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Wednesday, March 31, 2010

We’re gonna be on Ed Sullivan

Greetings, Elbow Replacement Isn’t Cosmetic---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, March 31, 2010 (Happy Hemp Day! (That was for some of Our friends whom We haven’t seen in a while.) Meanwhile, those of all y’all who work Monday through Friday will be happy to learn that We were so very convinced that yesterday was Wednesday that today must assuredly be Thursday, and verily We say unto thee, thus tomorrow must be Friday. So it is written, so it shall be done, so long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye.):

(From the Are You Seriously Trying To Tell Us You Don’t Believe The Universe Fu(ks With Us Department (apropos of nothing, We just spelled “fu(ks” with an E in it. We are not having a good week.): yesterday afternoon, We were sitting on Our sofa, minding Our Own g0dd@mn business, when Our DVD player remote hurled itself from Our hand into Our coffee cup. “Odd,” sez We, as We mopped up the mess, “We’d no idea Our DVD player remote had suicidal tendencies.” Later, when The WaitStaff arrived for a writers’ meeting (for The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows, coming to a theater near you in May), and We attempted to show them the DVD of the WaitStaff documentary (coming to a website near you, toot suite), We were only able to do so using the buttons on the front of the machine. Which did not bode well, as the buttons on the front of the machine do not begin to cover all of the functionality available on the remote (which We have always considered an egregious design flaw, but who ever listens to Us? (How many of you just said, “I’m sorry…what did you say?” Shut up, b1tches!)) After several hours of brilliance, the WaitStaff departed, and We began to contemplate the wreckage of Our remote. It would not turn the DVD player on or off, and, once said player was on, any button We hit on the remote either did not function at all, or changed the channel from 1 to 11 to 111.)

(Did We mention that, while the WaitStaff was here, We had recorded Lost? Yeah, We haven’t so much seen it yet.)

(Cut to Us, on the phone with customer service, explaining Our problem (sans the coffee-suicide part of the story, natch). “Sounds like you need a new remote,” sez he. “Ya think?” sez We. “But We are pretty sure We bought the thing over a year ago, so We are no longer under warranty.” “In that case,” sez he, “you will have to call Our parts department to purchase a new remote. They are open from 9 to 5.” “Of course they are,” sez We, refraining somehow from thanking him for speaking perfectly intelligible English because it seemed to be his first language (and We should point out that it was almost midnight, so We couldn’t imagine what godforsaken Third World outsourcing country We might wind up speaking to when We dialed the phone).)

(So now, with time on Our hands and no idiot box amusements at Our disposal, We began questioning if We were still under warranty or not. Do We keep records of such things? H3ll to the no…except for here, in the lovely archives of Eric’s Daily Horoscope. So We went digging…turns out We bought said machine on April 18 last year. Of course, when We called customer service back, it turned out they close at midnight.)

(Meanwhile, the punchline of the story is, when We got up this morning, the remote is dried out and working perfectly. The April, 2009 horoscope is below; We’re gonna go watch Lost.)

Greetings, Excavations Reveal Ionian Cathedral---

Here is your horoscope for Monday, April 20, 2009 (For reasons which will become clear to a very few of you within the week, We have the theme music from BENNY HILL stuck in Our heads today. If you were (subjunctively) witnessing Our lives first hand, you would realize what inappropriate underscoring this is.):

(Speaking of Benny Hill, Benny Hanna, Benny and the Jets, Jack Benny, Benny Buttons, Benny-Benny-Bo-Benny Banana-Fanna-Oh-Fu(k-It, Stop Us Before We Benny Again… The WaitStaff (Kinda) Saves The Earth! 8PM at L’Etage at 6th and Bainbridge, this Wednesday and Thursday, the 22nd and 23rd. Get your tickets now before we sell out: .)

(Happy belated birthday to Marilyn, who turned twenty-four over the weekend. And happy birthday to Nima, who turns twenty-four today. He isn’t READING this, but what the h3ll? We’re magnanimous that way. We would NEVER, for example, calculate the difference between the number of people that WE wish happy birthdays to over the course of a year here in Eric’s Daily Horoscope and the number of people who bothered to wish US a happy birthday this weekend. Because THAT? Would be petty. (We feel petty, oh, so petty, we feel petty, and wetty, and fey….))

(So We were filling out a survey this weekend. As We do. Because We are impoverished. But We digress. It was a survey about Job Satisfaction. So you KNOW We are desperate for survey money, because We pretended We knew what that was. Turns out, We are miserable. Who knew? Not that We have any idea how to put a stop to it…nobody will give One a timeout while One fixes things, and good luck on a do-over. And We are oddly addicted to paying Our mortgage and Our other bills. Presumably this is why people have spouses. We could fancy Ourselves as a housewife of Splendiferous Fabulousity right about now. Sigh.)

(You will recall that Our DVD player has given up the playing of DVDs. And NOT just for Lent. So on Saturday We marched Our @sses (YES, they are plural. Seriously…have you SEEN Us recently? That was NOT a solar eclipse.) to Radio Shack. Have you any idea how embarrassing it is to tell Binky The Assistant Manager At Radio Shack that One can ONLY buy the new DVD player if One can comfortably CARRY it out of the store? Our world and welcome to it. (Now ask Us if We have had five minutes to Ourselves to read the instruction manual and plug the stupid thing in.))

(We had better start the horoscope…We are depressing Ourselves. On the other hand, We ARE fulfilling Our Eric’s Daily Horoscope mission statement by making YOUR lives seem (infinitely) better by comparison. So yay, Us.)

Life is a little unclear right now (No, it’s all pretty clear. Huge pain in the @ss, old age, then death. Oh, and the nicer you are? The more people fu(k with you. The end.)

-- there's not much you can do about it! (True dat, Boo.)

Just kick back (Now THAT? Is the best advice We’ve heard in YEARS. Decades, perhaps. Prepare for some kickage of colossal proportions.)

and see if you can get your friends and family to deal with ambiguity. (Well, they might, or they might not. (Heh. See what I did there?))

You can explain it all later. (We could explain it all now, too. But We ain’t gonna.)

Watch for frustration with your bank account right now. (We WOULD be frustrated with Our bank account, but We can’t afford the electron microscope We would need to examine it.)

You can get a handle on the stress your money issues are causing, but only if you keep cool. (I need you to be cool…are you cool? (If you got that, We owe you a bl0wjob. (A whole buncha str8 bois are now VERY confused.)))

Now is not the time to react with dramatic and panicky changes. (“Panicky Changes” being, of course, Our nickname in high school.)

Cut back on your budget too much, (We save money by using coupons. Where the h3ll IS this money?)

and you'll only beat yourself up (Can We beat Ourselves up and steal Our lunch money? Because that might improve Our budgetary issues. Or…oh. Wait. Never mind.)

when you aren't able to live with such stringent guidelines. (“Stringent Guidelines” being, of course, NOT Our nickname in high school.)

You can find a middle ground, making small changes that will make a big difference over time. (How glacial. Bordering on the geologic. I am the Ice Age, I am the walrus, koo-koo-ka-choob. (I owe you another bl0wjob. You lucky, lucky boy.))

Do not be impatient about this. (G0d grant Us patience, and grant it to Us right g0dd@mn NOW! (Also, don’t tell Us what to do.))

Love's interesting to a certain degree, but you realize, now more than ever, it's not everything. (It will not, for instance, teach Us how to use Our new DVD player. Or finish Our bathroom. Or…well, you get the idea. What’s love’s got to do, got to do with it?)

For the first time in a long time, you really appreciate the unique qualities of your single life. (Unique qualities. Yeah, that’s it.)

Everyone wants what you have; for once, so do you. (There are no words.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…the quality goes in before the shame goes on)

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

D@mned if I do ya, d@mned if I don’t

Greetings, Exsanguinated Rabbit, Intravenous Carrotjuice---

(Oh, so “carrotjuice” isn’t a word, eh, Micro$oft Weird™? How about Carrottop? Oh, you deny him also? Well, right away We give you a pixture, to implant him indelibly in what passes for your mind. Said pixture is subtitled “The Year Of Aging Gracefully”, and it is, of course, the Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Sil Vous Plait Avec Moi Ce Soir Pourquoi Faw Faw Faw. (Our apologies to the rest of all y’all, but Micro$oft Weird™ needed to be learned a lesson.))

(Don’t even get Us started on “exsanguinated”.)

Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, March 30, 2010 (Happy birthday to Aileen, and to Mark, both of whom turn twenty-four today. “Today” being, of course, much the same as “tonight”, what with the perpetual darkness, and the monsoon, and all. We would spit on this weather, but then something else would no doubt spring a leak.):

(We spent last evening in Sketch Comedy Class at Drexel (We are Assisting The Teacher, not Taking The Class. Because, seriously, what would We do with Ourselves if We had any more class than we already do?). Those chirren are so cute and adorable and full of enthusiasm, One just wants to pick them up and rub them all over One’s body. Who knew there were rules about such things?)

