They got one thing in common: fire down below.

Greetings, Effusive Refusal Infuriates Confucius---


(Also, Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously.)


Here is your horoscope for Friday, June 11, 2010 (Happy birthday to Bill, who turns twenty-four today somewhere in the Poconos. (“Poconos”, it occurs to Us, is one of those words that appears perfectly normal to those of Us from this particular geographic region, and yet, to the rest of all y’all, probably appears as ridiculous as people saying they are “going to the Piggly-Wiggly”. (Or, for that matter, the Wawa. (If We do in fact eventually turn into Andy Rooney, can We please still remember to trim Our eyebrows?)))):


(We accidentally typed “to trim” as “tot rim”. Micro$oft Weird™ objected with a blue “word choice” squiggle. Because apparently they don’t have a specifically colored squiggle for child p0rnography.)


(You decent folk in Our readership (both of you) may take a while to get that one. In fact, you may not ever get it. So how ‘bout you just congratulate yourselves on your moral rectumtude, and let’s move on.)


(As you can see (and probably smell), We still have a paucity of material. A dearth, if you will. (Or even if you won’t…who gives a fu(k?) We are, however, trying desperately to make up for yesterday’s abbreviated Eric’s Daily Horoscope, which was more like Eric’s Daily Haiku.)


(Haikus are simple,


But sometimes they don’t make sense.


Refrigerator.)


(In other news, We went out last night. Dinner, and the theater, and cocktails afterwards, jes’ like da white folk. We saw the one-man show I Am My Own Wife at the Adrienne. We would recommend that you go see it, but you don’t even come to see Our shows, so why would We bother? It stars the guy who directed Us in Creussical: The Musical, which a very few of you long-time Eric’s Daily Horoscope readers will recall being discussed in these pages Back In The Day (Doris Day, to be precise). This was, of course, when Eric’s Daily Horoscope was written on parchment paper and delivered by carrier pigeon. (One or two of you may have been getting it delivered by smoke signals, as this was also before We quit smoking. (See, We can wave Our rectumtude around, too.)) We actually have a few of those horoscopes preserved (as cave paintings), but We are saving ‘em up for Our memoirs. (You will have assumed, and quite correctly, We might add, that We are saving ‘em up for Our memoirs in Our armoire. Which is nowhere near the credenza, and, thus, not in the time machine.))


(The preceding paragraph was mostly funny only to those who have been diligently reading every word of these pages since The Dawn Of Time. Since, at last count, both such people have been institutionalized, it really wasn’t funny to anybody except Us Our Own Selves. Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Patience pays off today, (Unfortunately, as an ARIES, We ain’t got any patience. Also, We are so poor, We cannot even pay attention.)


though it may feel like it's costing you everything to deploy it. (On the plus side, We probably have a coupon.)


If you sit still and just listen while friends or coworkers rant, (In order to have coworkers, One would need to have a JAWB. (Shudder.))


you can learn enough to get moving quickly. (Throw a cup of Metamucil™ in some sauerkraut and you will achieve the same result.)


(That was a little p00p joke. Because p00p is funny to everybody, and We are magnanimous.)


Things start to move quickly today (P00P!!!)


— but you can keep up, as always. (We were about to tell a joke using the p00p metaphor “dropping the kids off at the pool”. But then We got caught up in the fact that that’s really not an apt metaphor. Because you really don’t ever go back and pick the kids UP from the pool. (Do you? (Please don’t answer that.)))


You’re quite fiery, especially when it’s time to speak your mind (Especially when We’re on fire. Or when We’ve been fired.)


— or ask for answers you know you deserve. (Ask Ethel Merman’s mulatto chimpanzee…what’s the best eunuch? Tricky Dick Cheney.)


(You DID just sing that last bit, didn’t you? It’s to the tune of the old Chicken-of-the-Sea™ tuna jingle. Proper scansion requires mispronouncing “Cheney” as “chay-KNEE” instead of “CHAY-knee”, but We don’t think he’ll mind. Although We wouldn’t go hunting with him any time soon. (Meanwhile, if you have any idea what We’re talking about (the tuna jingle part, not the Dick Cheney part) you are really, really old.))


You’ve never been shy about asking those questions, either, even if they’re not polite. (Did you pick your kids up from the pool?)


Now that you’ve got a hot topic on your mind (Hot Topic is not punk rock.)




and you know there’s no other way to solve it than to ask around, (Before We try that, can We try solving it by SLEEPING around?)


you’re more than willing to risk tarnishing your reputation (Oh, please.)


a little to get the answers you’re after. (We don’t even know what the question is.)


Temper your straightforward approach with a lighter, funnier manner. (You know what? If you use that sentence three times in a sentence, it’ll be yours. Because We sure as h3ll don’t want it.)


That doesn’t mean that you have to play dumb or act like a ditz, but why push it when you’re still just getting to know someone? (Because if you push the kids out of the car, they go in the pool faster. (In Our case, of course, it’s a minivan. Although there’s precious little “mini” about it. Driving Our kids around in a tractor-trailer, We are. It’s a miracle We can get ‘em NEAR the pool.))


(This space left intentionally blank for all y’all to do your own Shelley Winters joke.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




only good-tasting cowgrass get to be Scarface)