye of the cobra. Find the fish; and the plants that won't kill you with their wicked poisons. The knowledge is innate, but you have to dig it out.

Libra- No offense to the dairy industry (I don't want my legs broke), but cottage cheese will never come into my mouth. That came out wrong, sorry. Forgetting forever that I ever said that-- it's the curds. Even the word, curds... sounds like someone who's about to throw up Taco Bell. It looks like it's already been eaten, friend, and I hate it. And I don't care much for cottage cheese enthusiasts either, I don't trust them, and they too will never be allowed to come into my mouth. Frak, I did it again. While we're on the subject, cole slaw--- aka barf times four, also does not pass mustard nor muster, nay not even Colonel Mustard in the library with the Maid, who doesn't appear to be wearing any bottoms, the both of which will also never come into my open mouth. Yep, still sounds bad. I will never be so hungry that I will eat food that looks pre-masticated. And if we join forces we can beat them at their own curdly and probably flatulence producing products... but only if we work together. Slay the slaw!

Scorpio- The Sargasso Sea will eventually be no more. It simply cannot be forever. It's an underwater rain forest in the middle of the Atlantic, with currents swirling around it, containing it, corralling it into existence within a safe embryonic environ. An ocean of calm within an ocean of movement, structure surrounded by transoceanic freeways. A pity our hubris emits so much CO2, unintentionally speeding up the process. Add to the mix that continents move on plates, the earth slowly cooling to a frozen solid, and our internal thermostat eventually turning off for the long night into whatever the next brane is, and galaxies collide and we are stardust again. Seaweed, then, must be the string of life, which in theory, is bhuddistic© and strangely comforting that despite my ignorance of the true giantness of the 'verse, all we are is moving up strings, time without limit, and life without end; because hey- the 'verse digs that. Have a soda.

Sagittarius- The definition of freedom is everything. Which includes anything. And not un-ironically©... nothing. Balls. Back to square one. Or zero, which binarily speaking is the only other thing there is-- anywhere. And I suppose, conversely, nowhere. Balls. The micro must equate to the macro. There has to be a train that passes between the two, so that our understanding can come full circle. As long as we retain the knowledge of our forbears, grok it and pass it on to our post-bears--- or no... it's that technology and knowledge build up exponentially like layers of sediment, and our knowledge is a mountain, but we are only part way to the top. Meanwhile the erosion keeps us from growing too high too fast. And maybe that's what dark matter is-- a force that pulls when we push, sets limits, so that we don't rip through this 'verse and into another string or brane or dimension or whatever the fudge is beyond this plane, which I've nicknamed 'wack-adoo', patent pending. Unless there's nothing beyond... Our imagination is deific energy guiding us through a field, whose nature is quantifiable only after it's all said and done. Which is never. And always. You're perfect right where you are.

Capricorn-  My condition's condition lies somewhere between titty face rad© and the fact that there's a Battleship movie about to come out. Battleship. The movie. That Rock 'Em Sock 'Em thing I heard was good, but I don't have a five year old, and even getting really high before seeing it wouldn't be worth even matinee price, considering how much weed I'd have to buy to make it interesting and regardless of how scintillating Hugh Jackman is. I'm a Jumanji man anyway. Movies based on board games: what brillianty genius brillianceness. However, truth be told, I wear clothes until they disintegrate. I hate shopping more than anything, more even than using someone's guest towel to dry my hands; staphylococcus manna from germ-town, right? I can't think of a more filthy place. BTW, digression is the sincerest form of flattery. It means that I'm pretty sure you'll keep up. My number one advice this week: avoid australians bearing ridiculous movies, they only want to further your time suck.

PS: read Leo and don't let anyone tell you what to do.

Aquarius- To grok evolution is like reverse engineering literally everything, which somehow includes nothing, unless nothing is some esoteric concept that has no meaning, if meaning even exists, and god forbid I even think the word god. Great Odin's Beard, right? We look at what got built and having to figure out how it got built, in a process that seems to have no why, or a who. Frak, full circle. Knowing, remembering, nay- grokking the past tells us the future. We will bring Asimov's dream of psychohistory into reality, probably in the future, at least I assume, because time's arrow insists on ever going forward, so that the past simply doesn't exist, or it exists as something else, the future-- no the present, yes, this is where the money is. And where there's money, there's usually sex, right. All I'm saying is that if we were a global matriarchy, the inverse of our last 40,000 years, rather than dropping bombs from drone planes and eating processed cheese spread on frozen toast made of government surplus wheat, sugar and corporate and profit born preservatives, I would hope we'd be making lots more naked monkey love, eating aphrodesic berries and experimenting with wild mutations that align with as yet unknown energies.

PS: read Sagittarius and Leo and have a happy frakking birthday.

Pisces- Firstly, my apologies. The MORE than true 'scope´® I had going for you turned out to be a boondoggle. A snow job. A guy in a fat suit, who's not really fat, just a big liar. I had this whole theme about NYC, and digital cameras juxtaposed with a shoddily restored third reel of a 1920's sex tape that somebody pried from the cold dead hands of William Randolph Hearst, whose super secret safe word and email was 'sexmonkey6969'. I came up with cool stupid things to say, like interstellar jet pack zip lines© and Naked Fart Zombies™, and somehow I was going to make a relevant, yet unusual point about Moore's Law and wrap it up with a fortune that would have really knocked your amygdala into high orbit. Luckily, my pseudo esoteric horse plop had a salient climax that still applies even though the whole house of cards became smithereeny. (entropy--what a diva, right?) The future is ever unknowable. The only thing certain is love. Blast off, open your heart and don't forget your camera.

 

Bring me the Groundhog!!

                  Dr. Pants McTurd's 
    MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                 
disclaimer: Satire is not my fault. It squirts out of me naturally.

this week: I channeled this week's 'scopes from the undead ghost
                                    of Harold Faltermeyer.