(Other than that, We got nothin’. To quote The French, “Merde…il pleut.” (Long-time readers may recall Our sighting of an umbrella that said exactly that. Should one desire to acquire same, One could betake Oneself here: . They also have them in English, but somehow “Sh1t…it’s raining” doesn’t have the je ne sais quoi of “Merde…il pleut”. (Also also, this will put to rest the wicked rumors that We made up Our umbrella sighting. While We do from time to time, here at Eric’s Daily Horoscope, exaggerate for dramatic effect, or embellish as poetic license, or, indeed, fabricate out of whole cloth (or, as it has been so crudely put to Us, “make sh1t up”), We do NOT “make sh1t up” in French. Jeebus!)))

(We have asked all y’all part of this before, and by now, We know better than to ever expect an answer about anything, but We shall give it The Old College Try (which, after today’s horoscope, will forever involve rubbing college students all over Oneself): We have mentioned that We get junk mail addressed to Andrew Baker. We have now started getting legitimate messages from LinkedIn (of which We are in fact a member) addressed to Debra Leigh. Are such things happening to anyone else, or are We special? (You did know to say “special” like a ‘tard, didn’t you?))

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

You prefer to do things your way, but you are more open to others’ ideas than they may realize. (Yeah, whatevs. Meanwhile, as if Our life weren’t (subjunctively) difficult enough, We have just discovered that the horoscope that Kelli emails Us is not the same horoscope One reads if One goes to her website. Moreover, the audiofile horoscope that One hears on her website is not the same as either of them. Clearly, these is some ginormous Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulational) disconnect going on. At any moment now, We expect the curtain of the temple to be rent in twain, whereupon We shall no doubt commence to party like it’s 1999, do the hokey-pokey, and shake It all about.)

(First, however, We shall rub a college student all over It.)

Show off a little by deferring to one of your kids (Say what?)

or a coworker who feels unappreciated. (As We are working all alone here, We shall no doubt have to appreciate Our Own Selves. (Is “appreciating Oneself” one of them euphemism thingies? If so, it doesn’t have quite the oomph of a “waxing the carrot” or “banging the bishop”. (To say nothing of “prostituting the Pope”…what the h3ll is up with THAT?)))

Most people probably wouldn’t believe it, and your secret is definitely safe here, but you actually become quite emotional during the full moon — which is happening today, by the way. (Well. Doesn’t that just explain a great deal?)

In your sign’s case, this celestial movement will activate a conflict between home and career. (We feel an “Immaculate Exception” reference coming on. (For the very brand newbiest of the very brand newbs, the Immaculate Exception is when you p00p but you don’t get any on ya. You’re welcome.))

You’ve felt this coming for a while, (We love when Kelli talks dirty to Us.)

so you won’t be surprised when it actually arrives. (Since We are “appreciating” Our Own Self, that is no doubt true. For the same reason, presumably, that One cannot tickle Oneself.)

You might even be glad it happened — once it’s over, of course. (Well, of course. If, by “of course”, you mean “duh”. Because, if it’s not over yet, One would have to be either glad it was happening, or glad it was going to happen. It’s called the English language, you dizzy git; learn it, live it, love it.)

What’s all the fussing and fighting about? (Also, what’s so funny about peace, love, and understanding? (Also also, Elsa from Oslo, what’s Elvis Costello up to these days?))

(Heh. Also also, Elsa from Oslo. We kill Ourself.)

Bring a much-needed sense of calm to a potential lover’s frazzled energy. (More to the point, bring a much-needed sense of clam to a pasta lover’s frazzled linguini.)

(Summer will be here soon. Reserve YOUR vacation time share in Eric’s mind NOW!)

Save the day with a sense of perspective and a can-do attitude that makes mincemeat out of the fracas. (“Can-do…mincemeat…fracas”…surely all y’all can do this joke your own selves.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…I’m lovin’ it.)

Monday, March 29, 2010

You had one eye on the mirror as you watched yourself gavotte

Greetings, Excrement Reposeth In Chamberpot---

Here is your horoscope for Monday, March 29, 2010 (Happy Passover to all of Our friends who, much like Our Own Self, are habitually passed over. Lettuce just bypass discussions of the craptastic (craptastical? Craptasticular? Crapshooty? (Micro$oft Weird™ is really not helping Us with word choices this morning)) weather, and proceed directly to bidness. Among Our Eric’s Daily Horoscope readership, We have quite a large number of artists (not to mention the occasional artiste). Granted, because of our Own Personal proclivities, they tend to fall more into the writing/performing arts (actors, playwrights, poets, singers, musicians, the odd dancer (We Our Own Self Personally are an odd dancer, but We don’t necessarily consider that an art form)) than into the visual arts, but still, any artist worth his or her saltpeter (saltlick? Salted nuts? Saltza dancing?) is sensitive enough to view an artistic work in a medium other than their own and discern nuance, suBtlety, import, and meaning far beyond that discovered by a mere layperson (layette? Lame duck? Lays™ Potato Chip?). And that is how We know that, as you sit illuminated by the glow of your computer screen, contemplating the work of art that is today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Fleur du Lis Grey Poupon, you are stroking your chins and exclaiming, almost in unison, “Day-um! Dude’s got some big-@ss ol’ feet!”):

(And that, boyzzz and gurrlllzzz, is what We call a long con joke. (But seriously, what the h3ll size could them feet be? Fourteen? Fifteen? And he looks like such a scrawny little thing otherwise. He must be hung like a refrigerator…))

(Somehow, We don’t expect “hung like a refrigerator” to enter the vernacular any time soon.)

(So, how’s your Holy Week treatin’ ya so far? Crazy March…in like a line dancer, out like a lambada. But at least it’s spring, and We can feel Our Own Personal motivations being motivated like motivators, motivationally. (We can also feel the earth. Move. Under Our feet. And the sky tumblin’ down, tumblin’ down. (Kiss Us quick, We’re Carole King. (Full disclosure: We initially typed “Kiss Us quick, We’re Carly Simon.” Remind Us again why these are two separate people?))))

(Apropos of absolutely nothing, does anybody out there have QuickTimePRO? Please let Us know…We have a video that We would like to look at, which We can only hear in regular QuickTime.)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

There's a Full Moon in your Love Zone (Was that a fat joke?)

which can mean one of several things. (Or at least one of several chins.)

Firstly, (We just skipped ahead through the rest of this horoscope. You don’t get to have a “Firstly” if you aren’t going to have a “Sexily” and a “Thirstily”. Them’s the rules.)

if you and your partner are slowly but surely (Don’t call Us Shirley. We’ll call you.)

drifting away from each other, this Full Moon can be a sign that you're doing the right thing at the right time. (However, if you are doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, it may also turn out that you are doing the right thing at the right time. Further, if you are doing the wrong thing at the right time, that would seem to mean that it’s the right time to be doing the wrong thing, so you seem to be okay there. On the other hand, if you are doing the right thing at the wrong time, We suspect that the rightness of the thing is in some way time-dependent, so you are probably scr3wed. (Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation), much like Math, is HARD!))

If you and your partner are loved-up (“Loved-up”? Jigga WHAT? (Being the Inquiring Mind that We are, We felt compelled to go Google “loved-up” on Wikipedia. Here is what We found: (We are particularly enjoying the drug-related definitions.)))

and happy, then it means no such thing but is actually a time when you can and even should focus more on your lover. (If not, you should presumably focus more on your ficus.)

And if you're single, the Full Moon in your 7th House of Love now suggests it's time to draw a line under the last romance, ready for something new. (It would appear that “House of Love” means something different to Our Kelli. Other than, ya know, “wh0rehouse”. On the other hand, having only had coffee so far this morning, We are much more interested in the House of Pancakes. We could romance Ourselves a big ol’ plate of Rooty-Tooty Fresh-N-Frooty right about now, if ya know what We mean. And We think you do.)

(But seriously…how big ARE them feets?)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass: looking good and doing you good)

Sunday, March 28, 2010

The black black widow is sittin’ in the middle of the’s the fly she seeks

Greetings, Echo Repeated Incessant Caterwauling---

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, March 28, 2010 (Happy The Lord’s Day to Won Ton Doll. Here at OurHouseWhereWeLive, We are currently praising the lord (figuratively, natch) because We finally did Our taxes yesterday. Did ‘em online, We did, Our Very Own Selves, and it only cost Us thirty dollars. As opposed to the two hundred it cost Us last year. (On the other hand, didja know that, if you pay to get your taxes did, whatever you pay is a tax deduction? ‘Cause We didn’t know that. But We do now. And so do you. You’re welcome.)):

(Also (this just occurred to Us), Happy Palm Sunday, to all of Our palmist friends. May your lifelines all be long, may you frequently be crossed with silver, and may you go on exotic foreign journeys with tall dark mysterious strangers and encounter good currency exchange rates.)

(And, because the preceding is all We can manage in terms of jokes based on Palm Sunday and doing Our taxes, here, courtesy of The Sainted Mother, are a few nursery rhymes to brighten up your morning:

Mary had a little pig,
She kept it fat and plastered;
And when the price of pork went up,
She shot the little b@stard.


Mary had a little lamb.
Her father shot it dead.
Now it goes to school with her,
Between two hunks of bread.


Jack and Jill went up the hill
To have a little fun.
Stupid Jill forgot the pill
And now they have a son.

Simple Simon met a pie man going to the fair.
Said Simple Simon to the pie man,
'What have you got there?'
Said the pie man unto Simon,
'Pies, you dumb@ss!!!'
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings' horses,
And all the kings' men.
Had scrambled eggs,
For breakfast again.

