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???...so 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:


http://www.humorscope.com


Pardon me…do you have any Grey Cowgrass?)