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

                     

                                 

disclaimer: Satire won’t dance. Don’t ask me. It won’t dance, darling, with you.

this week: Balls-- balls of all sort, color and shape. Mostly rounded ones though.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: Sardanapalian. I don’t want to point fingers, but Assyria might still be here if not for a certain namesaking, snake fornicating hedonist. Too soon?

Aries- Allow me to make this unclear: Hey diddle diddle, / The Cat and the fiddle / 
The Cow jumped over the moon / The little Dog laughed to see such sport / And the Dish ran away with the Spoon. The bunny hole goes deep on this one, so get out your conspiracy hats. It could be an Egyptian reference to worship of a god named Hathor—creepy name, yet decent god, one of life and protector of people and principle. It could also be referencing the Exodus. Yeah, like the Exodus, from Egypt with all the polytheism, snake worship, and pyramid fetish, and eventually, canal building. Or, maybe, the Brits were into anthropomorphizing stuff that particular decade, because as the British Empire took over the world, they became too knowledgeable, too worldly, and their insular island nature took over and the meaning became esoterically lost amongst star patterns long gone, that their logic is simply ungraspable to us; like the first humanoids to control fire. We are simply too different. Maybe Jung will help. Define your cow, and the why of her lunar jumping.

Taurus- Sardanapalus, the last king of Assyria really blew it. He exceeded all previous rulers in sloth and luxury, dedicating his whole life to self-indulgence. He also dressed in women's clothes and wore make-up. He loved concubines, both female and male, and allegedly equine. He wrote his own epitaph, which stated that physical gratification is the only purpose of life; which fueled a whole generation of influence on people like Byron and Delacroix, who were trying to reconnect with a lost age of decadence, both in abuse of spirit and pursuit of art and beauty. And what is left now, besides paintings and poetry that will never again be read nor seen en masse again, is just a word; one so out of context that it too will be lost to time. Don’t be so sardanapalianish, it’s rude.

Gemini- I assume Beckett was inspired to write Waiting for Godot while he was doing laundry. There are few places where one can witness human beings doing nothing but pure waiting. Sure, there’s bus stops and airports, and the ubiquitous lines for the women’s bathroom, but those are waits with a much grander purpose: to go somewhere, to do something hopefully fun, but probably just work or urinating. Laundromats, on the other sock, are havens for the mundane. Televisions playing telenovelas, getting a sore ass from uncomfortable benches; and in the end, watching the socks compete with the jeans as they spin their mathematical cotton guts out. And as a reward for the waiting, you get to fold clothes. Banal and jejune indeed, much like waiting for godot, whoever the hell he is. This week, there may be waiting involved, but I assure you, that the reward is much greater than tumble dry freshness that smells like country rain.

Cancer- You are crazy wisdom. You’re a modern day shaman. It bears grokking that as a shaman, the changeling, the intuitive mind tuned in to other frequencies, you have a great responsibility to translate for society the minutiae of the unseen world. Most of us do not possess your abilities; which is what the Emperor wants. But he’s creepy and I suspect also into little boys---in an illegal way. Palpatine is a pederast, Dude, he did 6 months in Chino. Point is, one mind out of 12 thousand, is an adept; sym- and em- pathetic to the depths of human feeling, while simultaneously in constant contact with all the cool stuff outside the purview of my mortal scientific reach. I am a mere mathematical empath. You have the tools and the talent. Come forth and bring out my mind’s eye so that all truth may be granted air to escape into space.

Leo- You are a chemistry of cocktails, with an alcohol content proof enough to change electrons to asparagus and innards to jelly, all the while maintaining a slippery hold on my grip on the earth. Sky dive with me and meet the ground with me, all gravity and fearlessness and joie de vivre; and we will see how the two of us are meant to be, irrepressible like the seas, oceans of water that connect our planet to god, and us toward procreation and youth oriented fountains. Yes, deism is arbitrary and at times, barbarous

, but the beauty of it is inescapable: one universe creating others, creating others, copying us via subatomic strings ad infinauseum®, dancing together for eternal life times, with multiple incarnations. Let’s do lunch.

Virgo- The new Rock/Paper/Scissors will assume the following order, phylum/etc: French Toast /Waffles/Pancakes. Assuming a traditional maple syrup is available, as well as an agreed upon quality designation for each item, the rules are as follows: French Toast beats Waffles. Waffles beat Pancakes. And Pancakes beat French Toast. The main reason for the change is Belgium. As usual, the same folks who brought you blood diamonds and delicious beer, feel the need to market more waffles to a growing global population. Consequently, the fist will represent pancakes, the two fingers will be french toast (the new version of the Longbowman salute), and waffles will be the flat palm that used to be paper. And try not to think about the irony that maple syrup was a product of the New World, and that prior to 1500, waffles had to be covered in fruit. Your future, like the game of representational fisticuffs, is unwritten and all the world is green.