Hey diddle, diddle, the cat took a piddle,
All over the bedside clock.
The little dog laughed to see such fun.
Then died of electric shock.

There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good, she was very, very good.
But when she was bad........
She got a fur coat, jewels, a waterfront condo, and a sports car.


(Our Our-O-Scope.)

It doesn't seem fair -- other people are so much speedier than you today, (Fu(king cr@ckwh0res.)

and that's usually one of your best traits! (On the contrary. We are not at all a very good fu(king cr@ckwh0re. Because (A.), in order to sell it, you need to be able to give it away, and (2.) the size of Our cr@ck is, shall We say, somewhat daunting.)

(We fervently hope that Kelli changes the subject soon, but what can We do? She’s the Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) around here.)

Just let them push, (Push, push, in the bush.)

because you should be back in the game much more quickly than they realize. (We are thinking that, if it were (subjunctively) a game, it would be, somehow, FUN.)

You don’t usually travel much, unless it’s for business. (A trait which We were well on Our way to improving. Then suddenly, Our poverties…let Us show them to you.)

But at the moment, you’ll be all too happy to hop on a train, bus or plane — with anywhere but your current location in mind. (Sing it, Sistah! (Actually, We do have a little getaway planned, and We would tell you about it, but then We’d have to kill you.))

Yes, you definitely need a change of scenery. (To say nothing of a change of obscenery. (And, speaking of changes, these Depends™ are beginning to have that “not-so-fresh” feeling. (We are thinking that One really shouldn’t try to economize by turning One’s Depends™ inside out to wear them a second day.)))

(Yet another reason why We are a failure as a cr@ckwh0re. (Although, presumably, there is a cr@ckwh0re-with-squishy-Depends™ niche market that We have yet to tap.))

(We dunno ‘bout you, but We’re disgusting Ourself just typing this cr@p this morning. It may be time to call in the authority figure skaters.)

The good news is you know it, (If you’re happy and you know it, get the cl@p.)

(Slaphappy Cr@ckwh0res with the Cl@p ...coming soon to a theater near you. (And Willam Belli thought they were upset about Ticked-Off Tr@nnies with Knives. (Why yes, We are going to plug that fillum till We can’t plug it no more. And, while We can’t make it to New Yawk for the Tribeca Fillum Festival (, We are hoping it turns up on the schedule of Our very Own City Of Brotherly Love Handles G@y and L3sbian Fillum Festival this summer (

you can afford it (Did We not just show you Our poverties?)

and you’ll be on your way soon. (Mmm-hmm. Because this is the big one, Elizabeth. (It just isn’t Sunday morning without Our Redd Foxx impression, is it?))

Oh, and how about inviting a travel companion along to help take the edge off? (“Take the edge off” is one o’ them euphemism-thingies, innit?)

Knowing when enough is enough is more than half the battle when it comes to relating to someone else. (Meanwhile, knowing that if Barbra Streisand weren’t (subjunctively) Barbra Streisand, she’d just be one more little old Jewish lady is probably what keeps Jason from ending it all. (In other news, if you even know who Jason is, and, more to the point, if you know what made Us think of Barbra Streisand at this juncture, you are very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very g@y. As in two-snaps-up-in-a-circle, Paul Lynde in a muumuu scr3wing Charles Nelson Reilly in a feather boa while Liberace plays the piano in a field of pansies, g@y as a goose with a three dollar bill. Just sayin’.))

After all, not every moment can be filled with connection and discovery — how exhausting that would be! (Well, not quite as exhausting as Paul Lynde in a muumuu scr3wing Charles Nelson Reilly in a feather boa while Liberace plays the piano in a field of pansies. (We repeated that for any of you n@ked skimmers who might have accidentally skimmed past it the first time. You’re welcome, and We see your pee-pees.))

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…it does a body good)

Saturday, March 27, 2010

I’m glad I’m a man and so is Lola

(Before We even begin, here is the trailer for The Lovely And Talented Willam Belli’s fillum, Ticked-Off Trannies With Knives, which is about to be screened at the Tribeca Fillum Festival and is causing all sorts of hoo-ha with the Politically Correct H0m0 Set. (This is probably not safe for work, but it’s Saturday…what the h3ll are you doing at work anyway?))

Greetings, Evening’s Recreation Includes Cowpunching---

Here is your horoscope for Saturday, March 27, 2010 (Well, Happy Saturday, boyzzz and gurrlllzzzz! Apparently, you folks have plum given up on having birthdays. (“Plum”? (We just felt compelled to go Google that on Wikipedia. We were unsure as to whether it should be “plum” or “plumb”. Turns out, it can be either. And they’re both stupid.) ) So, for lack of anything better to do, We’re gonna have Our first-ever Eric’s Daily Horoscope Week In Review. The week started out, as weeks will, weak-willedly, on Monday, with a whole lotta stuff about d1ck on Stephen Sondheim’s birthday. So at least he was pleased. We also discovered that We have Cher Tourette’s Syndrome, which can only be cured by saying “Johnny Depp.” Then, on Joan Crawford’s birthday, We discovered that Kelli reruns her horoscopes, and We had a job standing in for Conan O’Brien for about ninety seconds until We discovered that the job was actually in Spain. On Hump Day, We invented both the Immaculate Exception (no, seriously…go look it up) and Authority Figure Skaters. On Thursday, We had a jawb with a black baby doll and were heard to declaim, “People who live in glass slippers smell like feet.” The less said about Friday, the better.):

(There. Now We’re all caught up. Plus, some n@ked skimmers heads just exploded. (Sometimes, when We think of Our n@ked skimmers, We amuse Ourselves by thinking about exactly how many of Our n@ked skimmers We have actually seen n@ked. It’s kind of a lot, especially for somebody as chaste as Our Own Self. (Funny how “chaste” and “chased” are such exact opposites, no? Not, of course, so much “funny: ha-ha” as “funny: who’d’ve thought the immersion blender had a setting for that?”)))

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Try not to get too far ahead of yourself today (Wait, there’s more than one of Us? And here We thought The Royal We was just an affectation.)

-- everything needs to be done in its time. (Unless you’re in the parallel universe, in which case you should try to do everything…perpendicularly?)

If you try to skip ahead, you're sure to find yourself scampering to make up everything you thought you had avoided. (We hereby assure, nay, guarantee you that We? Neither “skip” nor “scamper”. Jeebus.)

You’ve never been known to rule with a heavy hand. (Was that a fat joke?)

You always lead sternly, and fairly, but you never make rules just because you can, and you never enforce anything you don’t absolutely need to. (This, of course, is why We’re so bad at S&M. (This, and the fact that the leather costumes make Us giggle.))

So when you suddenly start barking orders to one and all, (So We’re a dog now? Not for nothin’, but does this mean We can lick Our own b@llz?)

and they act like they don’t quite recognize you, be patient. (Oh, please. If We’re patient, they’ll never recognize Us.)

Peace in the kingdom will be restored before long. (So now there’s a kingdom? Somebody needs to start picking the lima beans out of her mixed metaphors. Just sayin’.)

The sum of the relationship is made up of careful attention to its parts. (Heh. So now, We’re reflecting on the parts of the various n@ked skimmers that We’ve seen n@ked. So, if your n@ked skimming has perchance caused your glance to alight on this partixular paragraph, We may currently be thinking about n@ked parts of you. So would it kill ya to surprise Us by dropping a line or leaving a comment? (Actually, it occurs to Us that We have pixtures (of the n@ked or semi-n@ked variety, natch) of some of y’all. (We should hasten to point out that today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Mon Frere Éclair Derrière is not (to the best of Our knowledge) one of Our n@ked skimmers, but We will certainly be making an effort to recruit him.)))

Sometimes you just want to overturn everything and start anew, but don’t toss out the baby with the bathwater. (Well, of course not. That bathwater might come in handy for something.)

Pay attention to the here and now. (Sorry…what did you say?)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass. What’s in YOUR wallet?)

Friday, March 26, 2010

And everybody's saying that there's nobody meaner than the little old lady from Pasadena

Greetings, Eels Reel Into Creel---

Here is your horoscope for Friday, March 26, 2010 (In honor of the arrival of Friday, for those of you to whom that makes a difference, a light-hearted Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Foie Gras Avec Moi Ce Soir entitled Timing. Heh.):

(Also, this video (vid, yo?), courtesy of MizGerreGarrett, entitled A Girl and her Car. Totally work-safe, and not your typical Eric’s Daily Horoscope fare…a little too heart-warming for these parts. Until you start to mull it over afterwards and think…well, more than just a little bit INSANE.)

(Other than that, We got nothin’. We are busily whittling away at Our To-Do list, but there’s nothing of much interest resulting. (You did not, most likely, realize that We are a famous whittler. We are, in fact, Whittler’s Mother.))

(Oh, never mind.)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

If you've been feeling like you're coming to the end of your rope, (Tie a noose in it and hang on.)

you should start to feel like you're regaining your grip. (Hmmm…do We wanna do a joke here about Poly-Grip™, or do We wanna do “la grippe, la grippe, la post-nasal drip”? Decisions, decisions…fu(k it; neither.)

