Dr. Pants McTurd's

               MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                           

              (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)                                             

Aries- There are many things I prefer not to be caught dead doing; and whilst you ponder whatever malapropisms and/or silly ass metaphors that your sassy little brain can conjure up, I’d like to discuss briefly, the oddness of the expression. For example: I wouldn’t be caught dead eating spinach on a Tuesday. Put aside for a moment the other oddness of someone having a fetish for leafy vittles—a veggiepervie® btw; point is, you’d rather be dead than to be doing x, y or z; which hopefully doesn’t involve anything too kinky that you can’t handle. And usually when we use this expression, it’s for something frivolous, like I’d rather be caught dead than making veggie porn out in Ventura. My question to you is: what would you prefer to be caught living doing? And should you do it naked? (btw, count 6 down and read)

Taurus- I hate that I love Cheez-Its. Unmonitored, I would regularly shovel handfuls of them gullet-wise for hours and days on end--just one of my issues. However…steel yourself if you dare read the ingredients; which start out harmlessly enough with flour, and then casually lead up to MSG, corn syrup solids, disodium inosinate, yellows # 5 and 6, and of course sodium stearoyl lactylate. Whatever the F that is. And our life expectancies are somehow holding steady?? And if this is merely the bellwether of processed food, then wtf are we headed for? A foodpocalypse?? Will we become more chemistry than man? Your mantra for the week is: I am literally what I eat. I am literally what I eat. I am literally what I eat. I am literally what I eat. Eat well, and you’ll feel like yourself again.

(btw, count 6 down and read)

Gemini- The moment I discovered that the word crawfish is also a verb, meaning to back out of something, I realized that the possibilities are truly endless. Shortly after, I discovered the word obconical; which I’ll discuss later after I wrap my brain around it---despite its verisimilitude, it’s a pretty funky concept. Porpoise-- also a verb. Who knew? I purposely propose that your purposeful porpoising is pathological and preternatural, and yet…premeditated, dispassionate, and replete with a quality that at best can only be described as jejune, or even lackadaisical, possibly even merely prophylactical re the at large idioms that plague our groins and lips. I throw down a simple challenge: your brilliant mind is already free—now, learn to fly. Take the green pill.

(btw, count 6 down and read)

Cancer- Pot, kettle. Pot, kettle. Pot, kettle. Black as pitch, ebon like a moonless night, or the emptiest of spacetime. Our thoughts and feelings regarding others are skewy and screwy. Case in point par example: I opine x or y about so and so, and then I wonder—why did I think that about him/her? And then I turn to what is usually a very biased mirror and unto myself, I overthink the whole process til I nullify or side step any potential need to correct my course through a prickly emotional mine field, filled with sadness bombs and shrapnellian® intrusions into my little space that I—DAMMIT, I- and only I, inhabit in this weird gooey spacetime matrix thingy, where I am the individual, and no thing can take my freedom, just like in that movie with all the kilts. I say, throw less stones, and instead use them in the garden of your mindscape. (btw, count 6 down and read)

Leo- Turns out, the word porpoise is also a verb. My flabber has also been gasted! Yeah, whew! Take a breath—Also, did not know that in a weird latin root way, it basically means sea pig. But wait—there’s more… It also means to leap clear of the water. Yes, smartass—like a porpoise. The purpose of porpoising probably has something to do with seeing what’s up ahead. Maybe some land, maybe get a whiff of whatever is on the horizon. It makes for more efficient travel that can take you farther in the search for the ever elusive that lies ahead of us all—a simple trick that proves quite advantageous—mammals that live in water…weird right? (btw, count 6 down and read)

Virgo- I’ve never owned a bird, either as a pet or to use as communication between myself and the front lines of whatever war I’m fighting—probably for no reason. I have nothing against birds and generally love animals; exceptions being things like gnus and ocelots—they simply refuse to abide by any reasonable code of ethics or morals. And to be honest (usually a mistake) I have no plans to ever own a bird. I would own an alpaca before a bird. Funny thing is, like Darwin, I find birds fascinating. They’re oddly intelligent, genetically ancient, and adapted beautifully to an environment that reeks of air and freedom. They were mammals before we were mammals in a way I’ll have to explain later due to its inherent complex codices. Interpret and discuss. (btw, count 6 up and read)

Libra- For your ‘scope this week, I turn things over to the great Danny Elfman: No one beats him at his game / For very long but just the same / Who cares, there's no place safe to hide / Nowhere to run--no time to cry / So celebrate while you still can / 'Cause any second it may end / And when it's all been said and done . . . Better that you had some fun / Instead of hiding in a shell / Why make your life a living hell? / So have a toast, and down the cup / And drink to bones that turn to dust / 'cause no one, no one, no one, no one . . .  No one lives forever!! Party on Wayne---but with purpose and love, leaving all mercy unstrained; fomenting wildly compassionate uprisings in the streets, taming traffic snarls and engendering peaceful un-violence. You’re in charge, we’re all counting on you. (btw, count 6 up and read)

Scorpio- Your levels are currently at full moon and partial eclipse viscosity. The upcoming bumps and hard curves will correspond in equal and/or opposite g-forces; meaning that whatever seismic upheavals that portend truthiness---they are mere fictions of reality based television. Full moons reveal truth---in the stark reality of moonlight, which arguably, may contain more shadow than light. Get to the point, Pants! Okay, tell no one or thing, but---the destiny of truth and fate are co-mingled with articles of pure chance. The subatomic moves in ways we cannot perceive—unless you have an ear to the ground and a Large Hadron Collider. This particular full moon is YOUR time--scorpionically based. Therefore, ride the wave(s) and ready your talons. (btw, count 6 up and read)

Sagittarius- The following is a list of weird projects that you may want to pop into your hopper over the next week or so: A) How to build your own yeti. B) How to cook chicken in a vacuum. And C) How to mutate your favorite animal, get it to bite you, so you can gain super powers. Personally I would go with C. So—here’s my horror-scopial advice for the week: Pick a power animal. Then capture it. I would start small. Snaring a wild moose is not for the newly initiated. Then, mutate it. My favorite method is accidental overload of gamma radiation. But the interwebs is full of cool ways to irradiate pretty much anything. Then, piss the animal off. Odds are, a bite will ensue, and the change will begin. Fer real tho, choose the animal wisely. Don’t get caught in the albino alligator nightmare that I witnessed in Florida. Also be wary of flying creatures—lots of air traffic these days- very dangerous. Embrace the weird. (btw, count 6 up and read)

