Wednesday morning papers didn't come

Greetings, Exponential Rise In Cauliflower---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, February 24, 2010 (Happy birthday to MizGerreGarrett, who turns twenty-four today. She and the rest of Us WaitStaffian reprobates are soon to be the starz of a Drexellian Studential documentary. The students send Us missives with such salutations as “Dearest WaitStaff”. Honey, We don’t care what you call Us, just send back the hottie with the boom mike.):

(In other news, it came to Our attention as We were sending out email notifications of the publication of Eric’s Daily Horoscope yesterday that We had forgotten to send such notifications on Monday. We had been wondering why Our hit count was lower. And yet, it was only lower by half, so clearly someone somewhere is stumbling their way in here without Our trail of breadcrumbs. If you are a random visitor, friend-of-a-friend, or total stranger, leave Us a comment to let Us know how you got here. KThxBye.)


(Meanwhile, two more feet of snow? Really? Could We possibly get Our trash collected first? Jeebus.)


(In still other news, it’s Hump Day, yo. Anybody wanna come be snowed in with Us? Hmm…apparently, a lot of crickets are horny. Either that, or the strawberry-blond sound guy is fu(king with Us. (From your lips to G0d’s executive assistant’s secretary’s BlackBerry™.))


(And furthermore, in case you were unaware, We are the self-proclaimed Queen Of Social Media. We were recently able to SitOnMyFaceBook-find someone We hadn’t seen for a dozen or so years whose name is the difficult-to-find-‘cause-there’s-a-million-of-‘em equivalent of “John Smith”. (Actually, his name is John Smith, but We didn’t want to divulge that in here. Oh, well…just because We could find him doesn’t mean you could. (Sorry, John.)) But ya know what’s annoying? When you’re trying to SitOnMyFaceBook-stalk somebody whose name appears to be uncommon enough to make it a relatively simple task, until they turn out to share said name with some d@mn sports-player. Lacrosse, or quoits, or dwarf-tossing, or some such. As though Our life weren’t difficult enough. Sigh.)


(Our-O-Scope…)


If we create our own reality, (Then it wouldn’t snow every other g0dd@mn day, so clearly We (at least The Royal We) don’t create Our own reality, so shut the fu(k up with your New Age I’ve-Read-The-Fu(king-Secret bullsh1t, Kelli, you Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopular) c00terlicking @sshat.)


then you need to ask yourself what you're currently creating for yourself. (Well, if We had that power (which clearly, We don’t), We would be creating a universe in which strawberry blond sound guys with really big boom mikes showed up at Our front door in Speedos™ to tell Us that, as soon as We were done fu(king like fuzzy little bunnies, it was going to be eighty degrees so We could go to the beach. But that’s just Us.)


The annoying thing (“Thing”? “Thing”, singular? As though there’s only ONE annoying thing?)


is that deep-set fears are as powerful as manifesting in our lives as our hopes are. (Ya know, if you’re gonna vomit up undigested steamy chunks of New Age claptrap, you could at least hire a g0dd@mn editor so it makes grammatical sense, you dizzy @ssmunching cow.)


In fact, you could say that fears are even more likely to manifest, (You could say that. If you were (subjunctively) an @sshole who liked to waste breath on uttering stupid inanities. Oh, and Shut. Up. Kelli.)


because we truly deeply (Also madly. Don’t forget madly, Bee-yotch!)>br>

(Sigh. Why did Savage Garden have to break up?)


believe them as a possibility, whereas with our hopes, we sometimes don't give them that much credence. (Our credence is in the credenza. Having a clearwater revival. There’s a bathroom on the right. (While We do not ordinarily claim to be prescient, We hereby predict that future generations will study Eric’s Daily Horoscope much as generations past studied Beatles’ album covers looking for evidence of the death of Paul McCartney. What evidence they will find therein, We decline to state, although We predict it will have something to do with brain death.))


Which is why the only thing we have to fear is fear itself! (Kiss Us quick, We’re Franklin Delano Roosevelt! (But ya ARE in that chair, Frank, ya ARE!) Also, ya forgot “Fear and fear alike”.)


Face a fear and eliminate it. (Mmm-hmm. We’re afraid it’s gonna snow two feet tomorrow. So We could either sit in OurHouseWhereWeLive and try to p00p away Our fear, or We could go out and about and enjoy the (slightly more) reasonable weather today. All things considered, We’d rather be a partypooper than a fearpooper, because if you’re a partypooper, at least when you’re done pooping, there’s a party. On the other hand, We’d rather be a fearpooper than a paratrooper, although We suspect that, if you made Us be a paratrooper and We had to jump out of an airplane, We’d wind up being both.)


(Poop is funny, no? (We realize that “fearpooper” is a neologism (look it up) based on the touchy-feely New-Age-y stupidity of “fear elimination” mentioned above. However, We were pretty sure that “partypooper” was a long-established word of some etymological standing. Wuzzup, Micro$oft Weird™?))


(Carol Channing: “Corn? When did I have corn? Oh, look…a party!”)



(YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


cowgrass...because I’m worth it.)