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Sunday, February 28, 2010

I can ride my bike with no handlebars

Greetings, Elite Rho, Italic Chi---

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, February 28, 2010 (And thus endeth February; so it is written, so it shall be dumb. Also, thus spake Zarathustra, but who the h3ll listened, because what kind of a stupid name is Zarathustra?):

(In keeping with Our new tradition of Sunday publication (We are aware that “new tradition” is possibly somewhat of an oxymoron, although everything has to start somewhere. So We trust that you will allow Us to indulge Our passion for neologism (heh…he said “jizm”) and call it an olly-olly-oxen-free-moron, as long as We are careful to distinguish it from freemasons and free radicals. (If you meet someone who can parentheticalize as well as We can, you just bring ‘em right on over. We’ll leave ‘em weak, and begging for less.)), We continue with Our “Sunday Pixtures In A Religious Vein” series. While We find the text moderately clever, We believe that it in no way justifies the degree of smug emanating from what appears to be its author. We are willing to cut him some slack for the 2003-ish facial fungus, as the pixture may well have been taken in 2003. However, there is no excuse for the appalling lack of orthodontia.)

(A Red Sox cap, however, is always cute. (Fourteen Eric’s Daily Horoscope str8 boi readers just fainted dead away upon realizing that We know who the Boston Red Sox are. It is fortunate that they are unconscious, because We fear what would happen to them upon learning that We Our Own Selves Personally actually own a Boston Red Sox cap.))

(And now, from a different corner of the WorldWideInterWebNetz, where people apparently have entirely too much time on their hands (We know…riiiight?), here’s this, which is totally work safe, but, if you’re at work on Sunday, you are a godless heathen, and you are due for a good smiting:)

(Apparently, this video has no intention of ever being uploaded, as We have already waited an hour. It works just fine on Our computer, so We blame Google. Fortunately, We didn't tell you anything about it, so you don't know what you're missing.)

(On a lighter note (la!), here’s this, also work safe. Point your mouse at the blackness and click: )

(You’ll do anything We tell you to, won’t you?)


You'll instinctively understand what it takes to get along with others, no matter what the circumstances. (What is “an Uzi”, Alex?)

Fortunately, they'll be more than willing to extend you the same courtesy. (So, wait…today Our phone calls will be returned? We suspect We should not hold Our breath…(breaths? (The Royal We is complexicated.))

Needless to say, (Wanna bet she says it anyway?)

entertaining at your place will go extremely well. (Especially since We are all alone. And easily entertained. Perhaps We shall throw Ourselves a surprise party…We’ll get Ourselves out of the house on some pretext, then, when We come back, We’ll jump out from behind the furniture and yell “Surprise!”)

(We’d better wrap this up quickly…We’re gonna need to go buy party hats. (Sssshhhh….don’t tell Us. It’s a surprise!))

(How sad is it that, once We are finally senile (by next Tuesday, at the rate We’re going), that surprise party will actually be possible?)

Expect a pleasant, easy day -- and a chatty, exciting evening. (Too many adjectives…We don’t have a thing to wear!)

Ready to pose the question? (Yes: How much wood would a woodchuck suck if a woodchuck could suck wood? And, more to the point, what is the woodchuck’s hourly rate?)

Okay -- but they might not be ready to deliver the answer. (Hey, as long as Our Chinese food’s still hot when they bling it on they bicycre. Egg foo yung, moo goo gai pan, cream of sum yung gai.)

Much as you'll hate it, wait. (Can We hate while We wait? We’ll kill two birds with one stone that way. Unless, of course, We find bigger stones. Then there’s no telling what We might kill.)

You can restore peace between warring factions, squabbling coworkers and family members with old grudges, as long as you're willing to get involved. (But We are pretty sure We threw out all of Our old grudges when We moved. So presumably We’re going to have to get some new grudges. Sigh. Home Depot, or Loews? We can never find anything in those stupid stores.)

It's time to ask for help. (What the fu(k aisle do you people hide the d@mn grudges in?)

You're not fond of that kind of thing, (Well, you know what They say: Abscess makes the heart grow fondue.)

but you'd better get used to it. Quickly. (Was that a threat? ‘Cause We’ve got an Uzi, and big stones, and We’re not afraid to use ‘em.)


say it with cowgrass)

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Here comes Peter Cottontail…

Greetings, Earthquake Redistributes Itinerant Chileans---

(HowZAT for topical? Never let it be said that Eric’s Daily Horoscope doesn’t have its finger on the pulse. And you know what They say: Chile today, and hot tamale. (Hey, We didn’t say it, They did. Now stop trying to close your zipper; We’re trying to finger your pulse.))