Capricorn- I don’t believe in Canada. Like, literally, I don’t believe it exists. You can point to all the maps you want, I just don’t think it actually exists. I mean, c’mon—mounted police? Moose wrestling and caber tossing? I’m not an idiot—Canada is a metaphor, for what no one knows. But I think it will be important in your up and coming week. I’m not saying that you’re going to learn how to play hockey while shotgunning beers; nor should you learn to speak a weird semi-intelligible English. Nevertheless, you are headed northerly. Maybe you’re aiming your moose towards an aurora borealis. Maybe your magnetic field needs adjusting and the extra light will help you see where to tweak. Maybe you want to see the world’s largest totem pole. Go; pay a visit to the imaginary Canada in your mind. And say hi to RUSH for me. (btw, count 6 up and read)

Aquarius- The Aqua brain is like the cheetah in the savannah of the human mindscape. Ours may not be the most intelligent sign, but we’re at Warp9 before the other ships even get out of space dock. The human brain is elastic and stretchy. Not now, but next time I’ll lay down my theory about how Plastic Man was a metaphor for our cranial speed records…but for now, back to the concept of elasticity—or rather a fluidic universe through which we can fold the folds of our minds in, around, up and down and even into places that don’t exist yet. Our brains are octopussian®, able to get through the tiniest and wormiest of holes, using only flexibility and sheer will. I can’t even deal with how cool we are. Now get outta here and go invent something, ya squirrely genius…

(btw, count 6 up and read)

Pisces- I don’t know if you’re ready for the sheer volumes of pleasure that are en route to your face at this very moment. It makes a deluge look like a drippy faucet. I know you’ll handle it in your inimitable fashion, so easy peasey, my little lemon squeezey. Here’s how your week’s going to unfold: Friday, you’ll be longing for something, perhaps intangible, that will lose face time due to social or work obligations. Saturday, you will be tempted to eat a hot dog or some other cured and overly processed meat, but you will decline politely and opt instead for the leafiest of greens. And then around 11pm, you’ll yearn yet again, but this time it will be for a tangible thing—some thing real—existing in spacetime and everything; and you will dream of it all night long. Until Sunday, when the object of your drives and machinations will produce an aurora borealic cacophony of taste and colour and divinations supreme, coinciding with multiple orgasmic pleasure. Sunday—that’s your fun day. I suggest doing some stretches. (btw, count 6 up and read)

                                      Dr. Pants McTurd's

                                MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                                pantsmcturd.blogspot.com

                             (unassociated with horror, nor scopes of any ilk)                                                         

Aries- Your obscure latin power phrase of the week is: Otium cum dignitate. Use it liberally when you lack the power to relaxi your taxi and/or easy your peasey.  It’s greek for leisure with dignity. Ahh, the greeks—the original hippies, all peripatetic and whatnot, probably smoking something from those pushers up in Delphi—oracles, my mediterranean ass! Point is, this ‘verse tis’ain’t ’bout desserts, deserves, nor divinating futurism; BUT RATHER…our brains require healthy spacetime to grow and produce- greenhouse like, conditions that benefit our upward and diversified evolution. Leisure with dignity. Rest without regret. Pleasure sans pain. Power up: and otium cum dignitate the crap out of it. De-stress with dignity, design and desire. 

Taurus- Lots of people say to me, ‘Hey, Doc Pants—do you believe in astrology?’ And I say, ‘Don’t be stupid, Timmy- astrology has nothing to do with belief. It has to do with math.’ In fact, it’s all math; and it’s been practiced for thousands of years. Our relationship with the sky has lessened dramatically since the advent of indoor plumbing; let’s face it, pooping indoors is just way nicer. We used to be tied to the sky for survival as we were tied to the land. Sure the land, and sea are where all the food is; but the sky leads us home, or mayhap onto our next meal. The sky is our calendar, allowing us to push our brains futurewise because we’ll know exactly when to plant. And finally, Timmy, the sky is our imagination; because we can stare into it whenever we want to re-connect with infinity. My advice for the week: Look up. Don’t be a Timmy. Let your mind wander, and your soul will join you mid flight. PS: Don’t read Gemini. Don’t.

Gemini- Warning: the following is rated R, so read accordingly. Your weird and randomly generated power word of the week is: Fascicle. Whether it’s muscle--all sinewy like a cut of perfectly cooked flesh; or a crazy story that you read to me, over a series of nights, whispered softly, a relaxing and aural delight; near dreamtime, where reality becomes fasciclic®—faceted in a multi orgasmic way that layers your story cakelike, festooned with erotic angels, frosting and frothing their way to a fragrant fellated finale of frivolous fuckery… Where was I..? Ah yes, fascicle… layers…multi-causal-infractions, and pov’s colliding simultaneously. Go boldly, Gemini---but cautiously and with passionate intent.

Cancer- Your power punctuation mark for the week is: the semicolon. Yay! I guess…how important is the semicolon? No one knows. One time, this particular well known author (cough..Shakespeare..cough) realized that his plays would make no sense if it wasn’t for the semicolon. And when the Queen outlawed the use of semicolons in all staged theater in 1602, Bill wasn’t worrie’d; he knew that Francis Bacon would be able to convince the Queen to rescind the unjust law; and since Francis was the actual author of the entire Shakespeare canon it seemed a 17^th century no-brainer. Punctuation is nutty, right? This week, you won’t need the whole colon-- just the semi. Punctuate judiciously and generously; and connect your thoughts and dots.          Btw, read Gemini--- if you dare. Not a challenge. Just an idea.

Leo- I got your vibe. It goes a little something like this: Yes, I also dig Beck—he’s groovy, man; and while I simultaneously waver philosophically re his scientological ways, here’s the over-arching thing: I too, am choking like a one man dustbowl, and likewise, I’m still a wino throwing frisbees at the sun, and running like a flaming pig; and sure, I quit my job blowing leaves, telephone bills up my sleeves…but really—L Ron Hubbard? The whole alien thing with the e-meter or whatever the hell…? WTFudge? Same with Tom Cruise; he’s cool, but really…? And Travolta…uff da. Even Charles Manson quit that ‘church’; so did William S. Burroughs. Point is, life is conflicting. We can judge Beck for his musical talent, or his weirdo belief system. Or perhaps we should do both. I say, crank the volume to 11 and ponder a world of relative incongruity.

