Message in a (Geritol™) bottle…

Greetings, Effortless Regurgitation Inconveniences Contortionist---



Here is your horoscope for Monday, May 03, 2010 (Aaaaannnnddd We’re back. Didja miss Us? Yeah, We can tell, from the voluminous outpouring of expressions of dismay and concern at Our absence. Absence, of course, makes you shart Jane Fonda. (We do not have the intestinal fortitude to sit here and define “shart” for all y’all, so just pretend you understand.) We were off celebrating the anniversary of Our nativity with fambly. But We are back to Eric’s Daily Horoscope, just in time to wish a happy belated birthday to Chris, who turned twenty-four yesterday. (We are not sure exactly how one is “in time” to wish a happy BELATED birthday, but We’re pretty sure there’s a time machine involved.)):


(Before We begin, a little musical interlude, courtesy of a brother across the pond, in honor of the pope’s visit to the UK. This is totally not safe for work (well, not TOTALLY…no one’s n@ked in it. Or, if they are, they’re a cartoon), and you will have to listen very carefully to hear all of the lyrics (which are very clever, beyond the vulgarity). But it’s a perky, toe-tapping little ditty, perfect for a dreary Monday morning):




(As far as this particular installment of Eric’s Daily Horoscope goes, this may be a long one (that being, of course, what she said). We are awaiting delivery of a printer from Staples. Who have free delivery. What they don’t tell you is, their delivery is by UPS, whose idea of a “delivery window” is “between 9AM and 7PM”. If We are still sitting here at 7PM, We’d better be answering Our door to a tight brown uniform containing one Johnny Depp, with a cocktail in one hand and a bl0wj0b in the other. Seriously.)



(We could relate another anecdote involving a hunky repairman (a locksmith) with whom We were forced to consort on Thursday evening when We were supposed to be packing for Our departure, but since We realize in hindsight that at no point was his key in Our keyhole, We shan’t (which is totally (totes mcgotes) different than “shart”) take up your precious time.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Feel that sting on your skin? (Not Sting, Johnny Depp! Jeebus, don’t you ever listen?)


It's not a sunburn, and it's not a flush either. (Oh, great. Flesh-eating bacteria again? Sigh…just when Our leprosy had cleared up.)


It's the spotlight. (Curses! Foiled by a simple declarative sentence! Our funnyz, they fail Us.)


Whatever you say, do, dream or imagine will cause quite the public commotion. (It puts the commotion on its skin, so come on come on and do the locomotion with me.)


(We’ll take “Pop Culture In The Blender” for $500, Alex.)


Fortunately, (People always say that. But We have yet to see a fortune.)


you'll just so happen to have the right speech prepared for the occasion. (Four score and seven deadly sins, ask not why your country has tea for two, we have nothing to fear but ferret’s elf…wow. Some of those old famous speeches were really stupid, no? People would apparently listen to any old thing before they had WorldWideInterWebnetz.)


Ahem! (Ahoy! Alas! Alack! Abortion clinic!)


(Micro$oft Weird™ would like you all to know that “Abortion clinic!” is a sentence fragment. You’re welcome.)


(In random other news, We spoke to Our friend John G on the phone last night. We bring this up only because We subsequently had a dream in which he and We were hosting the Oscars™. Bizarre, no?)


You're not imagining it. (Don’t you tell Us what We’re imagining!)


Everyone is, indeed, smiling at you. (Well, of course they are. They are also backing away slowly, while speaking in a calm, soothing voice. None of it’s gonna help ‘em, but whatevs.)


Don't question it, but do be merciful. (Kiss Us quick, Our name is Ming. (Did anyone actually get that? Who ARE YouPeople?))


Smile back. (Smoke cr@ck, shoe black, bring sexy back, knick-knack-paddy-whack give a dog a boner.)


You don't have to give them your number. (Well, of course not. What’s a dog gonna do with Our number? On the other hand, a dog will know EXACTLY what to do with a boner. Dogs are funny that way. Not, of course, so much, “Funny: arf-arf” as “Funny: bet you wish you could lick YOUR own ballz.”)


Have your competitors (Wait…people are competing with Us? To win what, exactly?)


met at the door by someone (Where do We find these “someones” who will do Our bidding?)


to gently inform them that this just isn't the best day to compete with you. (This is apparently not the best day for much of anything, except sitting around waiting for the UPS guy to show up. And you just know that, with Our luck, when he finally does show up, he’s gonna be a l3sbian.)


Handing out flowers might soften the blow even further. (And throwing out handj0bs might harden them up for the bl0wj0b. What’s your point?)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




raise your hands, raise your hands if you’re cowgrass)