(Meanwhile, here in the real world, We woke up this morning and it was still snowing. So let’S think about that before We all start whining about some d@mn earthquake, okay?)

(Okay. Now, in the interests of cheering all y’all up, and taking your minds off of the horrible weather We’re enduring, here’s a little video in anticipation of Easter. It is completely secular, and also completely safe for work (although if you are at work today, you are a Big Ol’ Loser, because Number One, it’s Saturday, and Number B, don’t you know We are having Major Snow Flurries?))

Here is your horoscope for Saturday, February 27, 2010 (Happy Day After Walter’s Birthday! (Give Us another shout if you came back today, Walter.)) Other than that, We got nothin’. We did shovel Our snow yesterday, after removing Our bunny slippers. Not that the bunny slippers weren’t warm, but We felt Our neighbors were unprepared for such an apparition and might have become alarmed. And really, between Our Seasonal Affective Disorder and The Weather, We’ve got enough to deal with without a bunch of alarmed SoufPhillyites on Our hands.):

(We are well aware that a number of you spent yesterday picturing Us wearing nothing but bunny slippers. And, as soon as We get our dogsled team hitched up, We’ll be right over to get you.)

(Is it wrong that We now want chili for dinner? But first, scrambled eggs for breakfast? (Oh, you know you love Us.))


Don't worry about your antennae, because there's no way they'll lead you astray. (Rabbit ears, bunny slippers…there’s a joke in there somewhere, but We’re too busy multiplying to see it.)

The advice of others may not be quite so reliable, but you'll easily wade through what's legit and what's not -- as long as you pay attention to the signs along the way. (We have never quite understood why They feel compelled to put up signs to tell Us that it’s “Slippery When Wet”. Isn’t everything?)

Just when you thought you'd actually get some rest, a certain someone will offer up an interesting, irresistible invitation. (Is it iridescent, or invisible? Is it delivered by an ibis? Well, is it? (We are practicing up for the writing of Our children’s book, as We mentioned yesterday. Anastasia and the Princely Poop. Oh, the places you’ll go!))

Oh, go ahead. (Oh, shut up.)

You can sleep when you're dead. (Now, see. That there is exactly the kind of encouragement One is looking for from One’s Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist). Except for, ya know, not. Jeebus.)

Finalizing the deal won't be a problem. (Anthropomorphizing the aardvark, on the other hand, might be a sticky wicket.)

(Hey, nobody told Us We were expected to make sense. Meanwhile, in the interests of Our continued efforts to improve all y’all’s edumacation, We just went off to Google what the fu(k is a wicket (We left out the “what the fu(k” part) and why should One care if One’s wicket is sticky. Turns out, a wicket is used in cricket. We thought it was a croquet term. (We suppose We could split the difference, and have it be involved with croquettes. Once We finish writing Anastasia and the Princely Poop, We shall write a Victorian pornographic novella entitled The Coquette’s Croquettes. Trust Us, there won’t be a dry seat in the house.) But back to the sticky cricket wicket…as luck would have it, the entire explanation is completely devoid of any interest whatsoever. The End.)

Your confidence and je ne sais quoi will be unstoppable. (As We have pointed out repeatedly in these pages, We do not speak a word of French. We don’t even particularly care for their mustard. In fact, when the French starts flying (as opposed to frying), We generally rely on Our Sistah Ovella to be Our cunning linguist. (Which, come to think of it, is probably how the whole coquette’s croquettes incident came about in the first place). However, “je ne sais quoi” is a phrase We happen to know, and whenever people are bandying it about willy-nilly, We like to point out that they have probably forgotten that its literal meaning is “I don’t know what”. Now, We don’t know about you, but We are not entirely sure that an “unstoppable I-don’t-know-what” is necessarily a good thing. Just sayin’.)

(Is it just Us, or is it totally fu(ked up that Micro$oft Weird™ recognizes each and every piece of “je ne sais quoi”, but doesn’t seem to have heard of “oui”?)

Prying your competition's admiring eyes away could be a bit more challenging, though. (Long-time Eric’s Daily Horoscope readers will be expecting it, newbies may be in for a shock, but We are totally picturing literal eye-prying, involving, perhaps, a crowbar.)

That pat on the back you've been waiting for? (Hi, Pat! Nice to meetcha! Is that a sticky wicket in your pocket, or are you just happy to see Us?)