Virgo- Sure, I’ll beat a dead horse, but never--never, around the bush. Who wouldn’t, right? Speaking of, there are so many ways to skin a cat, but if you swing the dead cat, you’ll probably hit at least a goodly score many of whatever you were hyperbolizing—granted, not on purpose or in a sociopathic way, but still---whoa, might want to peek in to your subconscious there- might be some buildup of unresolved whathaveyous. Metaphor up quick here, Pants…..Okay the Doc is back IN, and the test results are cool: you are poised to overcome all the ridiculous metaphors and idioms that blur the line between literal and juiced up nonsense. Go visceral and dance like a drunken marsupial—the time has come.

Libra- Bruno Mars can take that ‘Just the Way You Are’ song and shove it up his teen titillating ass. The imagery and style of that song causes my bile to raise the threat of chemical warfare in the ol’ alimentary canal. His sister Veronica is so cool and hot, that you’d think Bruno wouldn’t be anywhere near that annoying. Now, Billy Joel and ‘Just the Way You Are’—that’s a pop hit of a different chord. Granted, he wrote it for his first wife that he later divorced for a supermodel, but the sentiment is nice. Bruno’s just trying to get twelve year olds laid. Billy writes for adults, people who’ve been down the path a bit. I know---it’s just business, so don’t hate Bruno, I get it. See if you can apply that to your own fervent dislikes. It’s just business, don’t be a Bruno hater for no reason.

Scorpio- I’m going to poop a dinosaur fossil for you; one that is balls deep inside a transient transoceanic fishy matrix-- justifiably and daintily righteous—not like Nixon or Christ, or Paar or Carson; but like a momentary fractal, sometimes sideways and most likely borne of a constabulary conflagration of sideways eights and distended aortae, that will most likely lead down dead end hallways with many cautionary tales behind mystery dportals. Howeversome-ever®, your mesozoic is looking particularly fresh right now. I say, grab a stegosaurus, a 24 pack and some quaaludes---this week is gonna get weird; also to purposely mention, volubly verbose, trans-continental, and interplanetary.  Also, don’t read Taurus. Or Leo. Don’t.

Sagittarius- I know you’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but now is beautifully designed moment for you to sequester yourself in another language. It will not happen overnight, it’s a process; but it will make your already elastic brain a little more stretchy and healthy; and you will live longer and happier. A foreign tongue automatically bridges the gap twixt class, socio economic status, race, emigrational positioning, politics---everything. To grok someone, you walk a mile in his or her idioms, sayings and expressionisms. En español, the word for language is lengua, which also means tongue. So, just pick a tongue--any tongue and dive in. Your mouth is ripe for a new level of conversation. 

Capricorn- There’s always lot’s of loose talk about the whole soul thing; and its corollary—reincarnation; as well as the impermeability and infinite existence of an intangible thing that must be believed in to exist; and the lack of scientific evidence of a soul is simply unsupportable. But hey—maybe we currently lack the technology and math to define a soul—like a god particle or some other intangible quanta of matter that science geeks assure me exists—and then go on to tell me that existence is impossible to define due to a break down in language, or lengua--Maybe nothing’s real. Mayhap nothing exists. Frak and Dingleberry!, do you know what this means?!?! Neither do I. You ponder and get back to me; but for now--believe no thing.

Aquarius- One of the shittiest doldrumic ass hats one inevitably wears is the inadvertent, unplanned and unintentional insult to another person’s sensitivity or character that arises because of the dreaded foot-in-mouth disease that affects even high brained people, such as our illustrious selves. And while the quality of mercy is not strained, and despite the fact that feelings of guilt are remnants of evolutionary incidentalism, can I please wash your feet?; like Teresa, or Pope Francis, or from one lover to another? Despite our cranial capacities, Aquarians are rarely greedy, insensitive or cruel, but we can be temporarily unaware of our surroundings, due to a nomadic imagination and unexpected outbursts of genius brain lightning. Point is, if you’re going to feel guilt, you should also explore the flip side---forgiveness, a light heart, and infinite compassion. 

Pisces- Depending on your sexual orientation, your power fish of the week is either the weedy seadragon, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phyllopteryx, or the leafy seadragon, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leafy_sea_dragon. The relative rarity and inevitably endangered status of these marvelous creatures, designed by god or nothing, or evolution, or Charlie Darwin—who knows, and who cares; they are fan-frakking-tastic. And the males give birth and take care of the kids?—who knew? Figures that they’re from down unda… Point is tho, merge your fishy mind with the dragon’s fishy mind, and you will double your already impressive aquatic powers. Aquaman??! You’ll be able to kick his telepathic fish-controlling ass. Legion of Awesome!!

                                      Dr. Pants McTurd's

                                MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                                pantsmcturd.blogspot.com

                             (unassociated with horror, nor scopes of any ilk)                                                         

Aries- Your obscure latin power phrase of the week is: Otium cum dignitate. Use it liberally when you lack the power to relaxi your taxi and/or easy your peasey.  It’s greek for leisure with dignity. Ahh, the greeks—the original hippies, all peripatetic and whatnot, probably smoking something from those pushers up in Delphi—oracles, my mediterranean ass! Point is, this ‘verse tis’ain’t ’bout desserts, deserves, nor divinating futurism; BUT RATHER…our brains require healthy spacetime to grow and produce- greenhouse like, conditions that benefit our upward and diversified evolution. Leisure with dignity. Rest without regret. Pleasure sans pain. Power up: and otium cum dignitate the crap out of it. De-stress with dignity, design and desire. 

Taurus- Lots of people say to me, ‘Hey, Doc Pants—do you believe in astrology?’ And I say, ‘Don’t be stupid, Timmy- astrology has nothing to do with belief. It has to do with math.’ In fact, it’s all math; and it’s been practiced for thousands of years. Our relationship with the sky has lessened dramatically since the advent of indoor plumbing; let’s face it, pooping indoors is just way nicer. We used to be tied to the sky for survival as we were tied to the land. Sure the land, and sea are where all the food is; but the sky leads us home, or mayhap onto our next meal. The sky is our calendar, allowing us to push our brains futurewise because we’ll know exactly when to plant. And finally, Timmy, the sky is our imagination; because we can stare into it whenever we want to re-connect with infinity. My advice for the week: Look up. Don’t be a Timmy. Let your mind wander, and your soul will join you mid flight. PS: Don’t read Gemini. Don’t.