Libra- The Most Noble Order of the Garter is not a one of Victoria’s secrets. And while it does have a history with sexy lady leg straps, it is also the highest order of brit chivalry, or britvalry®. The current queen is the Monarch of the Garter and the Prince of Wales is The Knight Companion of the Garter. Garters have been a thing for centuries amongst the uptight Brits, not only as a symbol of sexy time with various duchesses, but also among knights, whose garters were part of their big metal ensembles. And not unironically, the Order’s origins have to do with shame. At a court ball somewhen in the 1300’s, the Countess of Salisbury was dancing a jig and makin’ it rain, when her garter slipped. Oh, the humanity! King Edward III, to save her honor, coined the phrase, honi soit qui mal y pense, which in Middle French means, shame upon him who thinks evil upon it. The lesson lieth in a state of grace and acceptance of the inescapable inner sexy that you exude like sun from the stars.

Scorpio- The now defunct Hawaiian code of conduct known as kapu, was unreasonably harsh when dealing with bananas, pork and cocoanut. Those foods were considered the earthly forms of certain gods, and consequently off limits to all women. Men can eat pork tacos wrapped in banana leaves all they want; but to allow women to ingest god flesh---that could cause all sorts of damage. And punishment for such kapu was of course, death. Except famously for the young girl Kapiolani, destined for queenhood. She was curious about the taste and sent a servant boy to fetch her some. We’ll never know what she thought of the taste of such forbidden fruit, but we do know the punishment of death for committing kapu, went to the little servant boy. Beware forbidden fruit, but if you’re gonna eat it, savor it until the pigs fly home because we only live once, probably.

Sagittarius- Three Blind Mice is a much older rhyme than the Stooges would have you believe. The most common interpretation is that the mice actually represent three protestant bishops burned at the stake by Queen Mary the I. Ahh, burning at the stake; what a lovely way of saying how much you love your savior, and how much you believe in papal supremacy, the engendering of martyrdom, which in no way entrenches the beliefs of the opposition. Believe it or not, we are about to enter an age where such lines in the sand, will be erased by tides, both neap and red. The armchair pastors of late night television that we’ve grown up with, are now meaningless electronic blips on a radar screen that no one is at the helm of. The common idea is that there can be no ONE THING, one ideology, belief, or any philosophic system whatever. We are too large for homogeneity. Tolerance is the watchword. Do with it what you can. Save you it will.

Capricorn- The Peaches of Immortality are a real pain in the ass to get a hold of. The leaves take a thousand years to grow, and it takes another three thousand for the fruit to grow and ripen. But they are damn good peaches. They’re so good, they make you immortal. Hopefully you’re not spending the next thousand years moving the peaches through your immortal bowels. You know, there’s always a catch. You can live forever, but the world ends next week, sorry. These peaches taste like god’s open mouth kisses, but you’ll have the runs for a millennia. But, it’s not like you wouldn’t eat them. A thousand years of intestinal distress would surely be worth an infinite amount of time, right? Just think of all those centuries without irritable bowel.

Aquarius- When the zombies come, I’ll need an axe. I’m uncomfortable with guns. I would consider a machete though; some kind of jungle hacking weapon. Neartimes, you will be upon decisionmount and need praywise find a weapon of choice, a friend on whatsay, you can depend: bullets and fire and killing in the name of…Trust and Betrayal. Fire and Ice. Pancakes vs Waffles. Will we ever get out of this place? There’s something happening here. It starts when you’re always afraid. Paranoia strikes deep. You better stop, hey- what’s that sound, everybody look what’s goin’ round. The zombies are just  a metaphor and a defunct band. Lay down your arms and let them rot into plowshares.

Pisces- The Lost Monarch is a sequoia tree in NorCal. It’s the third largest living tree on earth. And its location is secret, known only to a few rarified botanists, so that the general public won’t go traipsing around, carving initials into her bark and littering the ground with beer cans and used condoms. It is telling indeed, that to protect parts of the earth, we need to keep them secret. Like the underground seed bunker and repository in Sacandahoovia somewhere. Or the alien ship in Area 51. Or the secrets of the freemasons. Or Michael Jackson’s kids. The Lost Monarch should stay lost. As humanity matures, I find it comforting that there will be secrets to be uncovered by a farther generation, one less populated and strained, and one more interested as a whole in leaving no footprints; a civilization with a Prime Directive, allowing life to evolve without tainting its course. Whatever you do influence, do it sweetly.

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

                      

                                 

disclaimer: Satire is 23 in terms of its nature, the current earth’s tilt, etc.

this week: I am Number 23.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: the. If you can even come close to telling me what it means-- I will buy you a burrito. And a soda, but not a Pepsi, they suck.

Aries- I had it in my head that ob la di ob la da was a fancified liverpudlian way of jazzing my ears with meaningless syllables, forcing me to cop to the ways of their isolated island sense of humor. I apologize. Andy, you were right. Much of the “valid” internet sources seem to verify that the phrase means either ‘life goes on’, or ‘what will be, will be”, aka ‘que sera, sera…” There is, however, no way to prove that African bongo player they knew, wasn’t just the world’s biggest Doris Day fan. Therefore, I’m not going to pay you the dollar I promised you, Andy. Instead you can instead take away the knowledge that you have bested a self professed pseudo know it all on his own pseudo petard. This is your special week, use it wisely.