You won't have to wait much longer. (All together now: “How long is it?”)

The next sound you sound you hear will be a very hearty 'congratulations!' (And, given Our current size, that had best be followed by “You’ve just given birth to quintuplets”, or We’re gonna be really p1ssed.)


You'll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with cowgrass.)

Friday, February 26, 2010

I had to kiss a lot of frogs to find my grass was green enough ...

Greetings, Elevated Railway Inevitably Collapses---

Here is your horoscope for Friday, February 26, 2010 (Happy birthday to Walt, who turns twenty-four today. Presumably, if he’s anything like the rest of Us, in a snow drift somewhere. Meanwhile, not a particle of snow stuck to anything here till late last night, so the TrashPussies (you will recall yesterday’s emo-punk rock band the TrashPussies, yes? Continuity is everything around here. Except when it…oh, look; a balloon!) could easily have collected Our trash. (Newbies are, at this juncture, wondering why the h3ll an emo-punk rock band would go about collecting people’s trash. And to this We say: you will have to read yesterday’s entry. Eric’s Daily Horoscope is a slow-immersion process. For example, if you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water, it (the frog, that is) will jump out. But if you put a frog in a pot of room-temperature water, put the pot on the stove, and bring it slowly to a boil, the frog will stay in the water until you have frog soup. Next thing ya know, some b1tch from PETA will come along and throw red paint on your grandmother’s fur coat. Because science experiments are stupid. The End.)):

(Now that We reflect upon it, We suspect that’s not a very good way to make frog soup. Because, despite being stupid enough to sit there until the water reaches the boiling point, We are pretty sure the frog will ultimately have an “A-ha!” moment and p00p itself before expiring. Thereby leaving you with frog p00p soup, and a ruined fur coat. And, while frog p00p soup may be a delicacy in China, please reflect upon the fact that these are the same people who brought Us thousand-year-old eggs and sushi. (Thousand-Year-Old Eggs and Sushi is, of course, the heretofore unpublished sequel to the Dr. Seuss classic, Green Eggs and Ham. Would you, could you, in a rickshaw?))

(We were on the very verge of defying all y’all to come up with a rhyme for “rickshaw” when “kickshaw” leapt unbidden into Our cranium. Look it up, then use it three times in a sentence, and watch how fast your doctor adjusts your meds.)

(Meanwhile, the snow continues to fall. It appears to have all drifted onto Our side of the street. It also appears, from the quantities of footprints therein, that they filmed an episode of American Bandstand out there sometime during the night. Perhaps if We just keep typing Eric’s Daily Horoscope until the spring thaw, We can ignore the fact that We shall have to go out and shovel.)

(In case there were still any of you out there in Greater Bloggonia who thought it was somehow Easy To Be Us, We would like to point out that We spent last night dreaming about doing a crossword puzzle. Seriously. This is no mean feat (and also no lean meat, but you probably could have guessed that without Us telling you). Try it your own self…look at, say, the New York Times crossword puzzle for a few minutes without picking up a pencil. Now close your eyes, and start trying to solve it in your head. See?)

(In other news, We unearthed a pair of bunny slippers from the archives to be used in Our recent WaitStaff show. They were not, ultimately, used in said show, but We have yet to return them to the vault. So We are currently typing this wearing bunny slippers. We just thought you ought to know.)

(No, bunny slippers are not the only thing We’re wearing. P3rverts.)


If you glance down and find yourself wearing a pair of ruby slippers, figuratively speaking, at least, don't be disturbed. (We swear to you, We had not even seen this horoscope when We put on the bunny slippers. Which, by the way, bear no resemblance whatsoever to ruby slippers. Although the bunnies’ eyes are orange. And, now that We look at them again, they appear to be possessed by the Devil. Oh, great. Any minute now, We shall start bunny-hopping and be unable to stop. It will probably be weeks before anyone finds Us. Sigh. All this because We killed one d@mn frog.)

Only by clicking your heels together three times can your dreams come true. (Bunny slippers don’t so much click. Also, they don’t have heels. But, speaking of magic, it occurs to Us that perhaps We should have tried kissing the frog, to see if it turned into a prince. Although We are thinking that boiling a prince to death in a pot on One’s stove would have a lot more repercussions than boiling a frog. And would, presumably, result in a lot more p00p. Of course, it would be prince p00p, but still. (See? It’s not easy being Us.))