Aries-  Nevertheless, natheless is the selfsame. I shit you not. Notwithstanding the sanctimonious sanctioning of semantics, (an arbitrary fight at best), the whole nonetheless debacle is an ongoing national nightmare, that in hindsight I think we can all agree was caused by deregulation and a shortage of penguins, aka The Great Penguin Drought©, which really relates to a dire dearth of icebergs and a surplus of floating oceanic garbage patches, notwithstanding my need for a lot of different kinds of plastic and weapons manufacturing. Try not to get caught up in the outskirts of your own society. Being you is awesome, and nobody does it better, not even Ian Fleming. PS: read Sagittarius.

Taurus- Harold Faltermeyer knows of a secret passage that leads directly into my brain like in that movie where the boom box Say Anything guy plays a puppeteer married to an animal fetishist. Who the fudge is Harold Faltermeyer, you ask ignorantly? He wrote theme music for movies that in a most profound way shaped my teenage years, most notably Beverly Hills Cop, and Fletch. Nothing gets into my head like his arrangements, and luckily, at the end of his songs I don't wind up in a ditch in New Jersey. Find your Faltermeyer. Find your theme song, and play it throughout the day whenever you doubt yourself. We can work out your opening montage with scenes of you doing stunts and looking cool later on.

Gemini- Animal husbandry is no way to start romantic dinner chatter. Cud should also remain off the menu in terms of potential date conversation. Yes, the steak you're eating came from a ruminant with four stomachs and a masticating fetish. (So nice, they chew it twice!) Cud that is, farmer's gold, onshore tea, aka turf & barf. So, to sum up: animals barfing up their own food AND getting sperm and eggs in or out of animals is no way to treat a lady. My late great Uncle Al was a veterinarian and I saw the dude stick his whole arm up a cow's butt to get the coagulated bolus out. (That tidbit is also verboten at dinner.) Woo your mate with cunning, smooth love and hands-on pleasure.

Cancer- The first time I wear a new pair of pants is a solid guarantee that I will spill on them. It's a private joke between me, myself and god. Yep, I said god. Not the beardy dude, or the one you're forbidden from showing his image, and not the smiling fat meditating guy, and certainly not out future overlord Brindelsniffer VII®, whose invasion we will not repel in 2132. Yeah, our great grandchildren will be slavish vassals to an alien being with no genitalia and really big laser weapons. Sorry. The good news is that we come from the same species that invented "dry" cleaning, so I don't have to take my new dungarees down to the rock by the river, and scrub and scrub with homemade soap that I rendered from my own body fat. Mostly from my thighs. Pound of flesh aside, don't fret. If you break it, stain it, or vaporize it, it's okay. No matter what, I promise you-- there will always be more pants and soap from someone else's fat.

Leo- The packet of "cheese" inside a box of mac n' cheese is not made of paper. It's a weird plastic, no... it's metallic, like foil, and here's why: stoners and mac n' cheese are amigos, nay-- they are lovers.  It's easy to make, and if you mix in a can of tuna, it's nearly healthy. Point is, I made some the other night, opened the box and dumped it right into boiling water, cheese packet included. The corporate bastards have been ahead of my penchant for dumbness for years now, out thinking me, out planning me and loading me with their transmogrified "cheese", laden with salt and chemicals that take me back to my youth, when mac and/or cheese was the perfect thing to shut your kid up. And you could mix in hot dogs-- no need to add rat parts! What a life! Point is, keep an eye on your flavor packets, they serve you well, but could be made to serve the emperor.

Virgo- Whaaaaaaaa--? At the top of the financial hegemony that determines the fate of billions, there's greed, corruption, dishonesty, amoral behavior and whatever the opposite of compassion is? You have the gallstones to tell me that greedy self interest inhabits every niche in our society because it's in the "Constitution"--- surely you jest. Maybe you're just bitter because you're poor and you despise bowing to your social betters, the people who brought you manners and etiquette and table cloths and eating utensils that are not your hands. One theory says that the uber rich and powerful are sociopaths, Dexter-like adepts who manipulate reality to their own needy ends-- love and affection, in the form of money and power, that every heartless homo craves. Homo sapien, dude, don't be a hater or a secessionist from decency. The rich deserve our love. It's the only thing they don't have. Give generously.

Libra- As soon as you land on Fantasy Island, that Khan dude has your specific favorite or ironically apropos drink ready for you, usually in a cocoanut shell with a minimum of two umbrellas, and your first thought is, how the fudge did Khan know that I love Crabtinis®?? All vacations should be planned that way. Some weird dude, who's magic is never explained, knows everything about you and exactly who to set you up with, and dig out your inner demons and snuff 'em into 'blivion, using what I can only assume is the 70's version of the Smoke Monster. That's the guy I want planning my time off. We tend to push all our demon cleaning into a mandated relaxation period instead of taking advantage of all the epiphanic opportunities that exist everyday all around us. Be your own Khan. Allow yourself to find what you really need right now, in your own hometown.

Scorpio- You are a circean draught I ought not to have drunk. Or drank. Have drunken? Whatever, point is that Circe was a goddess who was into mixing magic potions that she used to befuddle her enemies, like when she changed Odysseus' crew into pigs. Swine and men are oft wont of wine, such an obvious weakness, and so easily administered, two drops per glass will drop even the meanest warrior right on his ass. It's at this point that I should be clear: I am NOT advising anyone to give anyone else a ruffie. At least, not without prior consent. In which case, go to town on their ass while they're off napping in Lotus Land. Different strokes for different folks, ja? I am saying that you should be mixing up a proper witch's brew for your next enamorado. Hint hint, I prefer whiskey to wine.

Sagittarius- Sagittarius comes from the latin word sagitta, which means arrow. You are half human and half horse, with an eagle eye and a quiver full of id-tentions®. Your quarries are generally fast moving, and occasionally even you will miss. Even the gods need a reason to keep trying. Failure is the only route to success despite your god-ish powers. Embrace your wrongness. Love your faults. Eat your broccoli. In the words of the Great One: “I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I aim with my eye. I do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. I shoot with my mind. I do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. I kill with my heart.” Just make sure your bullets are only made from love and spread no blood, only pleasure.
PS: read the addendum at the bottom.