Gemini- Warning: the following is rated R, so read accordingly. Your weird and randomly generated power word of the week is: Fascicle. Whether it’s muscle--all sinewy like a cut of perfectly cooked flesh; or a crazy story that you read to me, over a series of nights, whispered softly, a relaxing and aural delight; near dreamtime, where reality becomes fasciclic®—faceted in a multi orgasmic way that layers your story cakelike, festooned with erotic angels, frosting and frothing their way to a fragrant fellated finale of frivolous fuckery… Where was I..? Ah yes, fascicle… layers…multi-causal-infractions, and pov’s colliding simultaneously. Go boldly, Gemini---but cautiously and with passionate intent.

Cancer- Your power punctuation mark for the week is: the semicolon. Yay! I guess…how important is the semicolon? No one knows. One time, this particular well known author (cough..Shakespeare..cough) realized that his plays would make no sense if it wasn’t for the semicolon. And when the Queen outlawed the use of semicolons in all staged theater in 1602, Bill wasn’t worrie’d; he knew that Francis Bacon would be able to convince the Queen to rescind the unjust law; and since Francis was the actual author of the entire Shakespeare canon it seemed a 17^th century no-brainer. Punctuation is nutty, right? This week, you won’t need the whole colon-- just the semi. Punctuate judiciously and generously; and connect your thoughts and dots.          Btw, read Gemini--- if you dare. Not a challenge. Just an idea.

Leo- I got your vibe. It goes a little something like this: Yes, I also dig Beck—he’s groovy, man; and while I simultaneously waver philosophically re his scientological ways, here’s the over-arching thing: I too, am choking like a one man dustbowl, and likewise, I’m still a wino throwing frisbees at the sun, and running like a flaming pig; and sure, I quit my job blowing leaves, telephone bills up my sleeves…but really—L Ron Hubbard? The whole alien thing with the e-meter or whatever the hell…? WTFudge? Same with Tom Cruise; he’s cool, but really…? And Travolta…uff da. Even Charles Manson quit that ‘church’; so did William S. Burroughs. Point is, life is conflicting. We can judge Beck for his musical talent, or his weirdo belief system. Or perhaps we should do both. I say, crank the volume to 11 and ponder a world of relative incongruity.

Virgo- Sure, I’ll beat a dead horse, but never--never, around the bush. Who wouldn’t, right? Speaking of, there are so many ways to skin a cat, but if you swing the dead cat, you’ll probably hit at least a goodly score many of whatever you were hyperbolizing—granted, not on purpose or in a sociopathic way, but still---whoa, might want to peek in to your subconscious there- might be some buildup of unresolved whathaveyous. Metaphor up quick here, Pants…..Okay the Doc is back IN, and the test results are cool: you are poised to overcome all the ridiculous metaphors and idioms that blur the line between literal and juiced up nonsense. Go visceral and dance like a drunken marsupial—the time has come.

Libra- Bruno Mars can take that ‘Just the Way You Are’ song and shove it up his teen titillating ass. The imagery and style of that song causes my bile to raise the threat of chemical warfare in the ol’ alimentary canal. His sister Veronica is so cool and hot, that you’d think Bruno wouldn’t be anywhere near that annoying. Now, Billy Joel and ‘Just the Way You Are’—that’s a pop hit of a different chord. Granted, he wrote it for his first wife that he later divorced for a supermodel, but the sentiment is nice. Bruno’s just trying to get twelve year olds laid. Billy writes for adults, people who’ve been down the path a bit. I know---it’s just business, so don’t hate Bruno, I get it. See if you can apply that to your own fervent dislikes. It’s just business, don’t be a Bruno hater for no reason.

Scorpio- I’m going to poop a dinosaur fossil for you; one that is balls deep inside a transient transoceanic fishy matrix-- justifiably and daintily righteous—not like Nixon or Christ, or Paar or Carson; but like a momentary fractal, sometimes sideways and most likely borne of a constabulary conflagration of sideways eights and distended aortae, that will most likely lead down dead end hallways with many cautionary tales behind mystery dportals. Howeversome-ever®, your mesozoic is looking particularly fresh right now. I say, grab a stegosaurus, a 24 pack and some quaaludes---this week is gonna get weird; also to purposely mention, volubly verbose, trans-continental, and interplanetary.  Also, don’t read Taurus. Or Leo. Don’t.

Sagittarius- I know you’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but now is beautifully designed moment for you to sequester yourself in another language. It will not happen overnight, it’s a process; but it will make your already elastic brain a little more stretchy and healthy; and you will live longer and happier. A foreign tongue automatically bridges the gap twixt class, socio economic status, race, emigrational positioning, politics---everything. To grok someone, you walk a mile in his or her idioms, sayings and expressionisms. En español, the word for language is lengua, which also means tongue. So, just pick a tongue--any tongue and dive in. Your mouth is ripe for a new level of conversation. 

Capricorn- There’s always lot’s of loose talk about the whole soul thing; and its corollary—reincarnation; as well as the impermeability and infinite existence of an intangible thing that must be believed in to exist; and the lack of scientific evidence of a soul is simply unsupportable. But hey—maybe we currently lack the technology and math to define a soul—like a god particle or some other intangible quanta of matter that science geeks assure me exists—and then go on to tell me that existence is impossible to define due to a break down in language, or lengua--Maybe nothing’s real. Mayhap nothing exists. Frak and Dingleberry!, do you know what this means?!?! Neither do I. You ponder and get back to me; but for now--believe no thing.

Aquarius- One of the shittiest doldrumic ass hats one inevitably wears is the inadvertent, unplanned and unintentional insult to another person’s sensitivity or character that arises because of the dreaded foot-in-mouth disease that affects even high brained people, such as our illustrious selves. And while the quality of mercy is not strained, and despite the fact that feelings of guilt are remnants of evolutionary incidentalism, can I please wash your feet?; like Teresa, or Pope Francis, or from one lover to another? Despite our cranial capacities, Aquarians are rarely greedy, insensitive or cruel, but we can be temporarily unaware of our surroundings, due to a nomadic imagination and unexpected outbursts of genius brain lightning. Point is, if you’re going to feel guilt, you should also explore the flip side---forgiveness, a light heart, and infinite compassion. 