You can also expect to get a lot more attention than you've had in recent times. (Sorry…did you say something?)

How you feel about taking center stage for a while? (Oh, sure…give Us center stage at 11 o’clock in the morning when there’s no one in the d@mn theater. (Or is this some fu(king children’s show? We hate that.))

People are going to be checking you out, (Like a liberry book?)

so do all you can to shine! (Remind Us to wax Our carrot as soon as We’re through here.)

(The Immaculate Exception: it’s when you p00p and you don’t get any on you. (That joke worked so well earlier this week, We thought We’d bring it back.))

If you need to come across as confident, you have the skies totally on your side now, supporting you. (Russkies? Jewskies? Whoskies? Youskies? (Welcome to Dr. Seuss does vaudeville…I am your host, Sam-I-Am, your host, and this is Our lovely spokesmodel, Cindy Lou Who, whose titz number two.))

(Every one of you str8 bois who just pixtured Cindy Lou Who in pasties, slap yourselves really hard. Because We? Ain’t touchin’ your perverted self.)

Admit your errors. (We thought We made a mistake once, but We were wrong.)

Smile, nod and shrug your shoulders -- a lot. (What is this…the audition for the Rain Man remake?)

Then go back to your room, lock yourself in a closet and have a tantrum, with no expletives deleted. (Have We met? Do you imagine Us as a person who would delete his motherfu(king c0cksucking expletives, you addle-brained @ssmunching c00terfaced tw@tlick? H3ll to the g0dd@mn (untlicking “NO”, beeyotch!)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

have you driven a cowgrass lately?)

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Sensitivity, sensitivity, I'm just loaded with that.

Greetings, Epicurean Refuses Indochinese Corndog---

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, March 25, 2010 (Well, Pumpkins, in an effort not to leave you high and dry without your fix of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, We bring you this, which is low and wet. And abridged. (We just typed “effort” as “efoort”. Apparently, We now speak Norwegian. Put that in your lutefisk and smoke it, Ikea. (So take a letter, Ikea….address it to my wife…send a copy to my lawyer…gonna start a new life…(Sorry. (What the h3ll ever happened to R.B. Greaves, anyway? (We just Googled him on Wikipedia…the answer is, Absolutely nothing.))))) It is currently 12:30PM EDHT (Eric’s Daily Horoscope Time…duh!), and We have already arisen at the cr@ck of @ssz, abluted Ourself into a state of Close-Up Readiness, ridden a MyBus, performed G@y Sensitivity Training for the Philadelphia Tourism Something-Or-Another (ask Us about Our black baby doll), stopped by to see Our Sistah Ovella (since We were Being Sensitive in the very building where she works…clearly, she was playing hookey. (Or h00ker. We always get those two games confused)), deposited Our G@y Sensitive check into the bank, and had Our pixture tooken at the DMV. Our @ss is p00ped, to coin a phrase.):

(Some notes on the preceding. (These will be especially helpful to graduate students of World Literature in the future, who will no doubt write countless PhD dissertations dissecting the epistles of Your Oh-So-Humble Scribe.) When We say, “cr@ck of @ssz”, We mean, coincidentally, the exact time We use to arise to betake Our sorry Self to the EAC. However, at no point when We were going to the EAC did We ever ablute Ourself into a state of Close-Up Readiness. In other news, a cute g@y boi who used to ride the MyBus with Us, while not on today’s MyBus, was a participant in the G@y Sensitivity Training. (The phrase “G@y Sensitivity Training”, meanwhile, should have way more esses in it.))

(We trust that, when We said, “ask Us about Our black baby doll”, you knew that We meant a doll that was a baby who was black, not that We were wearing a baby-doll nightgown made of some black material. That would have been awfully inssssenssssitive of Us (although how cute would We look?).)

(Also, on Our way to the DMV to have Our pixture tooken, We found a penny in the street for luck. Which is no doubt why We had Our pixture tooken by the only-semi-retarded DMV pixture tooker, instead of the totally-retarded DMV pixture tooker, or the not-retarded-at-all-but- so-d@mn-cheerful-you-just-know-she’s-a-Jesus-freak-even-though-Jesus-thinks-she-drives-like-she’s-from-Jersey DMV pixture tooker.)

(The pixture, naturally, is hideous. They do offer you the chance to retake it, but who the h3ll wants their driver’s license pixture to look better than they do?)

(Lordy, We’re tired all over again just typing all of that! But here, as your reward for living through it with Us, is this: It is courtesy of MizGerreGarrett, and is work-safe…in fact, it is designed for all you poor schnooks at WorkJawbs, so you can play computer games and hide them from your boss. (Because it would be foolish to play boss games and hide them from your computer.) Enjoy!)

(In still other news, the T-Shirt Saying Du Jour Au Jus Three French Hens: “The last thing I want to do is hurt you…but it’s still on the list.”)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

That crowd forming around you consists of fans, (The phrase had better be “ADORING fans”, or We’re not putting on Our black baby doll.)

all of whom are lining up to catch a glimpse of you. (Then they’re gonna be very confused when We throw skrimps at them, aren’t they?)

It's up to you to keep them at bay while still holding on to their everlasting love and admiration. (The phrase is “ENDLESS love”. We know this because there’s an endless song by the same name.)

Smile pretty and wave elegantly. (Or wave a leg gently. But, whatever you do, don’t wave Elmer Gantry. Or bang the drum slowly. Not that that’s what We were talking about. (yeah…like We have any ikea what We’re talking about.))

Remember -- it's elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist. (So We’re j3rking off on them then?)

(Ooops…We have once again fallen into the Vat of Vulgarity. Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.)

Your business sense is cunning, (You should see Our linguistics.)

acute (Especially in Our black baby-doll.)

and not to be doubted. (Are you sure about that? (Heh. See what We did there?))

Convey that to the higher-ups and your carriage will await. (See? This is why, way back at the beginning, We had Pumpkins.)

Responsibility for the glass slippers is another matter entirely. (Well, you know what They say: “People who live in glass slippers smell like feet.”)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…because you’re worth it)

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Toot-Toot-Tootsie, Good-Bye, Toot-Toot-Tootsie Don’t Cry

Greetings, Extrovert Redirects Interminable Conversation---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, March 24, 2010 (Happy Hump Day to Juan and Dahl. So, wow, were the Internetz way more stupid than usual yesterday, or what? We certainly aren’t going to address anything as weighty as Health Care Reform in this particular forum, but day-um. How do you spell “sore losers”? Meanwhile, one of the (many) pieces of good news yesterday of which you may not have heard: celebrity cr@ckhead Rush Limbaugh vowed that, if Health Care Reform passed, he would move his cr@ck-addled @ss to Costa Rica. Buh-BYE, @ssmunch; don’t let the screen door hit ya where the Good Lord split ya.):

(On a more personal note (LAAA!), We have Ourselves a JAWB tomorrow morning at the cr@ck of @ss. (Fortunately, not at the cr@ck of Rush Limbaugh’s @ssz, because (1.) eeeuuuuwww and (B.) how would One distinguish it from his mouth?) So Eric’s Daily Horoscope will occur later in the day if it occurs at all. Meanwhile, We sat down immediately prior to starting today’s horoscope to highlight Our lines for said jawb (it’s an acting jawb, in case you hadn’t figgered) so We could gauge how much time would be needed to learn said lines. Turns out, We practically knew ‘em by the time they were all pink. (We use a pink highlighter. Presumably, this comes as no surprise to you.) Also, We are apparently being paid at the rate of approximately four dollars per line. Why, if We can just find someone to pay Us a consistent four dollars for Our Every Utterance, We shall be able to afford as much cr@ck as Rush Limbaugh.)

(Hmmm. If someone will pay Us four dollars for every line, We may take a jawb reading Eric’s Daily Horoscope to the blind. (Is that the jumping-off place for a Charles Dickens novel, or what? And that hack got paid by the word. (Surely you didn’t think We would mention the blind without bringing up America’s Blind Sweetheart, Helen Keller, did you? Somebody call the WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHmbulance!)))

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

You're usually the one who gets things started, (The Addams Family started when Uncle Fester f@rted and now they’re all retarded like ex-Alaskan governors. (Apparently, We are feeling both silly and political this morning. Try to keep up.))

and today is no exception. (It is, in fact, the Immaculate Exception. That’s when you p00p but you don’t get any on ya.)

See if you can rally the troops (Can We rally the troops? What kinda @sshole question izzat? This face seats five, Bay-Bee! Where’s them boyz from that “d1ck” pixture earlier in the week?)

at home so you can all move forward together in the near future. (“So you can all move forward together in the near future”? O RLY? Be a little vaguer, whydon’t’cha, Kelli?)

Things should get better fast! (Things should do a lot of things. They usually don’t, though.)

(It is, in fact, the Immaculate Exception. That’s when you p00p but you don’t get any on ya. (We just happened to glance up and re-read that joke. We felt it bore repeating.))

You’ve just about had it (Ain’t DAT de troof?)

with that certain individual who’s had it in for you. (Oh…We thought you meant in general.)

You’re perfectly prepared to handle this, face to face, with the authority figures. (However, We are much more interested in handling things face to face with the authority figure skaters. Because ooooohhh….sparkly Spandex™!)