Taurus- Conception is a strange conceptual corn popper of a kerfuffle. It describes a moment in time, where two different things come together and become a new paradigm; something new gets thought up—at least new to your brain bucket, right? Disparate ideas that somehow make a new pattern which hopefully can be articulated by your THC laden brain and brought to earth by your valium’d mouth and predictably wicked tongue. One or more rivers of thought energy, one sperm and one egg, one “new” moment that even god had not imagined happening-- happens. And you are born; a bizarre mutation in a subset of systems designed to ghost your machine until all sides of the pan are greased for an idea’s birth; nothing into beingness, matter brought life-full and dragged through countless previous incarnations’ obsessions and fetishes, all without meaning.

Conceive, but refuse to deceive.

Gemini- Thankfully, ‘total depravity’ has its own Wikipedia page. Turns out, the rabbit hole goes even deeper. The Doctrine of Total Depravity (DTD) has been bandied about for centuries. Thanks to a certain Calvin making the whole christendom an even bigger kerfuffle, the DTD has something to do with the idea that because of original sin; that man is incapable of choosing to give himself over to god’s will; in effect, that only god may choose who will receive salvation. Or as John Edwards, 18^th century American theologian puts it: the holy rape of the soul. Wow, how…poetic? God takes you into his arms in a holy rape embrace. Who else could use a drink? Your life is not totally anything, save for you and yours; but what you choose defines a different you for the next wacky scenario where you have to decide the definition of your mettle. I say, ride the wild turtle. It may be your last chance.

Cancer- The damage I could do if I had no filter. If it weren’t for some considerably strong forces of restraint that I possess; and yet even those, hanging merely by threads so bare that all hope must truly be lost, probably at any moment, to a dragon or a criminal with rabid intent, or a torturous tree climbing turtle with a trunculating turntable of devious deeds and miscreant mannerisms, designed with love, to find my greatest weaknesses and exploit them, like a state sanctioned Alaskan Wildlife Refuge. But yet… silence is a teacher. Putting pride secondary, if only briefly, is a doorway to wisdom, because it forces the matrix to make another, hopefully less violent, choice; to get creative and open doors to the potential of a united human spirit scientifically exploring the multiverse, sans rancor, or divisions, or empty hearted bigotry. Dump your filter.

Leo- Let’s not squirt fart juice around the obvious here. Let us also not squat on parsimonious ceremony with knees spreadeagled, allowing passage for all sorts of demons to our inner sanctums. The Four Tops are legendary, and they will remain a part of important rock history, until there simply is no more rock. But The Temptations…they are a cosmic quartet of unquestionable coolness and vibrational groovy. Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone, My Girl, Just My Imagination, Ball of Confusion… If you don’t know these songs, your education is truly lacking. Bernadette? Really? I call bullshit. Sugar Pie Honeybunch? Please, don’t insult me with your candy coated crayon drawn songs. Take this with you: The Band Plays On… but you name the tune.

Virgo- Your oblique asymptote is resistant to change on any societal level, which in turn, may affect the volume of alcohol per capita in a divided space such as your rectum or your verisimilitude. I feel I must be direct, so be not shocked at the voracity and bluntness of my claims. You’re an inverse trapezoid with a penchant for crab cakes and juice topped off with booze. You’re a pianist in a world of cornholing, a case of silly string in a room where all the hands and feet remain bound and all the ids remain gagged, and nary but a dentist lies nearby. I’ve tried foul mouthing, and carpet bagging, and depilatory innard scraping. Nothing seems to get through. I admire your courage of conviction, and hope you can keep burning the midnight oil long into the time when we use algae for food to fuel our robot bodies and programmed libidos. Find your x-y axis.

Libra- There’s still oil leaking from the USS Arizona, which currently resides at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. And the men who never escaped the doomed ship are still on board. And to this day, the survivors, may opt for cremation and internment within the sunken Arizona, so that they may rest alongside so many of their comrades in arms before their time was fairly due. The most tragic is that an early version of radar had discovered the incoming Japanese fleet and could have warned the island’s defenses, but were dismissed as nothing important. There’s nothing funny; I have no jokes. Sanctioned killing involves no mercy. My point is about when you authorize slash and burn strategems, and eye for an eye justice. I’m not saying turn some other cheek. I’m saying, react differently, and surprise yourself with ensuing empathy and naked peace.

Scorpio- The honey bear is a brilliant invention, no? A) It looks like a cute little bear; B) you squeeze him around the middle and he pours out his sweet sweet bear nectar, and most importantly, C) the bottle is designed to stay upside down, ensuring that it will be ready to pour when you are. If you were a honey bear, I would squeeze the bee juice right out of you till it covered us both in sweet sticky ropes of life force that would mold us together toward some new end, some new purpose; two into one; you, me and the collective makes three. Flowers draw bees, that extract pollen to serve the queen, bears eat honey, then I read another adventure of Winnie the Pooh, and get a craving for honey toast, which makes me think of you, and we come full circle. Sort of. Eat sweetly, my sweet.