Sure, it sounds Pollyannaish, (Indeed it does. But even more amazing than that is the fact that Micro$oft Weird™ recognizes “Pollyannaish” as a word.)

(We realize that We are in mid-Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation) here, but We are pretty sure that We’ve just had a brilliant idea for a series of children’s books, all revolving around prince p00p.)

(We would be remiss if We did not, for those of you who recall Prince Harry N@ked Day from a few weeks back, recall for you a favorite saying of Our friend BoBoB (give Us a shout-out if you’re in here, BoBoB): “I’d eat a mile of his p00p just to see where it came from.”)

(You’re welcome. Oh, look….Kelli’s still blathering on.)

but you won't know if you don't try. (Honey, We know the fire’s hot without sticking Our hand in it. Shut. Up. Kelli.)

Start clicking. (Whose idea was it to put on these bunny slippers, anyway? See what you made Us do?)

Before you call a friend to whine at length about 'how different' your current flame seems to be, think about it: Who's really changed here? (We? Do not “whine”. We complain, at length, in a loud, clear voice, carefully pitched in such a way as to penetrate the background static of lesser mortals talking, but We do not “whine”.)

It may seem that without investing any energy at all, everything is already perfect -- just as you want it to be. (Yeah. It may just seem like exactly that. We’ll have what she’s smoking.)

Wake up and smell the roses. (Scr3w the roses…Prince Harry’s n@ked in a pot on Our stove…We need to convince him We were just giving him a bath before he starts to p00p himself.)


The best part of waking up is cowgrass in your cup)

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Hot Topic is not punk rock

Greetings, Ecuadorians Rebuild Insurmountable Chifforobe—

(We just Wiki-ed Our feeble brains out, learning more than any one person should know about the word “chifforobe”. We would share, but your heads would explode, and, if We’re gonna be blowin’ up peoples’ heads, We think it should be for a d@mn good reason. This? Isn’t one.)

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, February 25, 2010 (It is currently 10:45 in the AM, and We have a few snow flurries, not one of which has been laid (much like Our Own Selves) on the sidewalk or elsewhere. Which means they could certainly have come and collected Our trash this morning. Have they no sense of adventure, these TrashPussies? They are probably paid more money than We ever were. (Meanwhile is TrashPussies not a brilliant name for a punk rock band? Possibly with an umlaut over one of the vowels. We put that out there, free of charge, in case any of Our Gentle Readers are forming a punk rock band this morning.)) :

(Incidentally, the aforementioned snow? Is cordially invited to suck Our d1ck. KThxBye.)

(If We appear to keep being distracted, it is because We are playing Scrabble on the InterNet with someone whom We’ve never met. (We are also a poet, but We are unaware of it.)) We are also particularly uninspired today. We would like to think that We could inspire all y’all to leave comments, but We are not as stupid as We look. We have yet to have had one person tell Us about a friend’s upcoming birthday. Apparently, We do this for Our health. (Albeit clearly not Our mental health.))


Is there a relationship in your life which is in need of healing? (Well, if, by “healing”, you mean “being put down like a dog”, then yeah, probably. But never mind that…let’S sing! When I get this feeling, I want s3xual healing…(kiss Us quick, We’re Marvin Gaye! (Actually, We’re all sorts of gay, but, really, how gay is it to put an “E” on the end of “gay”? Ya might as well add a cedilla, fercrissakes. Although, to the best of Our knowledge, Marvin Gaye was not gay. However, had his Gaye father not shot his Gaye not gay @ss, he would currently be seventy years old. We suspect he would not, however, be singing lead vocals for the TrashPussies. (That’s TrashPussies, avec umlaut, sans cedilla. (Avec Umlaut, Sans Cedilla, meanwhile, was the French title of the movie If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium. Our Sistah Ovella will be so proud that We know that.)))))

(It is possible that We were a wee tad more inspired than We may have initially thought. Either that, or Our bran tumor is acting up.)

(No, that was not a typo. It’s an inside joke for one of the two of you who’s paying attention.)

It's more likely to be with a friend or an acquaintance but you know what? (What, bitch?)

It could be with anyone. (That’s what she said.)

Who are you feeling estranged from? (Sometimes, when We walk down a crowded city street, We feel estranged from total strangers in the night, exchanging glances…oops, sorry; We forgot Ourselves. (That was a little emo-punk-rock cover of a Frank Sinatra tune, as remade by Marvin Gaye and the TrashPussies.))