Pisces- Depending on your sexual orientation, your power fish of the week is either the weedy seadragon, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phyllopteryx, or the leafy seadragon, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leafy_sea_dragon. The relative rarity and inevitably endangered status of these marvelous creatures, designed by god or nothing, or evolution, or Charlie Darwin—who knows, and who cares; they are fan-frakking-tastic. And the males give birth and take care of the kids?—who knew? Figures that they’re from down unda… Point is tho, merge your fishy mind with the dragon’s fishy mind, and you will double your already impressive aquatic powers. Aquaman??! You’ll be able to kick his telepathic fish-controlling ass. Legion of Awesome!!

                  Dr. Pants McTurd's

         MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                

       (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                 

Aries- So, foy is this word that I imaginated one afternoon whilst mid crossword, and thought, could foy be a word? It seemed suspect, so I looked it up, and apparently foy, dammitall®, is indeedily a word. Not oft used, probably not even in an esoteric and moldy 15^th century way; but I guess my seemingly rambling point is probably that, to quote the Bueller, life moves pretty fast; if you don't stop and look around once and a while, you could miss it. Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the moment last… Your mission is to make a toast, take a journey, and go on a groovy adventure. Even if you don’t leave town---cheers and god speed.

Taurus- If you don’t believe I can connect the tyrannical king Nimrod the Evil to Bugs Bunny, then you better hold on to your panties. Nimrod was a powerful despot, but hey—who hasn’t felt more powerful than god, right? I suppose we all have our Abrahams ready to knock us off our pedestals. Anyhoo--I figure most tyrants make good hunters, what with the need to smite and all; which brings me not yet to Bugs, but to Elmer Fudd. Bugs calling Elmer a nimrod ushers into the 20^th century an updated definition for an ancient word; simultaneously bringing king nimrod down to the lowest level of stupidity in continued payment for his sins. Mock evil and we win. It’s how we rise above the bad shite that inevitably goes down. Find your Bugs, and mock the evil. Mock it good, Doc.

Gemini- Man vs man. Man vs nature. Man vs society. Man vs banana peels casually tossed from car windows onto sidewalks replete with unaware passersby’s destined for fateful spills. Man vs giant mutoid octopus donuts. Man vs Klingon. Wait, my head is spinning… I don’t want to argue grammar here, I just disagree with its tactics sometimes. Pain as a teacher? Piffle! Just so we can justify why terrible things happen? And here’s both th’ rub and th’ poison’d and ink’d prick—MAN vs HIMSELF. The seppuku sword of Damocles, destined for an eternity of pyrrhic emptiness ---WHOA! Hey, hold your four horsemen—you can totally relax and stay beautiful. You’re tubing down a nice river headed for a kick ass lake with ducks and otters and picnic tables. It’ll be fun; there’s sandwiches and cookies and bourbon! Groovy.

Cancer- There’s been much radioactive quackery emanating from the southern portion of you ancestral mountains, and yet-- the rate of decay will only enhance your powers. And far to the north, the poppies have had a warm wet spring and the opium tinctures are being prepared by enthralled Lotus Landers. Keep an eye out in your local grasslands and steppes tho; I smell snake oil, barnum and/or hokum, and fraudulence and calumnies that threaten the enclaves of usually burgeoning life on your tidally affected supercontinent. Luckily, your astro weather report is full of madly sunny days lost somewhere on a mediterranean coast. From here, your map looks like a sun lit tapestry, whose only reason for existing is to be seen and pondered and maybe napped upon. Breathe deep the groovy sun.

Leo- Gird your loins, is not usually a welcome phrase. Later in the day, after lunch and preferentially a beer, a hammock and a quick snooze, possibly after either snuggling or preferentially canoodling-- maybe I can handle a little girdling, but not before noon fer sure. And by maybe, I mean no, most likely not ever, not even if we were invaded by fascist aliens, armed with butt probe drones and watered down beer. Unfortunately, the hobbit-like existence I’d like to live tends to be interrupted from time to time with noisy jerks telling me to hold fast my crotchal regions, and I get all tense. I’m NOT telling you to gird anything. Unclench at least forty percent and it’ll be cool with all multiversal® powers that be. No butt probe aliens. You’re cool.

Virgo- Relax, and have a Death in The Afternoon. Not the novel, but rather the cocktail invented by the author. Of which he said, “Pour one jigger absinthe into a Champagne glass. Add iced champagne until it attains the proper opalescent milkiness. Drink three to five of these.” He’s right; three to five of those babies and it’s a farewell to more than just arms. Besides your pants, there’s no more war, no more atrocities—just boobies and happy endings and six toed cats. I’m not endorsing you drink five of them—you’re no Dr. Pants to be sure…but this week, feel free to indulge—wisely that is, in a forbidden fruit, a taboo, or a sexy moral imperative. I’ll meet you at Hemingway’s place for happy hour, and you can tell me all about what may have been hallucinatory and yet seemed so real and life changing.

Libra- Your power animal for the week is a crocodile from Burundi named Gustave, who has allegedly eaten over 300 humans and has never been caught; partially due his Rambo-like craftiness, but also his size—estimated at over 2000lbs. Gustave is not a croc you want to meet in a dark alley after the dessert bar at the Carnivore’s Buffet ran out of seagull sundaes. And nobody really worships crocodiles anymore, what’s up with that? They even got booted from the zodiac. We got a goat and a ram, but no croc. I call bullshite. I’m NOT saying that you should go Hannibal and snatch unsuspecting people from the street and eat them wholesale; but I AM saying that you possess the strength of ten Gustaves. So…the buffet opens at 5, dress casual, and remember to smile those powerful reptilian whites.

Scorpio- Your power flora of the week is the King Clone, a stinky creosote plant that lives near Mojave; mostly because it’s a pretty short commute over to Edwards AFB. King Clone has been carbon dated as one of the oldest living organisms on earth, at over 11,000 years. If you don’t know creosote—it smells like a combination of roofing tar and dinosaur farts—you, howsomever, smell way better. Nonethenevertheless, you and this desert bush possess similar qualities; for example, even in extreme droughts—both the temporal and emotional kinds—your roots can hold water better than a ShamWow!; protecting you for future deluges and cyclical seasonal snows. You are a wise and possibly immortal creosote plant. Live strong, stinky.

