I yam what I yam

Greetings, Echo Reverberates Infinite Crickets---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, August 11, 2010 (So wait…yesterday We had a Frawnch wine infusion recipe, a Remembrance Of Things Past reference to the MyBus, and a revised version of Funny Girl, and still We heard only crickets chirping?  It’s a good thing We’re very busy entertaining Ourself by pretending We have absolutely no idea where all the neighborhood children could be disappearing to, or We might take umbrage.  In fact, We might still take umbrage.  So, if there’s umbrage missing, you’ll know where it went.):

(Clearly, We may have to start resorting to nonsensical self-affirmation bullsh1t such as that depixted in today’s Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Pommes Frites Nom De Plume Sacre Bleu Mon Dieu Pepe LePew.)

(Whatever you do, don’t go look at this video, or tell your friends about it:

 (Our Our-O-Scope:)

Like it or not (Anybody else ever notice how, whenever somebody starts a sentence with “Like it or not”, you’re pretty much NEVER going to get the “like it” option?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

-- and you probably won't (There’s precious little “probably” about it, as near as We can tell.)

-- you'll need to rearrange your schedule today (Wait…We have a  schedule?)

to accommodate the whims of higher-ups, (Get a whiff of those whims!  No wonder they’re high!)

who, for some reason, (Known only to the oldest dancing odalisque in rural Dumbfuckistan…)

(What?  If We’re gonna have a story, We want there to be texture.  God is in the details.  (Actually, God is in the tub. And She has taken the phone off the hook.  She’s going to be very surprised when the gas man just lets himself in with the key he finds under the mat. (The Book Of God And The Gas Man would actually be in the Old Testament, if it weren’t one of the Dead Sea Scrolls they just haven’t found yet.)))

won't see the urgency you do (Are you seriously trying to tell Us this is still the first sentence of this gaseous eructation you’re trying to pass off as Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulism)?)

in keeping to a set routine. (The band does a forty minute set.  Then they all go in the back alley and shoot up heroin.  Because they’re a jazz band, natch.  (Lady Clairol™: mix a double batch, and get a snatch to match.))

Deal with it. (What are “Sayings That We’re Sick Of”, Alex? (Actually, the saying that We’re sickest of is, “It is what it is”. Is it?  No, really, IS IT?  @sshat.))

There's something to be said for flexibility.  (Especially when coupled (heh) with adequate lubrication.)

If they don't understand what you're up against and how hard you're trying to please two masters 

(Wasn’t there some cr@p about “two masters” in here just the other day?  (Why, yes; here it is:

Is it truly impossible to serve two masters? (Probably not, but all that leather cr@p just makes Us giggle.  How does the S&M crowd manage to take any of that stuff seriously?)

So now We are having acid flashbacks to two days ago.))

 -- with very little sleep (Take Sominex™ tonight and sleep…safe and restful sleep…sleep…sleep…(If you can sing that jingle, you are really, really old. (On the other hand, if you can jing that single, call Us.)))

-- they're not worth it.  (Sexual Preference, by L’Oreal.  Because you’re worth it.  And so is Meredith Baxter Birney. (The labyrinth of pop culture in the preceding bit is virtually unnavigable by any but the most well-versed aficionado.  (The labia of cop vultures are, of course, a completely different story.)))

(If Micro$oft Weird™ recognizes “navigable” as a word, why is it objecting to “unnavigable”?)

(Your Euro-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com

cowgrass…only her pubic hairdresser knows for sure)