Who has pushed all your buttons? (Who has snapped all your snaps? Who has zipped all your zippers, and caught your frenulum in them? With frenulums like those, who needs enemas? (You’re gonna wanna look up “frenulum”, if you haven’t already. We’ll wait.))

Who do you need to forgive and/or who needs your forgiveness? (More to the point, who do you need to foreskin, and/or who needs your foreskinness? (We thought We’d throw a little foreskin in there for Our Shaun, who’s a fan. Of foreskin, that is. Shaun is currently touring China. Boy gets more vacation than anyone We’ve ever seen.))

Today and over the weekend is the ideal time to reach out. (And fu(k someone, as the old AT&T slogan goes. Because love grows where my Rosemary goes and nobody knows like me.)

(What? Just you wait for the TrashPussies remake.)

Remember you are in one of the most important cycles (Unicycles? Motorcycles? Menstrual cycles?)

you'll ever experience for your relationships all throughout 2010 so make the most of it. (Is it just Us, or does “2010” still look like a weird year?)


The UnCowgrass)

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Wednesday morning papers didn't come

Greetings, Exponential Rise In Cauliflower---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, February 24, 2010 (Happy birthday to MizGerreGarrett, who turns twenty-four today. She and the rest of Us WaitStaffian reprobates are soon to be the starz of a Drexellian Studential documentary. The students send Us missives with such salutations as “Dearest WaitStaff”. Honey, We don’t care what you call Us, just send back the hottie with the boom mike.):

(In other news, it came to Our attention as We were sending out email notifications of the publication of Eric’s Daily Horoscope yesterday that We had forgotten to send such notifications on Monday. We had been wondering why Our hit count was lower. And yet, it was only lower by half, so clearly someone somewhere is stumbling their way in here without Our trail of breadcrumbs. If you are a random visitor, friend-of-a-friend, or total stranger, leave Us a comment to let Us know how you got here. KThxBye.)

(Meanwhile, two more feet of snow? Really? Could We possibly get Our trash collected first? Jeebus.)

(In still other news, it’s Hump Day, yo. Anybody wanna come be snowed in with Us? Hmm…apparently, a lot of crickets are horny. Either that, or the strawberry-blond sound guy is fu(king with Us. (From your lips to G0d’s executive assistant’s secretary’s BlackBerry™.))

(And furthermore, in case you were unaware, We are the self-proclaimed Queen Of Social Media. We were recently able to SitOnMyFaceBook-find someone We hadn’t seen for a dozen or so years whose name is the difficult-to-find-‘cause-there’s-a-million-of-‘em equivalent of “John Smith”. (Actually, his name is John Smith, but We didn’t want to divulge that in here. Oh, well…just because We could find him doesn’t mean you could. (Sorry, John.)) But ya know what’s annoying? When you’re trying to SitOnMyFaceBook-stalk somebody whose name appears to be uncommon enough to make it a relatively simple task, until they turn out to share said name with some d@mn sports-player. Lacrosse, or quoits, or dwarf-tossing, or some such. As though Our life weren’t difficult enough. Sigh.)


If we create our own reality, (Then it wouldn’t snow every other g0dd@mn day, so clearly We (at least The Royal We) don’t create Our own reality, so shut the fu(k up with your New Age I’ve-Read-The-Fu(king-Secret bullsh1t, Kelli, you Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopular) c00terlicking @sshat.)

then you need to ask yourself what you're currently creating for yourself. (Well, if We had that power (which clearly, We don’t), We would be creating a universe in which strawberry blond sound guys with really big boom mikes showed up at Our front door in Speedos™ to tell Us that, as soon as We were done fu(king like fuzzy little bunnies, it was going to be eighty degrees so We could go to the beach. But that’s just Us.)

The annoying thing (“Thing”? “Thing”, singular? As though there’s only ONE annoying thing?)

is that deep-set fears are as powerful as manifesting in our lives as our hopes are. (Ya know, if you’re gonna vomit up undigested steamy chunks of New Age claptrap, you could at least hire a g0dd@mn editor so it makes grammatical sense, you dizzy @ssmunching cow.)

In fact, you could say that fears are even more likely to manifest, (You could say that. If you were (subjunctively) an @sshole who liked to waste breath on uttering stupid inanities. Oh, and Shut. Up. Kelli.)

because we truly deeply (Also madly. Don’t forget madly, Bee-yotch!)>br>

(Sigh. Why did Savage Garden have to break up?)

believe them as a possibility, whereas with our hopes, we sometimes don't give them that much credence. (Our credence is in the credenza. Having a clearwater revival. There’s a bathroom on the right. (While We do not ordinarily claim to be prescient, We hereby predict that future generations will study Eric’s Daily Horoscope much as generations past studied Beatles’ album covers looking for evidence of the death of Paul McCartney. What evidence they will find therein, We decline to state, although We predict it will have something to do with brain death.))