Sagittarius- When I was recently in Kauai, I arrived at the end of 50 inches of rain, which, for the wettest spot on earth is a lot when it happens in 2-3 days. The island’s rivers were brown with mud, roads impassable, and even the natives could not believe the rain soaked poi and preponderance of rainbows that seem almost criminal in retrospect. Turns out that annually, Kauai loses thousands of metric tons of dirt; wettest spot on earth equals highest rate of erosion—math, it’s boring, but it’s all true. Anyhowdy, that means that the current height of the island at 5200ft. minus all the erosion that has taken place over centuries, means that the island may once have been as tall as 14,000ft. Wow, numbers are big when compared to human time scale. Our global terrarium is immense indeed. Consider that when immersed in planning your biodome.

Capricorn- People like you, and me, although this is about you, don’t want to steal any thunder, but WE CAN’T STOP BEING SEXY®. Yeah, I own that. But it applies to you. Your oversized glands, your obsession with pancakes made with human produced yeast, your sarcastic flattery, you swarthy hips and feminine thighs that call to me like a yodeling moose pack, travelling in witness protected herds… where was I? Your Mary Pickford sashay, your impudent bowel movements and clown-like appendages… You, with your nacre knickers and frost bitten fingertips. WE CAN’T STOP THE SEXY. You may as well ask if I will settle down and/or find the proper medication. WE ARE SEXY. AND NOTHING CAN STOP US. NOTHING CAN STOP US. NOTHING…

Aquarius- I grew up in the 80’s. And yes, and it was true, the 80’s did make the 50’s look like the 30’s. Part of the glue that holds society together, part of the basic framework, is fear. Fear of the other, the opposition, change, new ideas, anything really, because fear actually makes us stick and work together while not being pulled apart by our chaotic individuosity. And in the 80’s, we were dealing with a known quantity of evil: the soviets and nuclear armageddon: Red Dawn, mutual assured destruction, nuclear fallout and zombie mutant hunting on what was christmas day. Today, kids grow up with multiple and unknown fears: global warming, economic collapse, weaponized viruses, identity theft, overpopulation, etc ad infinauseum®, and oy vey. Just a reminder to include environmental perspective in your ongoing analysis of everything. When you are defines the pedestal of truth upon which you sit.

Pisces- Now that I have plied you with my words and cajoled you prettily into a semblance of order, rather than boundless depth of despair, might I make one more plea; for you to use your intellect—which is impressive, but that your intellect is the key to not getting lost in the emotional morass that poops and pops up in your territories, provinces and chattel farms; the quicksand of self denial, originally intended for Judas, but whose mantel you have claimed as a bithmarkright® and entry into the highest realms of self immolation and unnecessary surgery. I urge you to remain a scientist for as long as possible, without letting go of the hurricane about to hit land on your shore. She will take you exactly where you want to go.

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

                     

                                 

disclaimer: How many Transits of Venus have there been? The answer is calculusable, but Newton is dead and we are amidst this one, swimming beneath the forest, were it not for the trees.

this week: In Camelot, we eat ham and jam and spam a lot.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: doodlesack. It is indeed a sack, but not the kind you think.

Aries-  I swear the following is true bullshit: The state beverage of 20 different U.S. states is milk. My intellectual takeaway from this information is twofold: 1) we have official state beverages and no one told me, what the fudge?, and 2) milk, really? Nebraska couldn't decide, so made a split decision, milk and Kool-Aid. Indiana though, went way forward. Their state beverage is water. Water. Granted, the giver and sustainer of life, the universal solvent even, but really, water? Hoosier water. Maird. That's why California is the greatest state-- we chose wine. In legislatus veritas, no? Call your congressperson and toast them with a big fat glass of cabernet.

Taurus- Bill and Ted’s Hella Bogus Adventures, Part 3: Timealiscious. Surf’s up and the time is right. I’ll write the treatment. Wait, shut the front door—what about an animated show on AdultSwim? Pilot episode with special guest stars---full disclosure: I’ve already talked to Keanu, and he’s in. The San Dimas Totally Tubular Animated Awesome Show®. I’m not married to the title, but it is clearly rad and gnarly. Your horrorscope for the week, should you choose to accept it, is to get us in a room where we can make this deal happen. The time machine phone booth awaits.

Gemini- Hey, where’s our remake of Big Trouble in Little China, with a cameo for Kurt freaking Russell? And where the fudge was he in The Expendables? Why are we not running a studio? Greatest American Hero is begging for a new interpretation, and even though my hero Robert Culp has passed, I am ready to step up into the role. And don’t get me started on the revamping of the show Manimal that I’ve had planned since that show’s early demise. I have several other brilliant ideas, and your horrorscope should you have the cajones to accept it, is take all your brilliant ideas and spread them to the world, regardless of the snickering you may her behind you. Your ideas will pay off, but you must believe in them and ignore the naysaying nabobs.

