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:


http://www.humorscope.com


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