Capricorn-  In the kitchen's where I keeps my beers cold and the living room's where I keeps my feets warm with a heater. The bed can stay tepid til me and my love get in there and start up the Whoopee Machine®, which as you get older, you'll need more and more, preferably in pill form. Everything in its place, keeps my head space from going into deep space, which is wheres I keeps my pulsars, quasars, microwaves, as well as my hopes, my dreams, my unrepentant wish for more life, more time, more everything. I want a million hours in each day, cause out in the backyard's wheres I keeps my spaceships that I'm gonna use to lasso that mother truckin' black hole at the center of our galaxy, and make it mine, just like all of time, which they say is all happening right now. And right now. And again right now. But we burn daylight, friend-- man the warp drive! No time to waste. Carpe omnus.                 PS: read Sagittarius.

Aquarius- Before you explode into space, like a true nature's child, that was born-- born to be wild, you better stop-- hey, what's that sound, you better look what's goin' round. Do a proverbial check of yourself in order that you do not wreck yourself from lack of being thorough. I suggest you put on your finest Sunday bonnet and go to town. Not literally of course, you'd be ridiculed and stared at because the bonnet era officially ended in 1923. Take a load off, Manny, or Annie, or whoever, take a load for free. Shortsightedness is a blessing, one that doth like a poisonous mineral gnaw my inwards, because: Hey, I've listened to preachers, and fools, and all the dropouts who make their own rules. I recommend you focus on the very small for a very small amount of time. The grand scheme of things relies on your grokking of the wee schemes going on under your nose.

Pisces- We were not always the kings of the jungle. Our relationship with animals is an ancient one, originating in a world where our species was not the top of the food chain. Ergoingly© the zodiac is based on the iconography of the animal world. Animals are our cousins, we grew up together, and eventually got really good at killing all of them. As we continued feeding off the world, they became us, we incorporated them. We embodied those animals, made them a part of our consciousness, and then placed them in the sky so that we would always remember from whence we came, until the stars themselves are no more. Unpack and unfurl your beasts, cloven or otherwise: the packs, the pods, the murders, the gaggles, swarms, hives, clowders, exaltations, congregations, dissimulations, sleuths, drunkenships, businesses, broods, rabbles and rookeries. They are part of you, inhabiting your deepest jungles and can still be heard if you shut your fat mouth for 5 seconds.




                                The Groundhog Addendum

The hour is nigh, when we bring forth the hibernating rodent. Or bear, or badger, or any animal that's been burrowing in for a cold winter's six months, probably disturbing some really quality REM sleep, and then forcing said mammal to prognosticate the future, so that I may properly prepare for my crop planting, not to mention when I can start wearing white again; I mean, Labor Day was a while back, and being a slave to fashion is uber importante to me, as is etiquette. Sadly, there's never a good time for gaucity©, or lack of manners.

Punxsutawney Phil gets all the credit because he's such a big shot movie star---"I've worked with Bill Murray" (I can't abide name dropping herbivores)---, but let us not forget the contributions of other future telling giant rats: French Creek Freddie from French Creek, WV, Chuckles the Groundhog from Manchester, CT, and Stormy Marmot from Aurora, CO. And of course no vermin list would be complete without the most oft ignored Octoraro Orphie from Quarryville, PA. What a great, and powerful rodent is he, united the Force he did.

Most importantly on this special day, I'd like to acknowledge my ancestors: the Celts. Though they never knew the glory of basketball, it is this day, roughly February 2nd, sometimes the 1st, depending on the ol' Julian vs Gregorian debate which has raged for nigh on centuries now, (countless calendars have given the ultimate sacrifice), that we celebrate the halfway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. If we could but predict the future, or at least the future weather, I could better provide for my family and the families of those who work with me, grinding our way, season after season into the future, where only no one knows our true destinies, except that we are all equal and all at peace, through knowledge, love, and bellies full of kale and apricots.

PS: Happy Birthday, Will Kim-Cara...may fortune bestow upon you the greatest of gifts and the humblest of gratitudes. Live long and prosper.

this is the most Thursday I've ever seen...at least at one time anyway.

                                         Dr. Pants McTurd's 
          MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                
disclaimer: Satire is a circle. And it wants to bite your ass.

this week: The difference between you and me, is irrelevant and puny.

Aries-  Revolution in-, e- and de- volves the revolve. Fer reals. Our epic 'verse loves circles more than any other construct. It's sturdy, single minded of purpose, and brilliant for teaching species with selective hearing, how to better get along in the world, flinging considerably less feces, especially considering that we possess technology to fling shit pretty far these days. The principle of the circle is one you could, were you so inclined to not be stubborn for 5 seconds, apply and integrate into your current emotional wetlands. If I'm right and everything operates in circles, there's something in the road up ahead. When you meet, it will be epic, lovey dovey, and transcendental. Have lunch after and call me.

Taurus- Why do the words walnut and vomit almost rhyme? Why won't I grow up and buy a toaster oven? I like toast as much as anyone. And jam is one of my favorite experiences in the history of my experiences, especially if it involves multiple berry types, snozzberry and uberberry®, for example. And a really good quality bread, toasted just right, maybe a dab of butter, maybe give my heart a run for my money. Or better yet, some cream cheese. Yeah, dude, it's on. High time to get my jam on, maybe whilst wearing my jammies-- a veritable Jammy Jam Jamboree®! Wait. What does that have to do with walnut and vomit? Is that a new cartoon on AdultSwim? Wow, we are truly lost if toast and jam can distract us so. Find your center, it's right to the left of where you left it, right? It and Garfunkel are waiting silently for you.

Gemini- Sorry, but to vent is divine, don't take it personally, it's about me, not you. Why the fudge is the word colonel spelled that way? What moron decided that l = r ? What?... the italians? And then the french, and then the english stole it, and the war of word escalated between factions who insisted on pronouncing it with an r, as opposed to the way those puhsghetti® eaters with all their highfalutin latin roots. I'm no prude, but stealing words involves a heavy responsibility,. Now we own it and we're saying it this way, ha ha, my word now, sucker! Suck it, tsunami, up yours kayak, and go straight to hell yeti, dinghy, penguin (from the welsh oddly enough), aardvark, bazooka, bung, cockatoo, geek, gherkin, gnu, poppycock, hoist, hankering, iceberg, knickerbocker, and not to mention etc etc, etc ad infinauseum®. Spell your words clearly, they are your gob's wiki shillelagh.