The problem this individual may have — and may not have thought of before they started this campaign against you — is that you’ve been following all the rules, and they haven’t. (Yes. Yes, indeed, We have been following all the rules. And look how far that’s gotten Us.)

Should you take mercy on them? (Let’S take an Immaculate Exception on them and see how they like it.)

It depends on the quality of their groveling. (Actually, no. No, it so doesn’t.)

It’s important to get a clear picture of what actually is before you can manifest what you want. (How ‘bout We “manifest” Us cutting off your head and Immaculately Exceptioning down your neck?)

That means you have to face yourself and the history of your love life honestly — no skipping over the unpleasant parts. (We have no idea what Kelli is blathering about, but that sentence scans a lot better if you change the end to “no skimming over the underpants”. Just sayin’.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

nothing gets between me and my cowgrass…)

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Joan Crawford has risen from the grave

Greetings, Ensign Resigns Insignificant Consignment---

Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, March 23, 2010 (It is, of course, Joan Crawford’s birthday, leading One to wonder if One still celebrates birthdays when One is dead. Joan would have been a hundred and five years old today, which is a pair of Come-Fu(k-Me-Orthopedic-Pumps that don’t even bear contemplation. (Is it just Us, or in this particular pixture, does Miss Crawford appear to be auditioning to play Endora on Bewitched?)):

(It is also Tuesday, and the sun is shining. Unlike yesterday, when We spent the entire day indoors, working on a sketch. Oh, and, for a full minute and a half yesterday, We actually had a jawb. We were going to be a stand-in on the new Conan O’Brien pilot which is being filmed “here”. Until We were forced to ‘fess up to not having a car, because the thing is actually being shot in Andalusia. Which, last We heard, is in Spain, but it turns out it’s also in Bucks County somewhere. Where it’s not is in Philadelphia, so please don’t pretend you’re shooting your little program in Our fair city when you’re totally NOT. B1tches.)

(This weekend will mark the two-year anniversary of Us moving into OurHouseWhereWeLive. In honor of the occasion, all of Our lightbulbs have decided to blow at once. Whoop-de-fu(kin’-doo.)

(Oh, fercrissakes, Micro$oft Weird™! They are LIGHTBULBS. They are not “light bulbs”. As opposed to what? Dark bulbs? Heavy bulbs? Shut yer stupid piehole. (It’s a piehole, not a pie hole. Jeebus.))

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Don't worry about your antennae, (Because it’s the fact that you have two pairs of wings and lay your eggs in rotting meat that will really freak people out.)

because there's no way they'll lead you astray. (Astray, Ashtray, Nanette Fabray. (We’re not sure what just happened there, but We’re pretty sure it wasn’t funny.))

The advice of others may not be quite so reliable, (Who are these unreliable others, and what made them imagine that they were qualified to give Us advice? More to the point, how soon can We have them flogged to within an inch of their lives and flung over the parapet?)

but you'll easily wade through what's legit and what's not -- as long as you pay attention to the signs along the way. (Sorry…what did you say? (Heh…see what We did there?))

(We don’t actually have a parapet, so if you give Us cr@ppy advice, We’ve got nothing to fling you over. We suppose We could fling you down Our four front steps, but you’d take forever to kill that way. (Sigh. Now that We’ve made you aware, we shall no doubt be deluged with a veritable sh1tstorm of cr@ppy advice.))

Don't smile, wink or hold someone's gaze a second too long -- because if you do, you won't be able to convince anyone that you didn't mean it 'that way.' (In THIS neighborhood? Are you kidding Us?)

Finalizing the deal won't be a problem. (Simonizing Lucille, on the other hand, will be fraught with peril. (Those who think We just spew Our bon mots randomly into the abyss will want to note that Joan Crawford’s birth name was Lucille LeSueur. So much for your random abyss bon mot-spewing conspiracy theories. Freaks.))

Your confidence and je ne sais quoi will be unstoppable. (Didn’t We just discuss this “je ne sais quoi” business in here recently? Don’t MAKE Us tell you again. It’s all fun and games till someone puts out an Eye-talian.)

Prying your competition's admiring eyes away could be a bit more challenging, though. (Not if you’ve got the right crowbar…d@mmit, we’ve made THAT joke in here recently, too. Are these horoscopes re-runs, or what?)

(Kelli, you despicable shiftless b1tch of a lazy wh0re! We knew this “je ne sais quoi/crowbar” combo sounded familiar (and also like a really bizarre Happy Meal™), so We went digging through the archives…From February 27th, not even a month ago, people (and this b1tch gets PAID for this):

Your confidence and je ne sais quoi will be unstoppable. (As We have pointed out repeatedly in these pages, We do not speak a word of French. We don’t even particularly care for their mustard. In fact, when the French starts flying (as opposed to frying), We generally rely on Our Sistah Ovella to be Our cunning linguist. (Which, come to think of it, is probably how the whole coquette’s croquettes incident came about in the first place). However, “je ne sais quoi” is a phrase We happen to know, and whenever people are bandying it about willy-nilly, We like to point out that they have probably forgotten that its literal meaning is “I don’t know what”. Now, We don’t know about you, but We are not entirely sure that an “unstoppable I-don’t-know-what” is necessarily a good thing. Just sayin’.)

(Is it just Us, or is it totally fu(ked up that Micro$oft Weird™ recognizes each and every piece of “je ne sais quoi”, but doesn’t seem to have heard of “oui”?)

Prying your competition's admiring eyes away could be a bit more challenging, though. (Long-time Eric’s Daily Horoscope readers will be expecting it, newbies may be in for a shock, but We are totally picturing literal eye-prying, involving, perhaps, a crowbar.))

The unmitigated Gallic gall of non-mitigation! All of Our illusions are shattered…wherever shall We find reliable Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation)s now?)

(We are too upset to go on. (Plus, we have a Yuri sketch to write.))

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…when it absolutely, positively has to be there overnight )

Monday, March 22, 2010

And another hundred people just got off of Lorraine

Greetings, Er…Response Indicates Confusion---

(Before We begin, apparently Hotmail and Comcast are having issues with each other. Our notifications are bouncing back from all of Our Comcast users. So, presumably, if you think you have emailed Us from Comcast, you may be mistaken.)

Here is your horoscope for Monday, March 22, 2010 (We thought, since it was Monday, and all y’all’re workin’ for a livin’, you could use a little d1ck. (Well, not a little d1ck…in fact, We don’t pretend to know anything about the size of the pixtured d1cks. Just that they are khaki-covered and camouflaged. (Today on Oprah: does a camouflaged d1ck pass as a hoo-hoo? The question before Us is where’s her clit0ris?) Also, the two couples on the ends seem to have had much more success in figgering out what to do with their d1cks than the two gentlemen in the middle.)):

(Whew! That’s a lotta stuff about d1ck! (See D1ck. See D1ck run. Run, D1ck, run. (You call it reading; We call it kiddie p0rn.)) And just what, We imagine you musing aloud, does all this stuff about d1ck have to do with Eric’s Daily Horoscope? And We shall tell you, as even the most rank amateur Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) knows, d1ck ain’t got d1ck to do with your horoscope, until you consider the position of Uranus.)

(You’re welcome.)

(Meanwhile, Happy Birthday to Stephen Sondheim, who turns twenty-four today. Isn’t it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you dressed as Cher…)

(It has come to Our attention, thanks to the “Labeling” feature here in Bloggonia, that We mention Cher a lot in Eric’s Daily Horoscope. Not so much because she is particularly newsworthy, but because she conveniently rhymes with lots of stuff. Like Nair™, and au pair. (If Our str8 boi readers would like to pause here and reflect on Nair™ing the au pair’s derriere, We won’t think any the less of you. After all, We did start off with all that stuff about d1ck.) However, We must take great care (heh) that Our Cher labels don’t exceed the labels devoted to The Patron Saint Of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, Mister Johnny Depp. Amen.)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Sentimental? (Awww…)

Nostalgic? (No, but We do remember a time when We were…)

Oh my, yes. (Oh my, Shut. Up. Kelli.)

Poetry, love songs and yes, even weepy old movies are all you're interested in at the moment. (Well, that and d1ck.)

You're definitely in the mood for a kinder, gentler world -- but don't toss out the heavy metal CDs just yet. (What about the 8-track tapes? Can We toss out the 8-track tapes?)

This, too, shall pass. (Like gas out your @ss, this too shall pass. Kiss Us quick, We’re a rap star. LL Cool E. Which is, of course, different from LL Coolie, which would be a Chinese rap star. It must be awfully easy to rap in Chinese, since all the words rhyme with “wang”. This is why Sondheim wrote Pacific Overtures in English; because writing it in Chinese would have been no challenge. It’s also why there are no love songs in that show; how can you write a love song for people who can’t say Ls?)

(You know you rove Us.)

Step away from the computer, (Well, that won’t exactly help in getting this extremely tardy horoscope to Our adoring public, now will it?)

and the person you've been IMing who's definitely, absolutely, positively the love of your life. (Does anyone actually IM anymore? Like, on AOL, or some such? We couldn’t tell you the last time We even attempted to turn AOL on…)

Or at least insist on a very, very recent photo. (Of their d1ck?)