Which is why the only thing we have to fear is fear itself! (Kiss Us quick, We’re Franklin Delano Roosevelt! (But ya ARE in that chair, Frank, ya ARE!) Also, ya forgot “Fear and fear alike”.)

Face a fear and eliminate it. (Mmm-hmm. We’re afraid it’s gonna snow two feet tomorrow. So We could either sit in OurHouseWhereWeLive and try to p00p away Our fear, or We could go out and about and enjoy the (slightly more) reasonable weather today. All things considered, We’d rather be a partypooper than a fearpooper, because if you’re a partypooper, at least when you’re done pooping, there’s a party. On the other hand, We’d rather be a fearpooper than a paratrooper, although We suspect that, if you made Us be a paratrooper and We had to jump out of an airplane, We’d wind up being both.)

(Poop is funny, no? (We realize that “fearpooper” is a neologism (look it up) based on the touchy-feely New-Age-y stupidity of “fear elimination” mentioned above. However, We were pretty sure that “partypooper” was a long-established word of some etymological standing. Wuzzup, Micro$oft Weird™?))

(Carol Channing: “Corn? When did I have corn? Oh, look…a party!”)


cowgrass...because I’m worth it.)

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Ground control to Major Tom…

Greetings, Egyptian Rewrites Israeli Constitution---

(Hijinks ensue.)

(Oh, please. We’ve been doing this since 2001, and Micro$oft Weird™ still doesn’t know “hijinks”?)

Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, February 23, 2010 (So, in what is clearly a slow news day, the inventor of the Easy Bake Oven™’s light bulb has gone out: (All of a sudden, We’re Paul Harvey. (Who is, just so ya know, also no longer among the cake-baking.))):

(In other news (now We are contemplating Eric’s Daily Horoscope: The Radio Show, as We wonder what major metropolitan listening area will be the first to ban Our big fat @ssz from the airwaves. But, hey, everyone who sees Our picture says We’ve got a face for radio. And surely, the folks who have been so helpful with all of Our other endeavors will be right there behind Us on this one. We can’t wait! “Stand by for NEWS!”), bon voyage to Our Sistah Ovella and her husband Teddy-Jay, who are off to (what We hope will be) sunny Florida. Here in what is not-so-sunny Philadelphia (the people who named that stupid show lied), We are on Day Three of Our cold, and We are here to tell you that getting plenty of rest really does work. Of course, if you stayed home from work for three days because of a cold, you would lose your job, because this is America, but We are just putting the information out there.)

(Today’s pixture, you will be pleased to learn, is from Fashion Week, which was, of course, last week. (Kiss Us quick, We’re au courant. And We have Our finger on the pulse. Ooops…now it’s stuck in your zipper.) At any rate, We are thinking that the pixtured ensemble should be Our new interview suit. (We hope they make it in jumbo sizes.) Just think of the jawbs We’ll get!)

(For those who mayhaps have missed it, appearing as it did in Our Sunday edition, here’s this: Presumably, many of you out there in Eric’s Daily Horoscope ReadersLand have friends. Many of said friends may be persons unknown to Us Our Own Self Personally. Out of all of these poor, hapless souls who have never had the privilege of meeting Us, there must be a few who are having birthdays in the upcoming two weeks or so. And, out of those, surely at least one or two are enlightened enough to realize what an honor and a privilege it would be to be a wished a happy twenty-fourth birthday in these hallowed pages. So, in Our beneficence, for a limited time, if you share a friend’s name and upcoming birthdate with Us, We shall wish them a happy twenty-fourth birthday right here in Bloggonia, and won’t you just look like quite the hip, hep, happenin’ friend?)

(We would really like to give a little theory that We have two test tickles, as it were. (That joke just doesn’t get old, does it?))


Keep as low a profile as you can. (Oh, please. If We get any lower, We’ll be licking snails’ bums. (Which was, of course, Our nickname in high school. (“Licking Snails’ Bums”, naturally.)))

Take it easy. (Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy, Japanese are just Chinese-y, if he hollers let him go, some Puffs’re Cheezy™, some Ro-CoCoa™. (Hey, you remember childhood rhymes your way, We remember them Ours. (Our way is, naturally, funner.)))