Cancer- The untold story of crabs is their immense propensity for serious ass kicking. Who knew? They're no shrinking violet anemones, often mislabeled as shy and secretive, in forced abeyance to the moon and the tides. The crab can be found in every ocean on earth. Impressive, right? You sideways gait is merely the result of a grievous Herculean kick that sent you to the stars. I would walk funny after that too. Enshrouded in myth, our ancestors who lived by the sea, lived off the crab. You are the fuel of seagoing humankind. And you're delicious. Blue crab sushi roll done right = yumm yumm in one's tumm tumm. The travesty is the crab's connection to the disease; the scourge, the plague, an evil poison corrupting our systems normal function. However, keep in mind that cancer is nature's catalyst gone wrong in the hopes of mutating in a favorable way. The road to the crab shack is paved with good intentions? Adversity enlightens clarity? You may be sideways, but you're right on. Mutate and unfold.

Leo- The glass half empty/full is a two sided argument that confines our expansive 'verse into a choice between a paltry two dimensions. I see the glass as not even a glass at all. To me, it's a rainbow that turns into a stairway to heaven (patent pending). Sure, it's got some wetness to it, but I wouldn't want to stand up and be quoted definitively or verbatimly™ that such nimrodderly® minded logic is any way to describe a multi dimensional 'verse, of which we understand about as much as we understand why veal is so delicious and morally wrong. Nor would I like to be questioned as to the true definition of wet. We all know wet when we feel it, even if it's dark and we're unsure of the source. 'How much' is such middle earth mystic crapola. Forget trying to define the subjective. And btw, all 'things' are subjective. You're already mostly water, I suggest you try to BE THE GLASS.

Virgo- My roots are in bourbon country. I'm not talking about the genetic proclivity toward alcoholism that clearly runs in my family, and probably the vast majority of all bloodlines; especially considering that illusion is generally preferable to despair; not to mention that pretty much anything containing even trace amounts of sugar is fermentable into a weird tasting liqueur that will keep you in the bathroom for some time, probably around 4am. god's Biochemistry is mind beguilingly trippy. Everything I put in me, comes out as something else. And hey, no cheap crotch or taint references here, but rather I would offer something of grander importance, perhaps even of grandeur. I am an adult after all. (cough, fuck you, cough) Do you love all the things you put in you? Maybe you should.

Libra- Yeah, I drink your milkshake. Deal with it. I will also kiss you whenever the urge hits me. You remind me of cinnamon toast and old porn tapes on VHS. If I could dance, I would tango your hot little ass all the way to a remote island where we would be married and you would have my babies and we would eat cocoanuts and fish-- lots and lots of fish. AND... I.. DRINK.. YOUR.. MILKSHAKE. Fortunately, you're both elusive and evasive and you will not be caught. And even if I could catch you, I would immediately regret it. Freedom is your best color, you wear it regally like a kind king, a gently god or a beatific bhudda. You are my Muse, among other reasons, to preserve your freedom. That and you amuse me in the nicest way.

Scorpio- Semi colons make me feel important. If I can slip them into the written word, I feel powerful, like I've got so many ideas that I simply don't have time for any bloody periods, no pun intended; clever word play gives me hard-ons; and I'm not even british, so I have no business being so blatant, but damn, you smell good, like fresh bread, out in the country, in a cabin probably by a lake or a stream, or maybe a strawberry farm; and together we'd go berry picking, before the sun grows too high and the heat stroke inducing; O the hours we'd while away making pies and eating bread and making sex tapes by that river or whatever; and we could be together, at least for a small moment. Your colon is anything but semi.

Sagittarius- I recognize this feeling. It's why I started smoking in the first place. Been quit now for going on 7 years. Yeah, I'm pretty cool, but right now, I could really go for a smoke. Amazing how something so full of evil can feel so good. The rebellion, the nicotine buzz, I can feel my lungs and my brain getting a hard-on together, all the little alveoli just sucking up that smoke and tar like a chocolate milkshake. Unfortunately, I know myself. One cigarette is a long slippery and cancerous slope to a pack a day, probably in about a week's time. I know the future and can avoid it. How many things are you smarter than? And when will you spend more time creating futures that will be, rather than ones you're afraid of allowing yourself to become? Take your time, the test will be next thursday.

Capricorn- I am a culture of one. There is no one like me, and I am completely unique, and btw fuck off, I'm gonna drink this bourbon and I'm also gonna have a steak, that's barely cooked, and it's probably gonna be washed down with some more bourbon, but more of a nice finisher, and then some brandy, and then some chocolate, and yes, I may bleed a little tomorrow, but it's my life, it's my cotillion, and please 'take thy form from off my door', to quote the Great One (E.A.P.-- duh.). 'It is the beating of my hideous heart!', and I will not impede its evolutionary progress in this dimension. They can take my life, but they'll never take my FREEDOM. Call me if you need help, I'll be at the buffet.

Aquarius- The rate at which you infect my soul is exponential and approaching incalculability. Do not, therefore, light my candle or my fuse. Do not fire any rockets, ground to air flatulence bombs®, or balloons filled with yogurt and shaving cream. Also refrain from pumping anyone's nads, drowning your sorrows, or turning any swords into any kind of community based tool, not because it smacks of communism, but because my generation still thinks the Cold War might come back. Damn commies always up in my nuclear face, threatening me over various "democratic" islands in the damn caribbean, and forcing me to retreat in far away war torn places that have no real strategic value; it's more for the pissing contests, the bragging rights, and what about all the oil and opiate revenues. Or... there's a force in the world that shadows us, undercurrenting our AC with its DC, our conscious with its collective unconscious, god forbid a yin and/or a yang, or even a pregnant and an as not yet pregnant. Good and evil evolve us equally and in the final analysis are subjective and subjected to ever changing laws. Think about that shit for a spell. Oh and have a nice birthday.