It will be impossible to refuse you, no matter what outlandish request you come up with. (See, now you’re just baiting Us.)

You're golden. (Much like the showers.)

(We sped up towards the end there, because it was threatening to become tomorrow before We published this thing, and because We have sketches to write.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

because Cowgrass Fahm remembuhs)

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Greetings, Episcopalian Reincarnated Into Confucianist---

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, Sunday, Sunday (sorry), March 21, 2010 (Happy birthday to anybody whose birthday it is. We don’t think We know anybody personally who’s having a birthday today, but We sure wish We did, because mmmm….cake.):

(Actually, We haven’t even had Our coffee yet. But, before We do, We would like to draw your attention to the commentary section of Eric’s Daily Horoscope here in Bloggonia. Yesterday’s subject line (“Just panties…what else do I need?”) caused Our Sistah Ovella and Us to wax nostalgic (but, fortunately, not bikini wax nostalgic, which can be dangerous (or wax the carrot nostalgic, which is just plain rude)) in the commentary section about the greatest movie ever made. Which is, of course, The Poseidon Adventure. (What did you think We were gonna say…Citizen Kane? Some fat guy in black and white…what’s so great about that?) “Just panties…what else do I need?” is, of course, a line of dialog from said film, spoken by The One And Only Stella Stevens, and, as such, would seem to violate the Eric’s Daily Horoscope time-honored tradition of using song lyrics as the subject line. But au contraire mon frère Frigidaire Sonny and Cher, it is ALSO a song lyric, courtesy of Our Chicagogonian friends who created Poseidon! An Upside-Down Musical. Herewith is a video for said song, which is safe for work, as long as “panties” are safe at your work (and, if not, what are you doing at work on Sunday with no panties on? Slut.)):

(There. Now wasn’t THAT a d@mn sight better than church? At any rate, if it hadn’t occurred to Us to point this out to all y’all, you’d have totally missed out on it if you don’t also at least read the commentary section. H3ll, We were sure that, by this point, y’all would be commenting up a storm and talking amongst yourselves. (Or maybe you ARE, and you’re doing it all behind Our back(s)…after all, it’s not paranoia if they ARE all out to get you.))

(Speaking of fillums, We fell asleep last night in the middle of (500) Days of Summer , in which Joseph Gordon Levitt, whom We usually love, has a really boring affair with some dull chick which is told totally out of chronological order. Which might be interesting if said affair lasted, say, two weeks, but it lasted for the titular (heh…We love that word) 500 days, and the time-jumps were indicated by on-screen titles: Day 379…Day 12…Day 351…wait, was that third scene before or after the first one??? You never really knew (or, after a while, cared) where You were.)

(This little impromptu nappy-poo toodle-oo Kalamazoo may have impacted Our sleep during the night, when We kept being awakened by bizarre dreams. In the first, We were able to fly. Not the usual dream, wherein One flies like Superman, but instead with giant wings sticking out of Our back. The Sainted Mother was beginning to get annoyed with Us flying around the house, so she promised to take Us outside for flying lessons. But she made it very clear that We could only fly ten times a day. Although she never explained what would happen if We tried to fly eleven.)

(In the next dream, We were sleeping, for some reason, on a cot at the EAC. (This dream, no doubt, was a flash-forward to Our eventual homelessness.) It seemed like a perfectly good idea, until We discovered that a whole lot of people apparently worked the night shift. So We decided that We should probably get dressed (oh, yes, We were nekkid), which would mean retrieving Our clothes from the men’s room, where We had foolishly left them unattended. We woke up from this dream as We picked up Our pants, just knowing that there was no longer a wallet in them.)

(That was 5:30AM. Now it’s 9:30, and We’re finally having coffee. Is some d@mn birthday cake out of the question???)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Touchy? (Touché?)

You? (Moi?)

No way. (Fermez la Bouche, Touché Toupee.)

You may, (Mais oui…(heh. Didn’t see that last one coming, didja? That concludes Our little French lesson for today. We love the French. They invented all the best stuff…mustard, doors, kissing. Toast, dressing, fries. Bread, braids, drains. Horns, connections, the Foreign Legion. Not to mention that cartoon skunk. (No, seriously…don’t mention him. Zey hate zat.)))

however, be a teeny bit moody, cranky or oversensitive -- but certainly not touchy. (Moody, Cranky, Oversensitive, Touchy…these are but a few of the Seven Dwarves in the Snow White remake by Woody Allen.)

Unfortunately, (See, when a sentence starts out like that, ya just know no good can come of it. So let’S just skip to the next one, shall We?)
the rest of the world may not be quite so astute at differentiating between these subtleties.

Be nice, (Also, Be A Clown, Bea Benaderet, Beanie and Cecil.)

(YOU thought We were gonna say “Bea Arthur”. That’ll teach ya to try to predict Us. We haven’t been predicted (or dicted, for that matter) in years.)

even if it's killing you (Softly?)

and brag about your incredible self-control tomorrow. (“Get a load of these Spanx™!” (Or is that not what you meant?))

Talking them into seeing things your way will come easily, but do you really want to win that way? (What kind of @sshole question izzat?)

You can always even things up after dark. (Clearly a lyric from the song “Just Another Smutty Sunday”. Which was, of course, the prequel to “Just Another Manic Monday”. Unfortunately, the sequel, “Just Another Tepid Tuesday” never got written, because nobody could be bothered.)

(Oh, leave Us alone. We didn’t have enough sleep.)

If you know you're not fit for human consumption, (“Not Fit For Human Consumption“, of course, having been Our nickname in high school.)

don't press your luck. (But, more importantly, don’t press your duck. Because We just Googled “pressed duck” on Wikipedia, and EEEUUUWWWWW!!!! Those wacky, zany, madcap Frenchies!)

Get yourself home as soon as possible, get into your jammies and don't answer the phone. (The calls are coming from inside the house!!!)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

Pardon me…do you have any Grey Cowgrass?)

Saturday, March 20, 2010

Just panties, what else do I need?

Greetings, Elbowgrease Removes Indelible Coffeestain---

Here is your horoscope for Saturday, March 20, 2010 (Yes, boyz and gurlzzz, now We’re just making up CompoundNouns to fu(k with Micro$oftWeird™. Try it; it’s fun! Happy FirstDay of Spring, and Happy FirstDay of Aries to OneAndAll, AllAndSundry, MichaelLandon, and AlBundy. (Give or take a day. Depending on what calendar you look at. Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation) is, apparently, not an exact science. Who knew? (We just this second looked up and noticed that Micro$oftWeird™ actually accepted “elbowgrease”, thereby promptly spoiling all Our fun. Poo!))):

(Y’all of course realize what the arrival of Aries means…Aries birthdays! Not that there are any today, which is sad, because We could really enjoy some cake right about now. Speaking of cake, for those who are intrigued by bracketology but not all caught up in ballz (what did he say?), here’s this: which is work-safe (it’s about cake and pie, fercrissakes, and what are you doing at work on Saturday anyway?).)

(As far as today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Of The Day goes, in Chinese Ass(tlomarogicar) Ho(loscopuration) (Sound ‘em out, people…get hooked on Phonics! The first pipeful is free.), it’s The Year Of The Tiger, so that explains that. (Actually, it was the cheeriest pixture in Our files, and We made up the explanation on the spot just now. But if you think your illusions are shattered, how do you think We feel, as Micro$oft Weird™ has just informed Us that “pipeful” is not a word.))

(In other news, We believe We have mentioned in this forum that, following a discussion on another messageboard (oh, get with the program, Micro$oft Weird™!) to which We belong, We have been keeping a log of all the change We pick up in the street. (There’s just no way to say that that doesn’t sound filthy, is there?) Our year of recordkeeping ended at the end of March, and Our grand total was seven dollars and forty-four cents, plus fifty yen. That’s one dollar bill, six quarters, twenty-four dimes, thirteen nickels, one hundred eighty-nine pennies, and a fifty yen piece. Just think how fat We’d be if We hadn’t bent over all those times.))

(We will pause here, to allow Patrick to enjoy viZZZualizing Us bending over. Patrick, it seems, is fond of solar eclipses.)

(Also, We seem to recall asking all y’all how to turn Our fifty yen piece into real money. No one answered Us. Sigh.)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

If you're not attached, (We are detached like a retina, Bay-Bee.)

cancel your appointments, (In the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t it be better if One could cancel One’s DISappointments? (Are We deep, or what? (Who said, “Or what.”?)))

get dressed and get out there. (Get dressed? What, you don’t find this ratty old bathrobe alluring? Not fetching enough, is it? Not your basic “come hither” bathrobe? Bugger off!)

(If you did not read the preceding bit with a Cockney accent, We will pause here while you go back and do.)

Your public -- specifically, one particular person -- is anxiously awaiting your debut appearance. (All things considered, We’re pretty sure One isn’t really famous if One’s “public” consists of one person. Just sayin’.)

If you're attached, (We’ve already covered this. Move on.)

don't let them out of your sight for a second. (Kiss Us quick, We’re Helen Keller. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!)

Whether you're asking or accepting, (Acquiescing or acceding, allemanding or assraping, aggravating or airplanegluesniffing…(Sorry.))

it's time to nod your head and reach out to shake -- or tenderly grasp -- someone's hand. (Alternatively, crush their fingers into a bloody pulp and laugh maniacally. They’ll never see that coming.)