Cancer- Taumatawhakatangihangakoauauotamateapokaiwhenuakitan is the longest name for a place in the world at a ridiculous 85 letters. It's like a stroke for your tongue and a coronary for your frontal lobe. It's a hill in New Zealand, that in the Maori language roughly translates to: 'The summit where Tamatea, the man with the big knees, the climber of mountains, the land-swallower who travelled about, played his nose flute to his loved one'. How a population with a mostly oral history tradition can keep track of this verbose lore leads me to believe the Maori must be operating on a higher level. I recommend you channel, emulate and star in as many Maori dreams as your brain can handle. For extra oomph, use your nose flute.

Leo- Newly discovered by scientists deep in the ocean, a creature called a 'pigbutt worm' resembles most closely a floating, disembodied buttocks. Don't believe me?--Google it. It feeds on 'marine snow', organic material sinking from the photic to the aphotic zones, recycling its energy and eventual rebirth in the ocean's oxygenless depths, most closely resembling our eternal journey through the Tao. I find it ironic that such a beautiful analogy is a poop eating worm that looks like a pig's butt. Meditate on that and get back to me.

Virgo- It’s a cruel irony that the blue whale, the earth’s largest mammal has the smallest genitalia. The females too. It’s a real issue that isn’t being covered by the mainstream media and the talking heads that dominate political discussion, turning tiny whale junk into another lost cause. At least we’re still allowing certain cultures to hunt our small cocked brethren to extinction though. Maybe their junk is so small because of how cold the water is. Put a whale on land, and it becomes porn star worthy. I’m anxious for the day when sea mammals evolve and move onto the land and use their giant genitals for good, for the betterment of their race and our integrated society.

Libra- Your charisma, your juju, your mojo, your je ne sais quoi—your sorcery is imperceptible at close range until one looks deeply into your irises; flora that bring to the mind of a star gazer, a more impressionistic time, where the world was allowed to be softer, less brazen and full of soft serve ice cream on hot summer days that seemed endless when we were young, because time, then, was infinite. A day could last forever. Life existed in between sleeps, which were more frequent that desired. Your karmic charisma is divinely conferred and resplendent in the eyes of the creator. Your joie de vivre should be in The Smithsonian. Your mucho macho mojo should be reproduced by an environmentally friendly company and given as booster shots to all the children of the world. You are the fifth element. Act accordingly.

Scorpio- Ok, so Cytheria is a Greek Island, one of two that purport to be the birthplace of Aphrodite. Yeah—the Aphrodite. And from our current perception, the concept of a god seems somewhat archaic. Not nearly archaic enough for the likes of a certain Professor Dawkins, with whom I don’t completely disagree, nevertheless&anyhowdy, there never were any gods, just us humans, some of whom have the ability to seem godlike; but as time progresses, how we perceive history and time and gods, evolves; and perhaps, Aphrodite was a real person, believed to be a god and orally transmuted as a god down through the generations because back then, we had more gods amongst men/women. Today we simply have a lot more “permanently” recorded history to muddle our thoughts and complicate and copulate our philosophy. You are Aphrodite, mother of all.

Sagittarius- Guillaume Le Gentil—what a pisser. In 1761 he tried to see the Transit of Venus out in the Indian Ocean, to lay out some heavy calculations that would have made his name synonymous with the likes of the great Emmy Noether(!) Sadly, he got waylaid by war, politics, and gunpowder. Trying again 8 years later, the weather stopped him. He was obsessed with the Transit and not surprisingly went mad. He returned home to find his wife remarried, his estates bankrupt, and the next Transit not occurring till 1874, well out of reach. He wanted to have his head frozen, so he had his body interred in a glacier. With global warming, he might have another chance in 2117. I hope you don’t go as far unto madness to reach your goals. Be cool, and let them come to you.

Capricorn- A famous Sanskrit verse tells us that “our present is the result of all our yesterdays, and the future depends on how well we live today”. Well... today I would like bourbon for breakfast and black licorice for lunch, and then a nap. I want the return of Naked Tuesdays and an easier way to get my fix. I want freedom for my brothers and sisters, who even today, suffer bondage and persecution. I want underwear that doesn't hamper my balls' natural range of motion. I want to become chocolate, so that I can experience one of your own obsessions. I want many things. Get out of your sleepy bunk, sailor-- this may become funk-a-liciously weird and esoterically slippery.

Aquarius- This week, a Transit of Venus occurred which only happens in pairs, separated by 8 years and spread across over 100 years. The next one will not occur til 2117. If, by happenstancing, you are alive in 2117, will you, provided your memory remains intact depending on what percentage robot you are, please think back to this moment, in the now, as you read these words, and write down your observations? Is there a connection between the you that existed in both events years apart? Does the past feel irretrievable, or have we foundried a way to cement the two temporal dimensions, creating a passage of travel, a virtual panama, so that we may traverse the strings as easily as our ancestors perambulated on moonbeams and tickled sacred ivories, that cannot forget, because quite simply, it’s not in their natures.