Sagittarius- You are beagle nosed and eagle eyed, not to mention wild, riled and never tired. You’re the leader of the freshly notar- and motor- -ized Shotgun Bear Army®; trained by a master in leg sweeping, twisting the pig, and decrying righteously the foully unjust, the cretinous and the cruel, the takers and the never givers—people who play politic with principles---OUR principles, which are intended to fuel our healthy appetite for life’s bounty, the blessings of existence and the plaudits of self examination and catharsis; psychological evolution that leads to the next level, the next incarnation of a soul’s journey through weird fibroid strings dancing ‘mongst mysteriously dark matter. You are ready for anything. No thing can stop you.

If you’re gonna be a bear-- be a GRIZZLY!!

Capricorn- The Carpathian Mountains have given us so much---nosferatu, goth fashion, and bad guys from ill fated Ghostbusters sequels. Submitted for your approval: the chamois. However, before your ‘scopes grand finale that contains a ShamWow! metaphor, let’s start with the goat-antelope bovid called, a chamois, that lives, guess where---Carpathia. Whew, okay, long intro—so the skin of the chamois is super absorbent, and then blammo® centuries later---the ShamWow! takes care of your wettest and clumsiest needs. And yes, I could ham handedly hand down a Cap ‘scope comparing you either to the transylvanian goat, or something vague about being able to soak up a lot of water. But my point is about the history of stuff. The evolution of stuff. The causes and catalysts behind every effect and affect. The eternal and omnipotent chamois. Long live Carpathia. And ShamWow!

Aquarius- "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of god.”  Not to get preachy--as if I could give two shites about the new pope; but we finally get a spiritual leader whose first speech was about taking care of the poor and disenfranchised; as opposed to check out my fancy pope pomp and circumstance, with the cool shoes and jewelry fetish. Point is, we all spend a lot of time trying to get rich, and inevitably dying in the process. And I rarely predict anything for a future oriented sign such as you and me, but I feel that in the next week you may have to thread the needle. Humility will save you many bactrian and avoidable conflicts. Irrelevant addendum: does the pope shit in the woods? I’m guessing no—there’s probably a private papal shitter.

Pisces- I’ll be your huckleberry. I guess... I’m not sure if that means that I’ll threaten you with a gun fight and tuberculosis; or if it means that despite being a metaphor for someone of little consequence-- I’ll be your Huckleberry-- as in Finn, who may seem like a lowly person, but who Twain himself described as the most free and independent of anyone. You be the huckleberry this week and you make the call. I say you go with the latter. Let the world remain ignorant regarding your misnomed nature. You don’t have to play the fool, but you’re not that fast of a draw, and you don’t have TB-- I checked. Do what you know—be free.  

                   Dr. Pants McTurd's

          MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                         

      (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                 

Aries- A wigwam and a teepee are two different things that serve the same purpose. The world of tents is varied indeed. But don’t fret frivolously; we’ll save the endless third rail of bivouac vs. lean-to debate for another yurt. Today, I’d like to discuss the chum, the fly, the igloo, and the aforementioned yurt; possibly the most misunderstood of human made shelters, aside from the obvious and ignominious igloo. Shelter. It’s important. And hey—it’s your special times of allthe months. You’ve hit the garage with perfect timing. There’s a spot right up front and exit friendly. You should, by all accounts, be one happy ass camper. If not, tune up, turn on and drop trow. Throw caution to the wind, it’s more than likely going to catch your fire. Happy birthday, chum!

Taurus- In some weirdo country, it’s good luck on the first day of every month to say, “Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit” as you go about your day. Something good will happen, or whatever nonsensical reward based brainwashing can do for ya: win the lottery, find your mojo, whatev; but wait—cancel that text…this could work! But rabbits creep me out despite their cuteness. Maybe I just need to pick my own power animal and by end of April I’ll be rewarded with something just for willing it to be so, like rich beyond the means of any other living soul now and in perpetuity, and eventually I’’’ have my own orbiting hangout pad, where my rich friends can come visit aboard my personal space shuttle. Classy, right? The first is Monday. Pick your power animal and say it aloud, just to make sure…Don’t take the ocelot though, cause that’s mine. Ocelot, ocelot, ocelot!!

Gemini- I’d like to take a moment to blabber, palaver, piffle and prate; then prattle, tattle, gabble, and gibber, and eventually settle and hone in on the clacking, and maundering of your corporeal hotness, wrap you like a burrito of sexual gooeyness that transcends this plane, this brane—transmogrifying onto a higher platform of pleasure and love. Just kidding—let’s go get some chicken wings and watch hockey, and then get high and watch kung fu movies till we pass out. Wait, what? Point is, that your intellect and physical beauty are some seriously sick shite. Let me be your mirror…wait—whoa, I…you almost enthralled me there…wield your mighty sword judiciously, for it bears a gravitational responsibility for both intellect and empathy, simultaneously.

Cancer- This week, your challenge divines in the form of the following query: Are rabbits autonomous? Do they possess the right of self determination? Do rabbits even give a shite about such political fruffery and pointless yabbida yabbida? Also, do rabbits possess a collective unconscious? Are they individuals AND a collective, driven by the needs of the many, rather than the few or the one? Do you think rabbits would be Star Trek fans? I totally think so… All those other questions, I have no frakking clue. Also, if you examined your own autonomy, what would you find? You go dig in the dirt for a bit and get back to me. You will be healed upon return, so fear not your alleged wounds.

Leo- You lions are so frakking humble. You’re king/queen(s) of the whatever; and paranoid gazelles are the proof. We know you’re cool. You know you’re cool; so, let’s just eliminate all the pants in the room and get down to business, you feline celebrity sexpot… What? Wait…my point is that you might want to expect some infamous repercussions in the near immediate timespace frame…as in, the world might be on the hunt for a piece of your proverbial jungle king ass. Being wanted by anyone’s law is no day in the park on a Sunday with George, I can tell ya. But I think you’re ready. Enjoy the languid, hopefully esoteric pace of a true monarch.

Virgo- So, I’m chillin’ with a cold beer—Anchor Steam if you must know—one of the finest American beers. Yes, the Dr. can be hoppishly snobbish. Anyhoo, And I’m holding the bottle and I start pondering the wicked idea that the heat my body generates is warming the beer ever so slightly, transferring energy across the impossibly small divide between the macro and the micro of this alleged continuum; beneath the atoms and the electron even; smaller than a quark, smaller than whatever the hell Higgs-Boson is. Timespace moves through us, in a wave—which brings me back to my beer. No, in vino veritas is not my point, Dude. Let Hawking worry about the stuff that’s too small to see. Chill, have a beer and notice for a while, the world that moves through and around you faster than even light. Yep, it’s deep shite, suck it up; and engender and engineer your usual sense of leonine calm amongst all of the every thing.