Pisces- Tomorrow you will find a suitcase full of money, or a bag full of diamonds, or maybe some krugerrands from an 80's cop movie that you could later exchange for german bearer bonds. Then you can hedge fund your crooked gains and retire to an island where you'll finally have the time to take up basket weaving like you've always wanted to. You will also find true love. It may be in a form you don't expect, like one of those hairless cats that creep me out, or a cult leader that convinces you to sell all your shit and give him the money, so that when the aliens come, your spaceship ticket will be paid for in full. Perfect happiness is only one suitcase away.

         Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                              
disclaimer: Satire is like a sand dune. An amorphous synecdoche of shifting realities, and we are but riders on a molecular storm.

this week: FYI ad BTW, the number forty, aka 40, or as palavered in certain punkified circles as double dumbass on you.. is a fake number, and deserves no quarter nor succor, nor mercy.

Aries- When I say that everything is math, I don't mean that I'm a nerd and you should feel entitled to mock, ridicule or hijack me into an impromptu sing song version of the periodic table of elements; which in re the aforementioned, I can recite even while under torture, backwards to forwards, as well as in ancient Long Islandian® from longways to sideways, also as well as and in or out of context. I reckon the multiverse is rightly complexified™, and our grok of it grows exponentially, what with time's arrow moving ever "forwards". Furtherly™ more, fret not-- what remains unexplained and unexplored will be in due time. The 'verse wants to be heard and understood, forgiven and caressed, and then released back into the wild. You are god's juggernautical™ shepherd, act accordingly.

Taurus- Water chestnuts are total bullshit. I don't sanction them from my gullet, but they twist my knickers big time. The question I implore you to consider is this: How many chickens have you eaten in your lifetime? If you added up the wings, breasts and thighs, bbq'd or otherwise, how many bird carcasses have you ingested? A thousand? Ten thousand? Say we reckon one fowl per week for 30 years, that's over 1500 birds. How many fish? How many potatoes? How many pieces of chocolate? How many bottles of wine? How many regrettable moments spent kissing and/or groping somewhere dark and forbidden, with somone that was unavailable and distraught, both mutually motionless in a world of constant change and incessant loneliness coupled with the mad pursuit of freedom, sexual, socio-political or otherwise? Breathe deep, samsara is ubiquitous and well intentioned, despite its fangs and bloodlust. 

Gemini- I'm a man, yo. I eat chicken. I eat cured meats, raw meats, even tofu that's seasoned in some way to replicate real meat. I eat meats of all ilk and font. F to the A to the bacon bacon bacon pancakes with a side of sausage and a turkey sandwich and a pizza laden with the flesh of animals that, no I didn't kill personally, there's this automated thing deep in our peripheral, where the miasma of death and the screams of electrically beheaded cows are far from our precious ears. It's the only logical way to harvest bovinely the lonely sausages of our future poops and ever present coronary artery disease. I digress. You are blessed, stuff your meat hole with unapologetic pride and have a hot dog smothered in veal, smothered in whiskey and and dripping with opiates. Cows taste yum.

Cancer- There are few things as irritating in this life, as wet socks, particularly when one suffers from chronically cold feet from late October to March. Winter-- bah and piffle, I say. And don't get me started on slippers. Something about them vexes and demeans me, which only elevates my inherent mistrust of footwear that claims to be both indoor and outdoor--- I call bullshit. But enough about my bipedal fetishism, let's get down to you and your immediate future, which only I can predict, and supply an adequate to mediocre interpretation of. Your feet and the earth have been in constant contact for the vast majority of your life. Fact is, that bipedalism has been around even longer than penis envy. Get a foot massage and preempt a war with yourself, the result of which would only result in needless suffering. Be yourself. Be what you're like.

Leo- What are the odds of a fortunate mistake? Like penicillin or LSD. Or when you took a wrong turn going home that one time and you discovered the greatest sushi place in the world tucked into the corner of a mini mall that you never go near, because it doesn't have a yoga studio, and there's a menacing group of street toughs hang out in the parking lot. Accidental discoveries are like a mutation, a catalyst that creates change within our matrix. Environment changes our phenotype, which changes our genetic structure. It's true, you can look that shit up. Environment affects our identities, and how we grok the 'verse, and who we are at the molecular freaking level. Germinate with bhudda-like focus, for the tree that you're growing internally is a redwood, and it's going to need some serious space.

Virgo-  People who don't trim their nose hair usually have the bushiest schnozzi™,or schnozziolas™, as we used to call them back in east Jersey during the intervening time between the depression, the panic of blah blah blah, and the inevitably ever increasingly difficult to properly balance expense vs gain vs how many more children should be exploded by homemade bombs, before we quantify our perpetual obsession with profit. The nose thing is about courtesy. Must I be forced to stare at your nasal shrubbery and listen to your drollery? I suppose to some, the proboscis is a victory garden. Check out these medal winning nose hairs! It's like prick waving, brightly colored plumage, or the confirmed presence of an undercover cloaca that's been hiding out in your croc's midbrain for, oh I reckon nigh on coupla' score, and maybe even a fortnight. I say braid your nose hairs, show us your cloaca and start a revolution, for the establishment is a blasphemy, and you are full of righteous vim and/or vigor, aka balls.

Libra- You are a frozen wasteland and a tumult of ice cream made with milk from an icelandic yeti, aptly named Yorgin-Fluggin®. When they raise the bar for you, you sidestep it and hit the dive bar down the crooked street that believes itself to be straight. You are not what you want to be, nor what you think you are, and not even what others think of you. You are a sly melange of brink-, gun, and oneup- manship vaporized together, despite your liquefactional phenotype, and alchemied® into a rotten angelic methane dispersal that stings my nostrils like gasoline, yet sucks me in for more, and then more, and then more, the opiate of opiates, the fruitiest of the fruit; you put the ut- to the most and the peanut to the brittle. My Muse is a pox. Your ease and beauty are dreamt of only in higher realities.