Pisces- You pisces folks are full of it—full of unconditional love, not for yourselves of course—what a waste of time, but rather for others around you, hell- even people you haven’t even met yet. And while it may be your most attractive quality, it’s also why you and I are triflingly at odds, close quarters and a five cup coffee maker. You are a blowhard of love, you spew like Old Faithful, like a nectar of effluvium and ambergris, spouting love from your blowhole, until I am forced to harvest it, not merely for the bounteautiful® purity of it of, like the illustrious black pearl, or emerald diamond hybrid, aka a diamorold®, but because I hope you take your medicine as forthrightly as you give it out, so that as your new spring coalesces into grace and personal bean sprouting.

                      Dr. Pants McTurd's 

          MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                       

                                 

disclaimer: This week has nothing to do with Dr. McT and his women, mostly for legal reasons.

this week: Doctor, if you please. I think I’ve earned it.

Doc P’s Word of the Week: sudorific. If you’re sweaty and you know it, grab a towel.

Aries- To purposefully toot my own sociological horn (a conch, btw), the rate at which a society revolutionizes and changes from one ruling power and/or philosophy, is a mathematical determinate and indicative of its overall health. I loooove information: size, mean age, life span, economic viability, educational opportunities, nutritional availability, access to potable water, relative safety from the ravages of a tectonically cooling planet, and of course the level of trickle down tyranny, despotism and dickish edicts enacted so spuriously from on high, etc. ad infinauseum®. Forewarned is forearmed, right? But we’ve missed a most critical piece of datum: the intellectual level of the alphas in charge of the system. Sadly, brains and greed do not often come with equal parts humility or empathy to make either attribute worth having. My advice: dress for the party, but keep an eye on those rebels willing to die not for money, but for their cause.

Taurus- Have you ever seen a video of an octopus as it’s in motion? If you want to creep yourself out, go to Youtube later on, and try to keep your lunch down. It’s primordial, strange boneless compatriots of our own species. They seem intelligent and focused. A big jellied head propelled by eight slimy legs moving in slippery unison. In an early version of our evolving bio-matrix, we were all just muscles moving brains around. When it moves, it looks like it has a purpose, a will, a drive, an id. Most fish just seem to be swimming around looking for a good time, or maybe a baited hook to sever their lips from their face. But the octopus has drives like we do. It has wants. In the year 2234, when they rise up from the polluted oceans and take control of our cities, we’ll all find out what it is that they want. In the meantime, order some calamari; inure and inhere yourself in the present.

Gemini- You are not a roman tuba. You are also not a swedish horn. You are nowhere near a five valve euphonium; and please, taunt me not with rabid fish tales of your years long stint as a flumpet, a flugelhorn, or how dare you, sir---a mute cornett. Really, your gall is as wide as the pants your cajones fit in. You, sir,-- or ladyfriend, are a perfect example of a homemade trumpet. Ingredients: one long rubber tube, a funnel—preferably metallic, and a mouthpiece, which you’re probably better off going to the music store up the street run by that stoner hippy dude, and buy yourself an actual trumpet mouthpiece. So, two-thirds of you is homemade, and one part, you gotta go to the store and buy. Point is, you probably don’t rubber tubing sitting around either…or maybe you do, I don’t judge. Point is, get the materials, and croon and woo your lover with a homemade trumpet. Your thanks will be comprised of stolen kisses in a dark and sacred place.

Cancer- While I agree that 10,000 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean might be a good start, perhaps I’ve projected my mistrust of our ensnarled bureaucracy on the litigiously obsessed, and onto the ABA as well. And while I agree that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, at least the ABA recommends pro bono publico work as part of their ethical rules. They teach lawyers to do work for the public good for free—what the fudge? At business schools like Harvard, no pro publico works are engendered, because, hey—we’re making profit here, not friends. Anyhowdy, apparently we live in a world that teaches ethics to lawyers, but not to the corporation/people who run the show and employ the lawyers, which are somehow equivalent to regular people, like me, or say you even Coca-cola. My advice: ethics first, profit second.

Leo- Shuttle pipes and shuttlecocks are not mutually exclusive. They’re more like third cousins. I picture you more as a hammered dulcimer, not one that’s over the edge, just one that enjoys a few mint juleps before bed, and occasional champagne upon waking up on a sun filled morning full of intended and well deserved gadabouting amidst warm tangled sheets amongst warm company.  The sweet and sad strings of the lira de braccio are only notes for cloudy afternoons full of brandy and wine and considering the softer side of the ‘verse. And the hurdy gurdy can wait for a more proper occasion with more strudel. You are an intricate piece of mouth music machinery. Blow, strum, harmonize, and percuss, because we’re all ready for your beautiful mouth and dulcimer tones.

Virgo- The following “joke” is from my high school physics teacher: So, a professor is giving a lecture about orbital motion and gravity and how the earth goes around the sun, when from the back of the lecture hall, an old woman (why it’s an old woman an why she’s in a physics lecture, I have no clue), but this old woman interdicts with, “The earth actually goes around the sun riding on the back of a giant space turtle.” Deciding to humor her, the teacher asked, “And what is the turtle riding on?” The old lady smarmily replied, “Silly…it’s turtles all the way down.” All the way down, of course, implying a universe made of things that we have yet to explain. In case the batty old lady is right, make ready your mind, as best you can, for everything under the sun, be they turtles or invisible atomic forces.

