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:)


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(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!)

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(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.)))



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(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.)


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(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:


http://www.humorscope.com


cowgrass…and we hailped. )