Libra- Hurrahs, hoorays, and a dash of huzzahs are the main types of hoopla and big doin’s that are poised to imperil your recent contemplative isolation and retreat from the workaday world, where love is complicated and dense and annoying, like a chocolate cake that looks amazing, but as things progress, you discover it contains something bullshit, like cocoanut, or raspberries, or chicken. Seriously, wtf, who puts chicken in a cake? Probably the british… Where was I? Oh yes, big stuff on your horizon and within your eminent domain: Check this out: I have no idea what it is, but I can smell what your wind is blowing out. And you reek of fruitful change. Doldrums will vanish. So, check yourself, lest you won’t wreak yourself proverbially…you’ll be right as rain by morning.

Scorpio- Soon you will be visited by the spirits of seven trees. They bring messages about your life that are hidden in the forest that surrounds us. I predict the fourth one will be a whopper—don’t ask me how I know that. Some trees outlive humans by thousands of years. I assume they soak up the knowledge of timespace over ‘centuries’: through the roots, their bark and their leaves; and then store it digitally somehow inside their rings and innermost chloryphic pathways; preserving history, built on cellulose, I s’pose. I also s’pose trees soak us up, holding onto little pieces of our innards and psyches; the ones too hot to handle ‘midst our momentary format. They’re our roots, holding our feet to the ground, protecting us from long lonely chilly nights bereft with tales of the un-seeable and ever distant. Btw, say hi to the redwood for me, his name is Clive and he likes smiling, watching beach volleyball, and overwrought hyperspacial metaphysical jibber jabber. Peace, in as well as out, and to all.

Sagittarius- I just vibed your theme song: “We're gonna do it! Give us any chance, we'll take it. Give us any rule, we'll break it. We're gonna make our dreams come true. Doin' it our way. Nothin's gonna turn us back now, straight ahead and on the track now. We're gonna make our dreams come true, doin' it our way. There is nothing we won't try, never heard the word impossible. This time there's no stopping us. We're gonna do it. On your mark, get set, and go now, got a dream and we just know now, we're gonna make our dream come true. And we'll do it our way, yes our way. Make all our dreams come true, and do it our way, yes our way, make all our dreams come true for me and you”. You own that shite. You own Milwaukee.

Capricorn- For your pleasure, I present the word dingus. Here we go: its first definition is: a gadget, device or object whose name is unknown or forgotten; as in, “Hand me that dingus, will ya? Which dingus? The thing---my dildo, it’s right there. Oh sure, here ya go, here’s your dildo”. Its second definition is exactly what you’re expecting, a dingus is a male’s pee pee portion; as in, “I have a little dingus that helps me clean the venetian blinds.”  Or as in, “Jimmy, shake your dingus and put it away!” We’ve all been there, right? No judging. Just listening. Accepting. Bonne chance, with your dingus, ya dingus. May the dingus be with you and yours.

Aquarius- From an aerial viewing of the grand scheme of the evolution of human consciousness, we see that mankind first disseminated out of Africa, and on to almost everywhere on the globe. And those tribes lost touch with those that moved on, headed north, or just decided that ‘here’ was a nice place to park. As humanity’s numbers grew and we became more successful in adapting to environmental change and a brain evolving at the speed of a runaway dromedary, we slowly began to get to know each other again. Granted one result has been war and hate, but still—maybe there’s progress in there somewhere. Case in point, the spread of photojournalism helped fuel the end of the Viet Nam War. We’re moving now at light speed, compared to the past. Hang on tight-- it only gets weirder.

Pisces- You are the perfect size to be a professional jumping rabbit. Dude, I can’t make this stuff up: throughout northern Europe and UK, rabbit jumping competitions are a hopping success. It’s like a cross between the American Kennel Club and an Olympic equestrian event. Most of the rabbits I know personally seem to do little else besides eat, poop, sleep and look cute. But these crazy rabbits can jump! The record being some 39 inches---over three feet, man—neat, I guess! I sense the eating pooping rabbit deep in your innards, is awakening from a long slumber and ready for a nice spinach salad. Prepare for jumping. Time to touch the sky. Stretch your weird bunny legs and prepare for a spring full of action, adventure and cheese. Sproing!®.

                   Dr. Pants McTurd's

         MORE Than True Horror-scopes

                                            

     (not associated with horror or scopes of any ilk)

                                                                                 

Aries-  You’ll have to read Leo first before proceeding. Sorry, but your intellect is worth the extra homework. I’ll wait til you’re finished…

Point is, I have been attempting to stall you. It’s the first day of spring—your time of year to do whatever the fudge you feel like doing. Happy birthday, this is your equinox. Not that I really espouse the idea that you are a balanced individual. I mean, you pop out the womb at the start of the astrological year (the western one anyway), and hey, it is an equinox after all, which seems to prefer to propel you futurewise and headlong into bold choices and occasionally rash decisions with surprisingly happy outcomes. Spark a blue flame that heals instead of burns. This year is yours.

Taurus- The propaganda you’ve been disseminating is coming through bloody loud and boomingly clear. I have no idea what you’re selling, but people are lining up to be spoon fed your version of the way things actually work--the real scoop and the straight poop. I drank your Kool-Aid, man, and I’m tripping balls...I would like to posit however, that the Kool-Aid mascot---a giant pitcher of blood red fake juice that busts through the walls of your house to deliver sugary addictive chemicals to children—is probably a little dated. We get it-- corporations want our money. There are rich people to over feed. Where was I? Oh yes---your immediate future seems pretty cool. So, I guess…enjoy it and stuff. Peace out, and peace in. And fear not the fruity drinks that will undoubtedly teem and abound your imminent future.

Gemini- You’re an unlikely cowboy, a rescuer of the ill framed, and upholder of rights for those less endowed with either physical or mental prowess. You’re no savior—let’s not get ahead of ourselves—but you have a knack, a talent-- a certain je ne sais quoi—I don’t know what; like you’re a maverick that gives a shit. Like Kung Fu, and you’re just wandering the earth---and thwarting bad guys along the way, A Team style. You’re no Jules Winnfield —your wallet don’t say bad ass mofo on it or anything. Grow up, put your anger aside and travel, even if only in your mind. Imagine and create and engender justice. You’re genius at it. 