Libra- You’re a rhapsody in cool, something borrowed and something blue, an ad hoc mixture of hither and yon, of time and of space, of things and ideas. You’ve not crossed over, however; you are the zone. Jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu, jamais vu. And now our mutual déjà vu echoing a dance we’ve done before, is qed. These words are mere talismans, not literal, but in order to grok their incongruence and impalatability, we must never speak them. Travails and set-tos aside, you are bound for Everest on a clear day, and the sky and wind will adapt to your wings, regardless of the warranty. Act accordingly. The devil is in the details, whether or not he exists.

Scorpio- If you aspire to the title of The Great Masticator, you have large teeth to fill. Horace Fletcher, like so many wacky foodies of the early 20^th century, figured out the secret to super human digestive strength: chewing. But not just chewing—a buttload of chewing. He even believed you should chew liquids. 32 times, to be exact, or roughly chewing each mouthful for about a minute. You need to ‘fletcherize’ the crap out of that food, so that its yum yum nutrients can be effectively sucked out by your less than industrious innards. I call bullcrap. I say, chew twice, then swallow. The alimentary canal didn’t survive ten billion years of evolution in order to be coddled. Make your body parts work hard. Survival ain’t easy. Give your bowels and whatever else some tough love.

Sagittarius- Bees do indeed have knees. No patellae, but they are knees by certain definition, but why they are so cool and sought after is a mystery. One theory says that in the 1920’s people liked to rhyme nonsensical things. However, a bee’s knees contain a sac that is usually filled with nectar, like primordial insectoid fanny packs. Another strange reference is to a 1920’s dancer named Bee Jackson, who may have created the Charleston. Her name was bee, the dance is knee oriented--- seems reasonable. However, a more ethereal look at the phrase indicates to me that it has to do with the quality of something that is unknowable, and whose definition would only limit its potential. Don’t over think; just practice the Charleston and commune with the ineffable and sacrosanct.

Capricorn- I don’t want to alarm you, but plants rule the world. Yes, I’m being literal, and no, I am not drunk, tipsy maybe, neverthless case in point: the chayote, a member of the squash family, originally native to mexico, has somehow managed to become a worldwide crop. In a relatively short time, they have traversed the globe; they have a foothold, or at least a gourdhold. And who knows what their ultimate plans are. Obviously, corn, coffee, tea, soy, cotton, marijuana, wheat and cocaine are the established powers in the world of flora—the G8 of the plant world. Hell, we subsidize them; they’ve actually gotten us to fund their existence. And they’re too big to fail. If corn suddenly went away tomorrow, how would we make tortillas? There’s a big mine field of metaphor here, but I’ll leave you with: beware the plants, even though your lifetime is too short to notice the subtleties of future floristic domination. Eat them before they eat you.

Aquarius- I’m becoming more convinced that spell check is affecting my brain. I can only hope it’s for the better. When I run into a questionable spelling, sometimes I just type it, and let the spell check tell me it’s wrong and how to fix it, rather than figuring it out myself, which might take up to four or five seconds. In theory, it could be beneficial. Perhaps spelling is becoming an irrelevant skill. Perhaps a new intellectual skill set will emerge with the influx of stored fingertip-ready knowledge that gets exponentially bigger like every other week at this point. Perhaps. That’s evolution’s caveat: change is inevitable and difficult to assess at its birth. It needs time for the environment to season and change around it, and presumably, to seed the next idea for mutational experiment. Knowing when to abandon certain knowledge is as important as knowing when to acquire new skill sets.

Pisces- "Neither the plague, nor war, nor smallpox, nor similar diseases, have produced results so disastrous to humanity as the pernicious habit of onanism”—John Kellog. Yeah, the same guy whose cereal you’re shoveling into your mouth. According to him, masturbation and sex negatively impact health; and sans hyperbole to be sure, exists on the same level of evil as pestilence and mustard gas. This guy didn’t even have sex on his honeymoon. Being in the same room as George Michael would probably give him a stroke. His father owned a broom factory, which probably engendered his love of enemas from an early age. Squeaky clean is how he liked his bottom. And I’m not saying wash your butt, but I am saying watch your butt, to make sure it’s not leading you. Lead with the front junk. It knows what it’s doing.

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

                       

                                 

disclaimer: Satire is nonrefundable. You’re stuck with the truth of it.

this week: Buy me a drink, sing me a song, take me as I come cause I can’t stay long…

Doc P’s Word of the Week: spruik. If you have a moment for a quick presentation, I can explain the word and tell you about a great opportunity to get in on the ground floor of this bridge that I know is for sale.

Aries- I propose that we stop using the word retarded in general conversation when describing something inane or fubar. Insensitive labels are for beauty magazines and insensitive jerks with too much money and too little brains. Here's a brand new substitute word I just invented-- Petarded™, as in 'A dumbass who has been hoisted by his own petard'. You are an evolved beast that should lead the rest of us hoi polloi into the promised land of equanimity, acceptance and love. Don't jolly roger yourself up the mizzen mast with petarded words. Make your words golden and don’t be a petard.