Be confident. (What is this, a Depends™ commercial? (And what’s so confidence-inspiring about Depends™ anyway? Okay, so you can p1ss yourself in public and none leaks out. Big fu(kin’ deal…you’re still gonna sit there and smell like p1ss.))

It's all good. (Not really. It’s a big squishy diaper filled with p1ss. You will probably end up with a rash. How exactly is any of this inspiring confidence?)

Make your list, pretend Santa is on duty and read it -- along with an honorary mention of everything you've done right. (Honey, We done told you…it’s Spring. The mythological creatures of the moment are Jeebus and the Easter Bunny. Santa is way back there someplace.)

Then leave out some cookies. (Yeah. Just wait till you see the Christmas presents you get once Santa munches on some cookies that you’ve left out for NINE MONTHS. That big squishy diaper filled with p1ss will be the least of your problems.)

Hey, it can't hurt. (That’s what They always say, right before the pain starts.)

You've been treated unfairly, (Sing it, Sistah! We’re mad as h3ll, and We’re not gonna take it any more. We are Norma Rae’s little sister, Norma Desmond Rae. We are ready for Our close-up, Max.)

(What just happened?)

and you've had it. (Correct Us if We’re wrong (and We thought We were wrong once, but We were mistaken), but isn’t Our major problem that We haven’t had it?)

You're ready to rock on outta there -- after a few choice words to the responsible parties. (Can We say those few choice words to the responsible parties while wearing Our irresponsible panties?)

(You’re waiting for Us to bend over again, aren’t you?)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

just wait till We get Our cowgrass on you)

Friday, March 19, 2010

I got a Basketball Jones, oh baby, oo-oo-oo

Greetings, Ectomorph Refuses Intravenous Creatinine---

Here is your horoscope for Friday, March 19, 2010 (Happy birthday to absolutely no one, as far as We know. And Happy March Madness to absolutely everyone. Hence today’s March Madness pixture, which is subtitled “My, what big feet you have, and yet such a tiny package”. March Madness, indeed. Two days without soap operas, and no Suhvivah. It’s a good thing the weather is glorious. As Our ex-non-son-in-law IceyPop was heard to ejaculate (heh) on SitOnMyFaceBook yesterday, “It’s so nice out, I have almost ZERO desire to set fire to a homeless person.”)

(“Ejaculate”, in case you have been skimming, is Our new favorite word. We think it’s high time “ejaculate” made a comeback.)

(We’re pretty sure We just tickled Ourself.)

(Meanwhile from the Eric’s Daily Horoscope Random Thought Of The Day Department, We are thinking that, if you are on a WorldWideInterWebNetzian dating site, and your user name is “FlamingPoniesOfMadness”, perhaps getting a date might not need to be your tip-top priority.)

(And from the Early-Onset Alzheimers Department, can We still say We “did” a load of laundry yesterday if We totally forgot to put any detergent in it?)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

A tendency to overestimate your own abilities is a side effect of the tremendous amount of physical energy you've been temporarily endowed with. (“Temporarily endowed” is, of course, what happens when Poster Boy for March Madness up there realizes he has an eeny-weeny teeny peenie and stuffs his gym socks down his hot pants. (We Our Own Selves Personally can’t remember that far back, but apparently they used to play this “basketball” nonsense in hot pants. Dunno ‘bout you, but such attire would certainly perk up Our interest in bracketology.))

Promising more than you're sure you can deliver is the worst of it. (We do not “deliver”. Chinamen on bicycles “deliver”. Jeebus. Don’t make Us go set fire to a homeless person.)

The best of it is your willingness to die trying. (First of all, have We met? And twoth, in what universe would that be considered a positive attribute?)

If you're at all irritated with a dear one, (Us? Irritated? However would THAT happen?)

this would be a positively terrific time for a night off. (Cool. Maybe the guys’ll come over, and We can shoot some hoops.)

(“Who SAID that?” he ejaculated.)

Believe it or not, you really aren't ten feet tall and bulletproof. (We are, however, ten feet wide and bullshitfilled.)

(We just thought We’d ejaculate that before you did. Ejaculate it, that is. (Didja hear about the guy who got to the Premature Ejaculators Anonymous meeting and found the door locked? He came too soon.))

(You knew We were gonna tell that joke sooner or later, didn’t’cha?)

However, you are extremely powerful right now, (Mmm-hmm. We had Mexican for dinner last night.)

both physically and mentally. (To say nothing of gastrointestinally. (When We say “We had Mexican”, We mean, of course, that We had Mexican FOOD, not that We had A Mexican. (“Ai-Yi-Yi-Yi, I’d rather get laid than be eaten…” (Whatever happened to the Frito™ Bandito?))))

(We just Googled the Frito™ Bandito on Wikipedia. We didn’t learn anything particularly interesting, although he was referred to as a “spokestoon”, which is a neologism (heh…he ejaculated “gism”) We had not known before.)

Although you're absolutely sure you can be all things to all clients, (Wait…We have clients? What are We, The Happy H00ker? (Speaking of WhateverHappenedTos, whatever happened to her? (We just Googled Xaviera Hollander. Apparently nothing whatsoever has happened to her. (On the other hand, who knew that We had been wasting a perfectly good brain cell remembering her name all this time?))))

you're really only human. (Actually, We are not human. But We play one on TV.)

Let the dice fall where they will. (Isn’t the expression “Let the CHIPS fall where they MAY”? (Or, in this case, “Let the FRITOS ejaculate “Bean dip!”))

(Thank you all for coming. (Heh.) Don’t forget to tip your waitress.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

"Muncha buncha, muncha buncha, muncha buncha, muncha buncha, Cowgrass goes with lunch")

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Your sweat mixed in my glitter

Greetings, Ectoplasm Reaches Invisible Chamberpot---

(Every so often, We like to just throw out a greeting that makes all y’all go “Hmmm…”. Today’s, for example, We could easily imagine as a line in some supernatural Victorian bodiceripper. Or from an old Dark Shadows episode. (And no, Micro$oft Weird™, no matter how much you b1tch, moan, and complain, We are not going to stop slapping together compound nouns of Our Own choosing. If a bodiceripper is a single entity, then it can be a single word. Much like the “bedsheet” and “nailfile” from The Ides Of March entry (which see: ). So nanny-nanny-poo-poo, Micro$oft Weird™. (We went off on this little tirade because of “bodiceripper”, but We just noticed that Micro$oft Weird™ also did not accept “chamberpot”. The h3ll?)))

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, March 18, 2010 (We would like to wish A Very Happy Birthday to Scott, who is turning twenty-four today. We would like to, that is, except We suspect he no longer follows the bouncing ballz here at Eric’s Daily Horoscope. Something about Our feng shui not aligning with his chakras. (We’re not exactly sure what that means, but We suspect it’s his polite way of pointing out that Our drapes don’t match Our carpet. (Parenthetically (hence the parentheses), it may interest some of you to note that Micro$oft Weird™ acknowledges “chakras”, but neither “feng” nor “shui”. Or it may not.)) At any rate, We shall attempt to lure Scott Back To Bloggonia today, with an Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Of The Day that reminded Us of him. (As did the site where We found it, but that’s neither here nor Cher.) We should also like to point out that, when We found said pixture, its glitter was actually animated; this is, of course, another reason why it reminded Us of him. How often We have heard someone say, “I saw Scott last night. His glitter was actually animated.” So Happy Birthday, Scott.):

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Gracious (She ejaculated, clutching her pearls.)

-- talk about riding high! (We are pretty sure that the SPCA and/or PETA would tell you that it’s only okay to ride high if you give the horse a coupla hits as well.)

You'll be absolutely on top of the world. (Oh, sure, today. Then tomorrow, it’s the world’s turn.)

(Apparently the Hilarity Du Jour is of the dry, understated variety. Try to keep up.)

Just be sure it's not tension that gets you there. (Attention? Apprehension? Bone of contention? We got nothin’.)

If you do happen to feel a bit edgy, hire a chaperone (Get on da telephone and hire you a chaperone to play you some saxophone and feed you a ice cream cone…(You are viZZZualizing Us as a rap star now, aren’t you? We are wearing a baseball cap sideways, and there are diamonds in Our teef, and We smell like Axe™. Our pants are sagging practically to Our knees, and as We turn around, Our giant @ssz eclipses the sun and ruins the entire illusion. The End.))

to ply you with hot chocolate and rub your feet. (Mmm-hmm. All We know is, if We payin’ dis person moneyz, dey bes’ be rubbin’ sumpin besides Our feets, if you know what We sayin’. And We fink you does.)

Your thoughts are directly connected to your heart now. (Well, thank CHR1ST! It’s about time We got that pesky brain out of the mix.)

Make sure there's Kleenex handy (Okay, you? Are a dirty, dirty birdie.)

before you even think about sitting down for that much-needed 'state of the relationship' meeting. (Will there be doughnuts? Because mmmmm….doughnuts.)

That feeling of rightness isn't just a fluke. (It’s a full-fledged tapeworm.)