Scorpio- When I feel the need for speed, and/or to get properly funkified®, I always choose the sponsor that really speaks to my demographic, and makes me feel like I'm the life of the party cause I tell a funny joke or two. Despite the possibility that deep inside, I'm blue. Blue like Picasso. Blue like oceanic abysses where life thrives under immense pressures, creating shortsighted odds that even Vegas would lose money on. We are creatures of habit. Repetition is like a bran muffin, or some under-ripe prunes sprinkled with nuclear wing sauce. You're approaching Rocky Mountain High, colorado style with the green salsa and coma inducing orgasms. It's your time to ride the snake. Just be home by a Thor'sday near you in a theater around the corner. Your just desserts will be ready.

Sagittarius- When I say things like 'I reckon', it makes me feel folksy, not in an uneducated hayseed way, but in a way that makes me feel connected to my ancient visigoth roots. I'm half visigoth on my mother's side. They say that's the important side when determining blood lines. Anyhowdy, I reckon that you're due for some reconnoitering of the most pedestrian sort. You will find yourself in a shoe shore, or a 7-11, or maybe a massage place where the endings are always sad; and it will be from that vantage point, from the most jejune of circumstances, that you will commune with ancestral spirits, those who bore you, those to whom you owe your very existence. They will tell you how proud they are of you, and make you privy to visions of your future, where the love you give is equal to the love you take.

Capricorn- You don't want to eat too healthy, there's a chance you'll live longer. Inevitably you will increase the number of years that you'll require assistance with most of your bowel movements. Unless they invent a robot butt wiper®. One could argue that the bidet is to date our best conception of such a helpful device. I assume bathroom assistants of the future will be called something like the Butt Buddy®. But, look, we're good friends, right, and when you get super old, and poop everywhere, and you need your butt wiped... I'm gonna be there, dude, for you, for all your poopy pants needs, cause you're my pal. I am gonna work really hard on that robot thing though. Happy Birthday, you old stubborn goat son of a bitch.

Aquarius- The brown throated sloth is the only animal on earth that that is immune to ennui. Fish are the most chronically melancholic, probably due to the inevitability that every time your tail is turned there's a silent predator about to swallow you whole and/or eat your egg sac that you had surmised cleverly hidden in that tide pool back in Laguna. But sloths exist in an entirely other temporal reality. What we see as the sloth is only an after image, a reflection from another reality. They are transdimensional slow motion tree climbers, and the tree they climb is the main artery through which all multiversal energy flows. These totemic titans are entrusted with the totality of totalities, the wholiest™ of holies and the undergarments of the divine. Make friends with a sloth, buy him a big fat cup of berries and soak up his transversal enlightenmentness™. 

Pisces- The winds of change are often flatulent in nature. Far too seldom do they smell like a dryer sheet picked right off the tree. Change is a miasma, intended to be smelly. For example, take that rutabaga that you had for lunch. You ate it, sucked all the usable energy out of it via that workhorse of a colon of yours, and then that energy became some skin cells you needed, or judging from your fondness for late night peppermint schnapps and jalapeno milk shakes, probably some new liver cells. Good thing those organs recycle, huh? So here's your personal weather report: my Super Psyched Psychotropic Radar Machine 9000® (also a microwave---convenient, right?), tells me that some super rancid winds are blowing your way. Remember they always smell bad coming in, but once the storm passes, your changed air will be fresh and clean as if your life had a cosmic laundry day.

         Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                                

disclaimer: Satire repeats itself only once a lifetime, for the well is deep as is the panoply                                                                      of ever changing targets.

this week: I've always wanted to use panoply in a sentence without sounding like a jerk.                                                                     Can I have another shot at it?

Aries- Yadda yadda pain is a teacher, we evolve because of and through adversity, blah blah blah. Gimme a break, let me win the lottery just once, I mean really, is it too much to ask for a million free dollars? Money is freedom, right. And there are those whose self interest is focussed like a white hot laser, there are those who would keep us from our freedom, keep us from our inalienable human rights. Freedom is no priviledge, I am not required to earn it, it is my birthright and never the twain shall cleave my divergement™. Wherever our revolutionization™ ends, know that I'm with you, brother/sister/lover/possibly close relative/soulmates-- just the three of us, we can make it if we try. You and you and I.

Taurus- I refuse to spell tomorow correctly. Likewise with suprise. What the fudge is with all the extra r's in the world? And don't get me started on gh combos. Shove this in your Funk & Wagnall's: lite, nite and brite. And hey you, ph's of the world-- you're on notice too. The world's ending this year alright. We're headed for a future where we waste no time holding on to what are now illogical spellings based on a thousand years of barbarian hordes, visigoths and vikings, and murderous romans hacking out our evolutionary alphabet from our shared past, lest we repeat it. Or maybe we should hold on to the past. Light, night, bright, tomorrow and surprise. If we are not our history, who are we? Call Joseph Campbell and stock up on canned goods.

Gemini- The tangential and tertiary quality with which you move is supine, lupine and unapologetically vulpine. Look 'em up, those are real words. And their legitimacy is founded upon our mutual agreement of non binding and ethereal contracts, whose nature is undeterminable and flagrantly foiled by self flagellators, who would rather whip themselves than feed someone who's hungry, or imagine a world that he/she/you/us/we is not the center. The chains of your self-imprisonment are nearly rotted through with rust. Summon the strength of the four winds, or horsemen, or Tops that you can finagle over to your weird crusade, for dragon fighting is near. Yet fret little, the dragons often get winded, becoming easily catchable and trainable, like seals or politicians. Your victory is intensely assured.

Cancer- The other day, I really wanted a piece of gum. I was headed out, long drive across town, and I picked this jacket out of the closet that I only wear like twice a year. Don't know why. It's actually a nice casual jacket, that rare piece of clothing that combines functionality and me not looking like a complete slob, despite my cheap shoes, nary a brand name in sight because we still allow items made by children to be for sale here in america because profit + cheap skins/pelts/cotton blazers = righteous profiteering. Anyhoo, got in the car, felt something in my pocket, and voila!, a gift from past me to future me... a pack of gum that I bought six months ago, and BINGO BANGO!, I got gum. My point, though rambling, is that you should make a present for yourself that you'll find in the future. Make your own wormhole.