(Yes, We said “funner”. Because “funnier” went without saying. So, needless to say (and yet promptly saying it), We didn’t say it. See?)

(She sells bl0wj0bs by the seashore.)


Even dodge work if it's possible. (Do not, on the other hand, dodge balls.)

Right now, home and family are where the heart are. (“Are where the heart are”? Seriously? Because for a small fee, We could actually edit this sh1t into Engrish for you, Kelli. We’re just sayin’.)

Being at home is going to be feel right. (Indeed. Because, the night of Our show, We walked past an office building where We could see cubicles through the window, and We promptly broke out in hives.)

And if you can't be at home, (Love the nun you’re with?)

can you be out with your family? (We could be out with Our family. We could also talk to the animals. Fu(k you, Mister Bunny. Eat sh1t, Mister Bear. (If Gilda Radner were (subjunctively) still baking cakes in her Easy Bake Oven™, she would be sixty-four years old this year. It just goes to show ya, it’s always somethin’.))

If you can, go for it! (That sentence becomes much more interesting if you change it to “If you can-can, go-go for it.” Although attempting to can-can in a mini-skirt could probably get you arrested.)

You're a super speedy sign (D@mn cr@ck. (Jimmy smoke cr@ck, and I don’t care.))

and you sometimes forget to take the time to connect with the people closest to you. (Only because they fail to lie down in a convenient position.)

But you have a TON to gain (Oh, Jeebus Cripes! Another ton? However will We fit out Our front door?)

from spending time with your nearests and dearests. (To say nothing of queerests. (No, really…say nothing.))

It will benefit ALL your most important relationships. (Really? BOTH hands?)


cowgrass...what the astronauts drink.)

Monday, February 22, 2010

So sweet and soft and gentle, my favorite Oriental

Greetings, Edible Ratatouille, Inedible Confit---

(Oui, oui, oui, all ze way ‘ome. (Good morning, Ovella!))

Here is your horoscope for Monday, February 22, 2010 (Happy George Washington’s real birthday to one and all. (We would wish George Washington a happy birthday, but We’re pretty sure none of all y’all would believe he’s twenty-four, considering all the places he’s slept. (Which, come (heh) to think of it, is a sentiment that could also apply to some of Our sluttier readers.))):

(Okay, Micro$oft Weird™, We were going to let the anti-French bias of declaring “confit” not-a-word go, but now “sluttier”? Does slutty work for you? Apparently it does. So you can’t extrapolate to the comparative? A fu(king third grader could do that, without knowing what the word meant. (Although if a third grader were (subjunctively) fu(king, presumably “sluttier” would be way back there someplace.))

(But enough about ped0philia. (Although We could at this juncture probably do an entire treatise on lovely words for disgusting things. “Ped0philia” (as a word, mind you) just rolls off the tongue. (“Ped0phile”, on the other hand, does not.) Somehow related to this is the fact that everything sounds better when you hear it in French, and disgusting when you hear it in German.) So, We said segueingly, let’S segue (what’s a segue? About a pound and a half.) from the touchy (heh) subject of ped0philia to a tasteful dinner conversation about race and ethnicity. (See? “Ethnicity”. There’s a word that just sounds Not Quite Nice.) We were trundling about the WorldWideInterWebNetz yesterday, when We found Ourself on a dating site, whereupon a person of the Asian Persuasion (We can call them “Asian”, right? It’s “Oriental” that’s politically incorrect, yes? Whatevs…Our theory is, if you’ve seen one Chinaman, you’ve seen ‘em all. Which is pretty d@mn efficient, considering there’s nine hundred billion of ‘em.)…at any rate, this person of the Asian Persuasion was describing hisself to potential suitors by saying, and We quote: “I’m Asian-ish…not like Korean or anything‏”. What the h3ll does that even mean?)

(If ever there was a cue for a musical number, that was it: “Chinks and sluts and geeks better scurry, when I dress you up like a Furry, something something something a hurry and a riding crop…”)

(Meanwhile, about today’s pixture…We felt Our moods could all be improved by a little mental beach holiday. We Our Ownselves are still under the weather, although We must say it’s much more civilized to simply take to One’s bed when One is ailing than to go peddle One’s Streptococci to One’s fellow inmates in Dilbertville simply because One’s jailor doesn’t give One enough paid sick leave. So, anyway, We give you A Day At The Beach. Try not to think about the Speedo™ flossing PeePaw’s @sscrack.)