It's the universe's way of letting you know that all is going as it should. Convey that feeling to the authorities. (Now, see, Kelli, this is why We lose Our more-evolved readers like Scott who operate on a higher plane. The Universe tells Us everything is going as it should, and you tell Us to call the cops. What the h3ll is that about, @sshat?)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

Miss Cowgrass has been authorized to issue you a Special Tarot Reading! It is vital that you call immediately! )

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

TooraLoora Bankhead

Greetings, Eringobragh Repetitions Impede Conversation---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, March 17, 2010 (Oh, my dears. Saint Patrick’s Day and Hump Day, all in the same twenty-four hours! (All y’all are just going to have to imagine this entire horoscope being spoken in a brogue, because We sure as the h3ll ain’t gonna try to type it phonetically.) In honor of such a bless-ed occasion, We give you not one, but two Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixtures Du Jour Au Jus A La Mode Tout De Suite. (That last bit? Was a whole lotta French. Which, to the best of Our knowledge, has nothin’ to do with the Irish, but, if you play your cards right, We might just let you join in Our multilingual reindeer games. A word to the wise goin’ fishin’.))

(Speaking of reindeer games, We decided to tiptoe through the tulips of Our archives to bring you a few Memories From Saint Patrick’s Days Past. And here they are now:)

******************(Imagine WayBack Machine sound effects here…)******************

(Faith and begorrah, and a Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to one and all, all and sundry, Hall and Oates, and Kukla, Fran, and Ollie. (The egregious Irish brogue in which We just said all of that inside Our very own head put Us, for some reason, in mind of Chief O’Hara from the old Batman series. No wonder crime ran rampant in Gotham City…the Chief of Police was constantly standing around the Commissioner’s office, in his UNIFORM, fercrissakes, with his thumb up his @ss, waiting for men in leotards to show up. Of course, if that were (subjunctively) a modern series with any serial aspect whatsoever, We would eventually get a story arc in which Chief O’Hara finally snapped and went on a one-man crime spree of his own. But preferably NOT in leotards.)):

(This is one of those mornings when all y’all are extra-special glad that you ain’t Us, innit? (Not, of course, as extra-special glad as you are not to be stuck with a mental image of Chief O’Hara in leotards, but still…pretty d@mn glad.))

(What’s that you say? You ARE stuck with a mental image of Chief O’Hara in leotards? Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad. Just be thankful he’s not wrestling King Tut in a Speedo™.)

(YouPeople are so easy.)

(Holy horoscope, Batman!)


(Hampy Paint Satricks Gay! And Happy Canberra Day, to all of my Australian readers! (What the h3ll is Canberra Day, I hear you ask. And to both of you I say, who gives a sh1t? I my ownself personally don’t give a good g0dd@mn about any readers I may have Down Under, unless they happen to be Down Under My Desk. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. P3rverts.) Also, welcome back to Greg, who has been out of the loop due to an email snafu. (You know, if you anagram the phrase “email snafu”, it spells…well, pretty much nothing. There was an emu joke in there somewhere, but buggered if I can find it. (AND Micro$oft Word™ is now trying to tell me that “emu” isn’t a word. Mmm-hmm. I’ll bet it thinks “emo” isn’t either. @sshats.)))


(Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to one and all, especially my Irish friends. Especially especially my WEE Irish friends. Which, if you believe popular myth, would be all of ‘em (well, the men, anyway). On the other hand, I my ownself personally have had said popular myth debunked in my very presence on numerous occasions, so now, ever a fan of a good debunking, I’m here to debunk it for you. So consider it debunked, and go fu(k yourself an Irish guy. H3ll, it’s Saint Patrick’s Day; go fu(k a couple of ‘em.)

**************(Imagine reverse WayBack Machine sound effects here.)****************

(Begorrah, wasn’t that fun, boyzzz and gurrrlllzzz? Notice how, in the ancient Dead Sea scrolls of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, The Royal We was not employed, even though The Royal We were employed. (That there was a little grammatical humor, to brighten up the Saint Patrick’s Hump Day morning for Our grammatophile readers. Because We? Are a cunning linguist.))

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

Ordinary activities will be a bit trickier than usual, (Well, DUH. It’s 11 o’clcok in the morning, and everybody’s drunk already. (Well, not Us. We have school this evening. Why the h3ll We waited to be unemployed to take night classes is beyond Us, but there it is.))

leaving you with only one choice: (Hmmm…if it’s Tasters’ Choice™, but choosy mothers choose Jif™, what must Tasters’ Choice™ taste like? (You just WISH you could spend a weekend in Our mind, don’t you?))

improvise. (Improv SUCKS. (Sorry…that was a little WaitStaff chant there. (You are all watching this space for upcoming info on purchasing your tickets to The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows in May, aren’t you?)))

Stop obsessing about what seems to be a lack of options. (And start obsessing about what seems to be a lapse of auctions. Or, more importantly, what seems to be a lhasa apso. Because, really, if it only seems to be a lhasa apso, what is it REALLY? (There is a special rate if you vacation in Our mind from Saturday to Saturday. But don’t look in the basement.))

Focus on the most bizarre, outrageous solution possible (Ah, clearly We’ve met before.)

-- it could very well end up being the right one. (Don’t you mean The Right Stuff? (Or, possibly, The Right Stuffing?))

(Oh, well, whatevs. Faith and Begorrah, Erin Go Bragh, Deutschland Uber Alles.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…and we hailped. )

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Fat as I am, who wants to see a diva fat as I am?

Greetings, Efficacious Refurbishment Instigates Communization---

Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, March 16, 2010 (Happy belated birthday to Our Cousin Brian, who turned twenty-four yesterday. No doubt a casualty of the loss of Our work calendar. If you find yourself a casualty of the loss of Our work calendar, please don’t suffer in silence; We really do want to wish you a happy twenty-fourth birthday. So lettuce know, ya know) :

(Other than that, We got nothing. We are off to Drexel to shoot a scene from The Producers for the advanced directing class. Kiss Us quick, We’re Zero Mostel. Or We’re the size of Zero Mostel. Or something. (We may have neglected to tell you the story from last week…when We went to class to perform Our scene (the original assignment having been to direct a scene to be performed live in front of the class), the teacher began the proceedings by asking how many people were unprepared to complete the assignment. Fully HALF of the class, that’s how many. “My actors from Craig’s List didn’t show up,” sez one. Craig’s List, people. We know that’s where We go whenever We want a new bicycle, and a bl0wj0b, and some actors. So these chirren now have to put their scenes on fillum to send to the teacher, who is in LA, no doubt being an extra on the set of How I Met Your Mother, speaking of which, they had the rerun of the one where Neil Patrick Harris was really fat on last night, and We accidentally caught it, and (A.) he was not as fat as We are and (2.) We’d still fu(k him.))

(We tried so hard not to digress there, and yet somehow We think We did anyway.)

(Our Our-O-Scope.)

If at all possible, reschedule your interviews or presentations. (Yeah. Like any of that is up to Us.)

It's not that you won't be on top of your game, (But it is highly unlikely that We will be on top of Neil Patrick Harris.)

but you won't be able to communicate the scope of those brilliant ideas as easily as you might at another time. (Somehow, We think We have wrung all the brilliance out of “I am wearing a cardboard belt!” that there is to be found, and changing the time really isn’t going to affect anything. Just a hunch.)

Hey, you're good enough to wait for. (All things considered, We’d rather be good enough to wait on. By a tasteful real waiter in a crisp white shirt and black pants two sizes too small. Who walks softly, carries a big stick, and says “fresh ground pepper?” in unctuous tones at appropriate intervals. It wouldn’t hurt if he could both define and spell “unctuous” in anti-unctuous tones in subsequent private circumstances. (Hey, a person can dream, can’t he?))

Explain that. (The word “that” is used in the English language for several grammatical purposes: to introduce a restrictive clause, as a demonstrative pronoun, and as a complementizer. (Oh, is THAT not what you meant? Or shall We try THAT again, with some extra unctuousity?))

(If today is your first exposure to Eric’s Daily Horoscope, please promise Us that you’ll read another installment (yesterday’s will be fine), wherein We are actually funny. We promise that We usually are. Just not today, for some reason. (This really doesn’t bode well for this Zero Mostel business later. Hmmm…))

Whether they're nice about it or not won't matter. (Shouldn’t that read “nice about it or naughty”?)

You're in a bad mood, plain and simple. (Nonsense. The sun is finally shining, We’re spending the afternoon with college boys, We’re getting a paycheck this evening…We assure you, there is absolutely nothing “plain and simple” about Our bad mood.)

A long bath and some scented candles couldn't hurt – (That would seem to be entirely dependent upon what One tries to do with the scented candles. (Well, okay, not entirely. The SIZE of the scented candles could be a factor as well.))

but initiating a long overdue conversation would be better. (Do you want the patchouli candle, or the sandalwood? And yes, it’s burning at both ends.)

This definitely wouldn't be the best day to make that major pitch to the boss. (If, however, ya wanna make that major bitch to your posse, g’head…that’s what they’re there for.)

Come up with a creative excuse, rework the idea, then give 'em hell. (Hairy.)

(We give up. The funny, she eludes Us. But We’re pretty sure We were funny yesterday. Go read yesterday’s horoscope again. KThxBye.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

cowgrass…they plump when you cook ‘em.)