Leo- Holy fishmongers, you guano crazy son of a gunner's mate first class that sailed on the SS Verne back in 1812, the war that time made me confused in regard to and etceteras®. The war was over, but people kept shooting, and you had that hallucinatory episode where you thought that all of us were communist pagan zombie worshipping brain humpers, and that nuclear monkeys were about to invade the Ardenne Forest with flatulence bombs®, so you decided to post all the lurid pictures of your ex girlfriends' mothers on FB, and were later questioned and released, some say by the hair on your chinny-chin. You are a twisted tyrannical testament to the wonderful diversity of Allah, Bhudda and my recently late Great Uncle Al. But you dress groovy and everyone digs your scene, so feel free to engender transcendence in- and ex- ternally. The sun is your only equal.

Virgo- It is foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world. Surely not disease. Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list of humanity's needs is long, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how does the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? We all know you know the answer. Engage.

Libra- Is it foolish to think that if science and conscience ever find parallel lines, and the fringe factions of society stop blowing shit up, that we could end poverty in this world? What about disease? Surely there is no hope for an end to capitalistic fervor and need for power as is our birthright and ubiquitous obsession. The list is long for humanity's needs, and we are subject to the randomness of events out of our control, so how is the will of one person, the life force of merely one human being in the face of ever increasing billions supposed to reconcile the opposing sides of this matrix we've built ourselves into and are now floating together amidst a sea of? Questions with no answers quickly fester. Order a pizza and relax.

Scorpio- Evolutionary math drives my fascination with ferreting out every facet of our fickle foibles. After tedious study, one could argue that the complexity of god's science, which used to be called magic, and before that alchemy, and before that, ugg ug ugg ugg-- look I said in the interview that my neandertal was at best, kitchen fluent..., I'm just saying that when it comes down to an instinctively created context, that our genes, nay and lo our very atoms are god's blueprint®. We lack the stamina to comprehend the sheer immensity of it all, because fer reals-- infinite is infinite, and wow, that's large and untenable. I say, tread cautiously and hoist a high petard, for there are pirates about our brains, ones that would steal our booty and keelhaul our freedom.

Sagittarius- Words with double L's really twist my nads. We get it-- make an L sound with my big fat mouth. Shuuuuut up. You don't need to hit me over the head with it. And don't get me started on the word paralel, or balroom, or ilegaly. Who decides this crap? I say we rise up, revolutionizate™ and declare that english need not be so obtuse. How about we stop subjecting people who want to learn our beautiful language to needless over lettering? It's a new era, the future is happening faster and faster; and we deserve, nay.. 'tis our right and our destiny that speling be made less needlesly overly complexicated® and divisive. And yes, I'm aware of how speling bees would be affected, but dammit, we're talking about the free market of language. Plant a flag in the future, my fellow furry lamas!

Capricorn- Pragmatism is not a whirling dervish, though both their divinations end at the same doorway to "understanding". Now, add wine, preferably red and pontificate: In vino verisimilitude® and skepticism are the proverbial holy grail. Agrippa made a religion out of non belief, that is to say, that to question everything proves that nothing is provable, therefore: the sum of all fears appears to be a holy pulchritude, a siren in the form of fermented grapes that transcends us into the next realm, where logic is open ended and nothing is certain because that is not in its nature, certainty is a myth. Truth is beauty and beauty truth, but only from a certain point of view. Currently yours is the fabled cat bird seat. More wine?

Aquarius- Redundancy is akin to peeing into your friend's potted plant in front of the entire wine and/or cheese party, proclaiming, that this land is our land, and that you can pee any place you want. We Aquarii are constantly under pressure to use our lightning like brains to come up with new shit all the time. It's annoyingly fun. However, being human will inevitably gravitate to the tedious, despite my insistence otherwise, and that's when I reach for a sedative. Something mild, possibly bourbon based, but guaranteed to lift my palette, my senses, and my bravery. It's after the third B&B&B that I begin to repeat the same joke, the same story, the same ribald tale of a cockfight I once officiated... against my will, long story. But for now, relax, and stay coolly aloof. It's almost our birthday and bourbon is our friend until Lent.

Pisces-  I burned the crap out of my hand the other day. Turns out that yes, that coffee was hot. Lava hot actually. The heat of a thousand white hot suns took control of my energy field, but mind over matter, stabbing my urge to pout like a four year old, I got hold of the physical sensation of pain, and I held sway over it, took it to court and restrained it, preventing it from wresting from me the reins of my senses, all the while telling myself that I am stronger. I can morph the pain into a an esoteric plaything with the flick of a mental switch, pain's supremacy will only devolve, I will heal, and my my hurt and my innermost desires may remain in quiet hibernation, no longer subjected to the glaring light of the thousand white hot suns, which remind me of your presence, of your warmth and your separation of church and state. What a pisser. And I'm sorry for our loss, but I grok its necessity and pragmatism. Be well.

Happy 2012...thank god the world ends this year because i really need a long winter's nap.

     Dr. Pants McTurd's MORE Than True Horror-scopes
                            
disclaimer: Satire is not always funny, but it is eternally granted the divine wisdom of truth.

this week: Sometimes, she likes to be turned upside down and inside out, as well as right ways wrong ways. Your challenge is to know when she wants it.

Aries- What level has your smiling achieved? Are you professional grade? Do you smile at inappropriate times, or always at the proper moment, effectively veiling your true sociopathic intentions? Perhaps you're an introverted smiler, only turning that frown up side down ways in seclusion away from eyes that would pry into your private vat of undeserv'd evaporating happiness. My guess is that you are a reluctant smiler, that once commited can easily go full speed, teeth enjoying their time in the sun, diaphragm convulsing with giggles, probably at a ribald rejoinder passed between two lovers that just need one more nudge to get together in order to occupy, unionize and promisculate®. Nudge and proceed with lustful zeal.

Taurus- Don't take shit for shinola. If you're gonna be a bear, be a grizzly. Screw the basket, put all your eggs in your pants, do a fancy butt dance and go downtown on molly brown's up side down frown. Be the best, be the greatest, order your martini extra dirty and tell people your name is Bondage... James Bondage. Eat a really spicy macho burrito from the questionably hygienic taco truck down the street that you've been morbidly curious about, chug some coffee liqueur, ditch your pants and go streaking. Skid mark your way into 2012, and make sure your friends and family know that you haven't gone mad. You've gone right.

