If you take a walk (walk), I’ll tax your feet

Greetings, Expressive Repression Impresses Contessa---


Here is your horoscope for Monday, July 12, 2010 (Happy birthday to Kathleen, who turns twenty-four today. And happy birthday (again) to MaryPat, who turned twenty-four over the weekend. Speaking of weekends (not, mind you, squeaking of pique ends (who the h3ll said that?)), We trust all y’all had a lovely one. We Our Own Selves Personally spent Ours…We were going to say “hobnobbing”, but then We realized how very vulgar that sounds. Then We Googled its etymology on Wikipedia and discovered that it’s really not vulgar at all. And now, We’re so disappointed that We’re STILL not gonna say it.) :


(What the fu(k were We talking about? Oh, yes…Our weekend. We saw Ticked-Off Trannies With Knives. Twice. (“Twice” is how many times We saw it, not some bizarre indication of a sequel. (And, while there may well BE a sequel, We suspect they will not call it Ticked-Off Trannies With Knives Twice. Because that? Would just be stupid.)) Needless to say (and yet here We go, saying it anyway), the lovely and talented Willam Belli remains both (A.) lovely and (2.) talented. And you may add director Israel Luna to the list of men We would cheerfully allow to tell Us what to do. If you know what We mean. And We think you do.)


(At any rate, We are tickled pink (and pickled, Tink (STOP that!)) to report that Willam’s fillum has inked a deal for theatrical release and a DVD. So very soon all y’all will be able to enjoy it.)


(Of course, lest you think Our weekend was entirely pleasant, lettuce tell you about Our trials and tribulations with the gummint. Long-time readers may recall that, when We bought OurHouseWhereWeLive, We decided that We should have that year’s taxes done by highly-trained professionals instead of by Our Very Own Self and Our abacus. So off We trundled to an industry leader in tax-doing highly-trained professionalism which We shall herein refer to, for legal reasons, as “R and H Cock”. Now, We should have been suspicious when We discovered that the “highly-trained professional” to whom We were assigned was actually Moms Mabley (We will pause here while you youngsters go Google her on Wikipedia). We should have been even MORE suspicious when We had to explain to Moms how to use the computer on which she was doing said taxes (no, SERIOUSLY…as in “Now that you’ve finished entering that figure, you’re gonna wanna use the “Tab” key to take you to the next box…”). So it should have come as no surprise to Us on Friday to receive a letter from the IRS citing irregularities in Our tax return, and politely requesting several thousand dollars. Because, you know, We didn’t have quite enough to worry about in Our life just now. GAH!)


(In still other news, here’s a little video We made. Please share it with your friends. (No, really. We’re not sure why We need to tell you that, but PLEASE. Share. It. With. Your. Friends.)





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(Our Our-O-Scope)


Pretend you're network TV and you've just decided to institute a five-second delay before allowing anything live to air. (How ‘bout We pretend We’re CABLE TV, and We can say whatever the fu(k We want.)


It won't be comfortable, and you won't enjoy it. (That, as they say, is what she said.)


But for the sake of propriety (Not to mention the opaque of sobriety (will you PLEASE stop that?))


and the loyalty of your more discreet fans, (Wait…We have fans?!? They must be VERY discreet.)


it might be best. (What is this “it” of which you speak? We seem to have lost the trhead.)


It may have been an innocent comment, (Or possibly an innocuous commode. One can never tell.)


but for some reason you just can't stop thinking about it. (Again with these apparently antecedent-less “it”s. Don’t MAKE Us sic the IRS on you.)


Better give it a shot, though (SHOTS!!!)


-- if you don't want this to end. (Oh, great. She’s switched from “it” to “this”. We STILL don’t know what the fu(k she’s talking about. @sshat.)


Superman has nothing on you -- not right now. (Leotard-wearin’ freak.)


Still, your x-ray vision and ability to leap tall buildings may need to be tested before you take the show on the road. (We’d settle for just the flying part. (Although you know d@mn well that, if We were (subjunctively) Superman, We’d wind up in kryptonite longjohns.))


(Micro$oft Weird™ seems to think “longjohns” is not a word. Apparently, Micro$oft Weird™ has forgotten last winter. And lumberjack fetishes.)


The hesitation you're feeling just might work for you -- this time. (Uhhhh…We doubt it. (Heh. See what We did there? (Our suBtleties…let Us show them to you.)))


Be quiet, (Are We hunting wabbits?)


and wait for your opponent to speak. (Only if they promise to follow that up with rolling over and playing dead.)


Bet they'll make a mess of it. (Bet We hit them on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes):






http://www.humorscope.com




so make it cowgrass, or make it yourself)