Eating their nuts, saving their raisins for Sunday

Greetings, Etch-a-sketch™ Reproduces Italianate Ceiling---

Here is your horoscope for Monday, August 02, 2010 (Happy Monday, Our little worker bees!  Happy August Twoth, Our little drones!  Happy, happy, happy!  Someone told Us recently that you’re still out there reading this; ever since Google took away Our ads (and, with them, Our hit counter), We are having difficulty believing it.):

(And just how did it get to be August Twoth already anyway?  Why, just yesterday, it was only August Oneth.)

(We trust you all had a jam-packed, fun-filled weekend.  (Although somehow it seems, does it not, that the quantity of fun-fill-ed-ness might be inversely proportional to the quantity of jam you’ve got packed in there, no?  Math is HARD.)  We know We did. (We know because We were here, all alone, watching Ourselves have it.  And trust Us, We?  Have had it. )

(We watched Ourselves some fillums this weekend. Because We are all caught up on Our cable television serieses. (Dexter doesn’t arrive for two weeks.)  We watched Us some Johnny Depp in Public Enemies. That’s the one where he plays Depression-Era gangster, John Dillinger.  Who had, parenthetically (despite the absence (until now) of parentheses), a twelve-inch p3nis.  We wondered to Ourself, as We commenced to watching this fillum, how a movie including Johnny Depp and a twelve-inch p3nis could have sunk like the proverbial stone and achieved not a ripple of press (sunk…stone…ripple…it’s a werd pixture; go with Us here, people).  And here’s how:  the movie is a boring piece of cr@p.  It was apparently art-directed by your junior high school’s A-V club’s vice president’s retarded color-blind younger brother, who demonstrates a marked fondness for the color “Urine”.  The Lady In Red is ugly, and wears orange.  The lighting is so consistently murky that one can never tell one man-in-a-hat from another. The one time Mister Depp is about to strip down for a love scene, the FBI barges in and arrests him.  And let’s not even discuss the appalling generic Suthuhn axxent affected by Christian Bale as South Carolinian Melvin Purvis.  Egad.)

(The next evening, We made an effort to raise Our cinematic sights a little higher (than Johnny Depp’s twelve-inch p3nis).   Popped Us up some popcorn and watched Precious, We did.  All We want to know is, is there really some universe in which this movie is NOT a comedy?  And can absolutely any woman win an Oscar™ if she appears onscreen wearing no makeup and looking hideous?  (Because, if so, clearly Nancy Culp wuz ROBBED.  (Nancy Culp, for those not In-The-Know, was Miss Jane Hathaway on The Beverly Hillbillies.)))

(In between, We worked on some sketches for The WaitStaff’s Fringe show, The Real Housewives Of South Philly. Because, if the movies are gonna suck THIS bad, the world’s gonna need more sketch comedy.)

 (Our Our-O-Scope:)

The best creative inspiration is something that's commonly become known as 'the deadline.'  (See, now, We Our Own Selves Personally were feeling mighty inspired by “Johnny Depp’s twelve-inch p3nis”.  We’re just sayin’.)

This necessary intimidation (ExSQUEEZE me?)

is sponsored by the powers that be, prompted by their insatiable urge to get things done on time. (Well, ya know what They say:  fu(k ‘em if they can’t bake a cake. (Why do They say such stupid things?  And why does anybody listen?))

Like it or not, you've got one -- and resistance is futile. (Yeah, yeah.  At this point, wouldn’t it be simpler to make a list of the things that AREN’T futile?)

Cancel your appointments and tell your friends not to worry. (Mmm-hmm. They’re just worrying away out there.  Fret, fret, fret, that’s all y’all.)

No one will see you for a while (Well, of course not.  That’s because Our ginormous @ssz is eclipsing the sun.)

-- no one except that one particular person you've been craving, that is. (And his twelve-inch p3nis.)

 Vehicles, copiers and change machines might break when you approach them -- but don't take it personally. (Yeah.  Why would We ever take a little thing like that personally?)

 Now, think of how this energy will affect other humans. (Don’t be silly…where would We ever see another human?)

Sequester yourself. (For some reason, that stupid two-word sentence is making Us think of the McDonna song, “Express Yourself”.  Nothing EVER makes Us think of McDonna songs.  Maybe all y’all SHOULD be worrying.)

You can have absolutely everything you want from the higher-ups. (They’re only up there so they can p00p on Our head.)

They'll be happy to support and advise you, and tip you on how to get where you want to go.  (Obviously, Kelli be smokin’ da crackpipe again. Her and Precious’s mom, Mo’Nique.  Of course, As long as there were mirrors in that house, you’d smoke crack too.)

(Johnny. Depp’s. Twelve. Inch. P3nis.)

(There; that’s better.)

(Your Euro-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com

cowgrass…melts in your mouth, not in your hands.  (See, YOU’RE thinking “M&Ms”.  We, on the other hand, are thinking “Johnny Depp’s twelve-inch p3nis”.))