Gemini- Snorri Sturluson, twelfth century Icelandic historian, poet and politician, regardless of how silly his old viking language sounds, was not an idiot. We raise our ancestors to the level of gods, calling upon them if we need strength before battle, or if we get sucked into a game of naked Jungian Jungle Jenga® when we're really wasted on pear schnapps. It's a process that endlessly repeats itself going back thousands of generations, leading us backward in time not to god, but to something ineffable and driven that creates life and consciousness out of apparently nothing at all. Your true ancestor is the sub nuclear orb that infuses us with life like an amoebic frankenstein. Worship her, but do not blind yourself with obedience.

Cancer- The troposphere is lovely this time of year/ for a bargain basement/ for a cocktail / and some empathic time to bend your ear / and afterwards curl your toes and melt your fears / into alchemic cauldrons that toil and trouble / boil and bubble / and never cease to amuse your god-like nose / and your oh so royal panty hose / circumferencing® your head / far as a person can see / but enraptured of fog you will never be / save for the making of a toast and future wishes / best proffered while on bended knee / supplication and worship my lips only fees.

Leo- Time travel is only possible if time actually exists and if there is an acceptable standard, all sizes and temporalities applicable unifying theory; in addition to a provable definition for something that is not only subjective, but irrefutably linked to the "precise" location in spacetime that one's "mass" theoretically inhabits, according to the depth of one's personal gravity well, which is inherently unprovable in any conventional sense or understandable quantity. --Blimey, the Fatuous circa 12846 BCE
in his treatise on sexual vs platonic love in upright primates. Grok it, Crockett and integrate this ∫. ∫ . ∫ .. ∫ . ∫ =∆

Virgo- I dreamt a bee stung me in the palm of my hand. I remember vividly the stinger I pulled from my flesh. I felt no pain, but my first thought based on previous experience was that my hand would soon swell to the size of a water balloon filled with liquid metal and irate bee piss. My first thought was about damage, the down side, the lead lining in my cloud of inevitable pain. Granted, evolution is a good teacher, and negative reaction to pain isn't a surprise, but I think I missed god's point, again no surprise. My real thought in the dream was about the miracle. I'm conscious and sentient and can experience a bee sting in a dream world that I invented, that as far as I know has no reality save for the neuroses my neurons inhabit. Holy nipple sticks, dude.

Libra- Reality is inherently undefinable. However, I can say with all the certainty of a possessed fetal pig that you are not living in "it". Furthermore, whatever warped wooly world you live in is probably more reasonable than the bullshit reality that the rest of us have been espousing with all our simian glory. However, your window of reality based righteousness will inevitably degrade into one that even the most blindly despotic of us would deem unsafe at any speed. Enjoy your moment in the sun, and douse us with your transdimensional logic. Soon, you'll just be another one of us wack-a-doos, searching in vain for a reasonably priced and yet soft toilet paper.

Scorpio- The devil usually resides in the details. He/She/It/Cow digs hanging out there due to the relatively small amount of sense that dimension makes. When you get down to the very small, the very very very very very very small, the sub sub sub atomic where space is not space, but small 'strings' of energy and funky particles both existing and not simultaneously, where chaos seems to create order, matter, reality, ideas and eventually belief- that is the devil's creative playground where he conjures the mischief and disorder that manifests in your overhanging firmament. Make the devil your friend, it'll confuse the hell right out of him/her/it/hotfudgesundae.

Sagittarius- The bone eating snot flower is for real. It loves to burrow into the bones of whale carcasses and suck out the lipids. For now, you're safe. However, due to over-whaling, the snot flowers, also known as zombie worms will be moving inland shortly. There's billions of them. There's going to start in the valley and move to the Hollywood area after the housing market improves and we can get on with letting banks make legislation. By 2050, 1 in 5 americans will be a snot flowerian, and 2 of every 9 marriages will be of mixed species, human and snot flower. They have no gender, however, so expect lots of court battles over marriage rights. This week you will have an epiphany that will induce you to fight for your right to marry any panda you choose, provided it's a mutual arrangement and not another sham panda marriage attempting to defraud the US government. Go forth and "god's" speed.

Capricorn- The future never ceases to piss me off. It thinks it's so fucking smart and that I can't control it. It accuses me, in the present no less, of fear and loathing, of panic and meltdown, of genius and madness, of my oversized ego dominated by past pain and ghosts that seem to have nothing better to do than loiter my brain's haunt. It tells me what I want to hear, and unfortunately for me, I'm an idiot who wants the impossible, or at least the unlikely. I am a turd in the grass waiting to decompose, transmutate and transmogrify, and give myself willingly up to god. God is the future and it's imperative that I get there first, so I can end his mad reign. Screw him anyway. You probably wouldn't understand what I'm talking about, so never mind. Especially in the future.

Aquarius- Say yes. Repeat it with every breath for the next 36 years. Say yes regardless of the fear that stalks, the demons that haunt, or the tickle fairy who's out of work due to recession with less money to spend on organized tickling. Yes opens more doors than no. Yes makes babies happen and dessert to be ordered. Yes makes tornadoes of awesomeness that throw you skyward into your next big moment. Yes is eternal. Yes is ripe and bursting. Yes is alchemic, forging will into beauty, art, invention, compassion, philanthropy, acceptance, jeans that really fit your particular butt shape, and vast plantations of soy beans and hemp cropping up in your third eye's vision quest for peace on earth, food on every plate, and love in every home. Say yes, and reap royal rewards.

Pisces- You are the eternal springtime of my maculated mind. You are everything I despise and everything I love. My alpha plus omega to the power of three. You are my lost muse that I can never recover. Nor should I. We are perfect twin branes, bound neither for peaceful coexistence, nor collision and therein, total destruction. You're the crack in my pipe, the coca in my leaves, my destruction waiting in the wings for me to slip, to misspeak and flub my lines, causing personality meltdown and a dire need for id replacement therapy. You are a scourge, a pox, a plague, an hourly promise breaker, and an imminent scandal. Thank the heavens I know you.