Cancer- A whale’s penis can weigh upwards of 150lbs. Ponder that shite, right? The hamster, on the other penis, requires a magnifying glass to see. My point? Size is relative? Mammals evolve penises according to the dictates of environment and speed of mutation, while supporting a brain capable of evolving into a ‘higher’ matrix? We’ll never know what my point was, because I’m tired now; my brain blasted with nightmares of a whale dick that outweighs me. That aside, --relaxi taxi® this week and take a deep cleansing breath. Everything you have is the perfect size, color and temperature. You’re sex magical. You’re a bonfire of vanity giving rise to a much humbler phoenix. Your junk is as big as a cetacean’s. Dive deep and fret not.

Leo- Phallusy® is a word I just made up, with several definitions: 1) when a man lies about the size alleged of his endowment. 2) a lie that is so bald and or bold faced, that one should be ashamed for committing such an egregious phallusy®. And 3) a penile implement, such as a dildo, that does not exist in our timespace, but has been theorized mathematically to ‘exist’, and whose verisimilitude is on CERN’s list of shit to conjure. If it exists, this dildo will be the last link in the physics chain that’s been stumping even super porno nerds for some time. Anyhoo, the expression, don’t believe your own hype, may be applicable to your upcoming week. Which side of the hype you should choose—is yours to decide. I suggest honesty with thyself, and nothing tween the twain.

Virgo- The Icelandic Phallological Museum is exactly what it sounds like. If you’ve ever had a desire to visit one location, which could house examples of all the penile or penile parts from all of the animals in Iceland---well, you have just found dong heaven. Apparently phallology is an ancient art-- who knew? And Sigurður Hjartarson has undertaken a mantel of great momentous gravity indeed. His mission: to gather all the different penises of Iceland under igloo; so that we can…study them, I guess. I don’t think it’s for mere titillation; but decide for yourself at www.phalus.is. Meantime, I say to you, Virgo person—gather all of your genitalia and even your metaphorical cajones—your mojo if you will—because there is an icelandic dragon penis out there stalking you. Yet fret not—you will be vaingloriously victorious. No penis can touch you. You are immaculate. 

Libra- This week, prepare thyself for a lot—and I mean a lot of themes and motifs dealing with deer penis; which according to some cultures holds healing and nutritional properties; just like turtle blood and tiger penis. Maybe Charlie Sheen had the right idea, but the wrong animal part. But keep in mind that the deer penis of the future is probably digital. So, the deer can keep their real penises, and we can invent a sustainable way to get pumped up on the blood and animal parts that inspired Viagra. We don’t have to espouse the antiquated cenozoic notion of an eye for an eye, nor even junk for junk. Your mojo is totemically composed of zeroes and ones and lucky sevens. Drink of the cybernated tiger blood. Do it now!

Scorpio- The Scorpio Guide to Understanding Aquarii, Part One: Our brains work in hypersonic flashes of sublimely lit insightfulness; that’s generally not emotionally based. We dip toes into the piscine subspace of the tangible reality, in order to pluck the answer or idea or revelation out of ‘thin’ air. Our minds are oft aloft on stony tangents that seem masturbatory and pointless to the untrained water sign. We’re hardwired into stuff that hasn’t happened yet. It’s like our own private inter-dimensional pool with a swim-up bar and happy hour all day, every day. Everyone else just isn’t privy to all the new shit, Dude. Hopefully an iota of this has been helpful. If not, you’ll catch up to our elect-ronic spin at some point past this present moment. 

Sagittarius- Okay, prep for a high density info load: Sag, Capricorn, Aquarii and the Pisces-- the last four signs of the zodiac, represent the oldest or most ‘mature’ signs—one fire, one earth, one air, one water. In that order across the zodiac btw---And while this is true for all groups of signs, for us more advanced ones, here’s the straight up schizznit: Depending on what date you fall in Sag, you may be more headstrong and less rueful of hasty action. Personally, I find Sag’s born within +/- a week of about Dec 2^nd to be the most…take no prisoners, take no shit kind of fiery badasses, compared to later mid month, whose galactic center positioning mellows their way into Capricorn; no doubt with equal amounts passion, but perhaps less willing to start random meaningless fires, but rather using flame as a catalyst. You are promethean—wield it wisely. 

Capricorn- You can vote at 18, but you can't drink till 21, however, you can be drafted--- should the need arise, due to alien/zombie invasion, or an asteroid, pole reversing, a super tornado made of ice and space alligators with laser weapons on their snouts--or maybe everyone just gets really sleepy and we all just drift away, colliding all brane-like; creating new multiverses ad infinauseum® forever and forever, amen. Apologies for my waxing of the rhapsodic, yet dulcet tones, but if I can vote on whether we go to war, but I can’t have a sip of beer in a legal fashion, then I call bullshit! WTFudge? Remember—this is the same country that made alcohol illegal. Something you can make at home---they banned. For the near future use your logic, avoid the draft and don’t take nobody’s illogical guff.

Aquarius- Dear Reader, the Dr. Pants is normally all up in your face and/or grill, brutally honest, and sans fear of etiquette, protocol or zombiepocalyptic® outcomes; where society breaks down Lord of The Flies style and poor Piggy has to eat a rock with his face; and the glasses are broken and that’s how they made fire, so even if we catch a boar, they won’t be able to cook it. What a pisser. Okay, so—mob mentality and rule by right of power by either strength or money are not necessarily good ways to run a railroad. However, in this moment, you are not Piggy. You’re not even Ralph Wiggum. You’re the adults who got to the island just in time to prevent further killing in the name of no reason. Help us save all of us.

Pisces- The sex strategy of zombie worms is both oddly fascinating and creepily masturbatory. The females are dominant and the males are all dwarf love slaves. Yep—zombie worms are like reverse harems. Don’t worry—they live in the ocean, they’re really small and they eat whale bones. You’re super far ahead of that bored game. Actually, you’re sitting in the fabled catbird seat—the crow’s nest, the throne of golden awesome butt massaging—why, your pole position is legs up and full throttle. No force in the multiverse, with a possible caveat re the strong nuclear force; I just have a feeling-—Nothing can stop you now. No thing. Not even dark matter. You’re a juggernautical dynamo and you’re about to hit Warp 9.