Taurus- A famous Sanskrit verse tells us that “our present is the result of all our yesterdays, and the future depends on how well we live today”. Well... today I would like bourbon for breakfast and black licorice for lunch, and then a nap. I want the return of Naked Tuesdays® and an easier way to get my fix. I want freedom for my brothers and sisters, who even today, suffer bondage and persecution. I want underwear that doesn't hamper my balls' natural range of motion. I want to become chocolate, so that I can experience one of your own obsessions. I want many things. Get out of your sleepy bunk, sailor—things are about to become funk-a-liciously weird and esoterically slippery.

Gemini- Try not to get your knickers in a twist, but you're in a deluge and riding naked in a barrel headed straight for Calamity Falls!®. Ah yes... hyperbole, the enemy of the fearful and the tiny of rectum. Don't take my word for it-- plunder yourself a new future! Your mettle is beyond reproach and your intelligence superb even in its infancy. Abjure those who would fight against you, take no part in their little passion play full of fretful word barbs and oral slashing. You are a dignitary; behave as such, despite the heir  apparent’s lack of manners and decency. Show me, don't tell me that your crotch glands reek of adventure and naked waterfall riding.

Cancer- In The Apotheosis of George Washington, our first president and british ass kicker, the G-Wash is depicted as man becoming god, hence the fresco's catchy title. I love artists who don't need to fall back on hyperbole to make a point. I'm building my own pedestal out of a paste I make from old espresso grounds and bat guano, which is no fun to harvest, but makes great pedestal cement, despite of the constant threat of a rabid infarction trauma®, and of course the ever present miasma of bat guano wafting heavenwards toward my enlightenedness. Forge your own pedestal material and become Rodan, embody Bernini, channel Chillida, and ask Dali for a dance. Ascendancy is your birthright. The guano is mine.

Leo- You are a superhero. I don't know what your power is, but it's probably something to do with being able to communicate telepathically with salmon; or maybe you can eat chicken really fast. Maybe you poop kittens, or maybe you drive a Prius. Whatever it is--- it's time to whip it out and save the day. Don’t jump out the window thinking you can fly though; you’re still vulnerable to cement poisoning. Your power is weird and fruity and will hit you in the face quite unexpectedly. And hopefully in time for happy hour.

Virgo- The brown throated sloth is the only animal on earth 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™.

Libra- 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 still exist 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.

Scorpio-  Unfortunately a booby hatch is not what it sounds like. Neither is poop deck. A crap-fest, on the other hand, couldn't be more spot-on. Cocksure reminds me of Caligula's birthday parties; and titmouse causes my inner child to sprout wings and take flight to absurdly high and erotic aeries that only my id can find. This week, find your rhetoric, check it for defects, and open up a can of spiritual poop-ass. There be misdeeds about the crow’s nest, and your spinnaker has been soiled. You’re the captain of this tub. Wake up, it’s much too late; the seas are high and you have six more to explore before you can rest.

Sagittarius- Soothsayers, prognosticators and purveyors of the future will often tell you that you are a divided soul, caught between two unhappy masters, under whom unmerciful disaster follows fast and follows faster-- but thankfully you are about to enter a more constructive phase where everything will become clear and you will be rewarded for your fortitude. Such hokum and bunkum says to me that we all feel like the world is collapsing around us all the time, and that the promise of unity of mind, body and spirit will imminently assuage our souls and give us the peace of mind to go bravely into the new world. I, however, promise you nothing. I only wish to remind you of the delusional nature of this dualistic dimension. Good luck and enjoy fish while they still exist.

Capricorn- This week you should definitely plan on getting an impulsive tattoo somewhere really weird, painful and hard to see without a series of carefully placed mirrors. However, what constitutes weird and painful to you could be another person's sweet spot. Choose wisely; for this tattoo will be a harbinger of good things, and a welcome wagon for warm people with fuzzy blankets. It will also serve as a reminder for whenever you’re in doubt about the path you’re on. Just get out your mirrors and locate your power tatt, and know that all your choices have been right ones.

Aquarius- 85% of the time it works all the time. However, due to alleged big pharma malfeasance, 24% of the time you will be 85% closer to a nervous breakdown than you were 28% ago, so try to stay to this side of the 48% of the time that over 63% of people say they experience nausea or dizziness, and the 15% of people that experience dizzy gillespianism™ and painful incontinence. I predict that you will be 100% successful at least 45% of the time, and that is 78% true. You can take 93% of that to the proverbial bank! Good luck, and bring a change of pants.

Pisces- According to "sources" on the "internet", zemmiphobia is the fear of the great mole rat. Yep, fer reals. He may be the leader of a powerful underground race of big ugly albino rodents who have an unquenchable thirst for domination of the planet, but if you stop being afraid and buy him a mojito, everything will be jake. However, don’t over-do the rum, the King of the Mole Rats has the ability to control your thoughts, and he will try to get you to do things—creepy yet slightly erotic things. You don’t want to wake up in the mole rat’s sex swing wearing a tutu. Keep your fears reasonable and beware the mole rat.