(Speaking of words, “PeePaw’s @sscrack” somehow manages to sound like exactly what it is.)

(Please refer to yesterday’s horoscope for an audience participation offer.)


(The following is somewhat of a departure in format for Eric’s Daily Horoscope, but We stumbled across it in Our WorldWideInterWebNetzian travels yesterday (in between avoiding dating Asian-ish Non-Koreans) and thought you might enjoy it. We shall offer it up without commentary, because, (A.) it’s already past noon and (Number 2.) what can One say?)

Saturn is woken during Monday’s wee smalls by the Sun talking in his sleep. He tries to get back to sleep by reading one or the other of Stieg Larsson’s Ikea lists of novels. It very nearly works until Mercury notices the book and tries to tell him the ending.

The planet of wittering-on continues wittering-on about the book into Tuesday, when Pluto grabs the brick size hardback and lobs it at his head. The Sun applauds.

The Moon and Jupiter bake cupcakes for everyone on Wednesday. Which is nice.

Friday finds Mercury and Uranus grappling with one of those half-formed ideas that give them such glee. They draw diagrams and everything; it keeps them out from under the grownups’ feet. Mercury is so made up by the playdate that he giggles infectiously into Saturday, and Neptune and Chiron can’t help but smooch his cheek.

On Sunday the Moon puffs out her cheeks, scrutinising them for blackheads.

Meanwhile, Jupiter takes his cupcake recipe and two pinnies around to the Sun. When these two get together, more is definitely more. Anyone fancy cake?

(See what We mean? Meanwhile, mmm…cake.)


cowgrass...the fresh maker.)

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Your own. Personal. Jesus. Pick up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer, uh-huh.

Greetings, Effusive Refusal Induces Confusion---

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, February 21, 2010 (If it’s Sunday, that pixture must be Jeebus. Or, now that We look at it again, possibly Charles Manson. Or maybe Marilyn Manson, incognito. But definitely not Marilyn Munster. (Oh, leave Us alone! We had a whole list of Things We Were Going To Get Around To Handling After Our Show Was Over, and now We are laid low with a wretched cold. As though We needed something to make Us less pretty. Sigh.)):

(Can We sell Our house because the guy next door has taken up the drums? No, seriously?)

(We are going to pause right here until the coffee finishes cooking itself.)

(And We have paused. And lo, We have seen that there is coffee, and behold it is good…

It was caffeination, I know
And it might have ended
Right then, at the start
Just a passing glance, Just a brief romance
And I might have gone on my way empty-hearted…what? Doesn’t everybody just randomly burst into song? (We really miss Glee. You too?))

(And now, here’s a little Eric’s Daily Horoscope audience participation game, inspired by an email from OurKelly. (This would be Our Cousin-In-Law Kelly, who spells her name like a grownup, not to be confused with Our Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) Kelli, who no doubt dots the I in her name with a little heart with a smiley face in it. (Hi, Kelly! You prolly thought We were ignoring your email, but We were just giving it time to percolate.)))

(So as not to confuse any of you who may currently be undercaffeinated (or, Heaven forfend, discaffeinated), We shall, at this juncture, begin a new paragraph. Presumably, many of you out there in Eric’s Daily Horoscope ReadersLand have friends. Many of said friends may be persons unknown to Us Our Own Self Personally. Out of all of these poor, hapless souls who have never had the privilege of meeting Us, there must be a few who are having birthdays in the upcoming two weeks or so. And, out of those, surely at least one or two are enlightened enough to realize what an honor and a privilege it would be to be a wished a happy twenty-fourth birthday in these hallowed pages. So, in Our beneficence, for a limited time, if you share a friend’s name and upcoming birthdate with Us, We shall wish them a happy twenty-fourth birthday right here in Bloggonia, and won’t you just look like quite the hip, hep, happenin’ friend?)

(Speaking of rare occasions (which, for any of Our cannibal readers, is totally different from rare Caucasians), We must offer Our kudos to Micro$oft Weird™ for flagging “hep” as not-a-word (even though We know it is). Way to be one of the Cool Kids, Micro$oft Weird™.)

(See? Audience participation, and We didn’t even ask you to buy a ticket to anything. (Meanwhile, the n@ked skimmers are all like, “Wha’?”))

(We just sneezed across Our computer screen. (We know how you love it when We share. (We also know how you love it when We Cher, but not today, kidz…We ain’t got the strength for the low notes.)) Aaaaaannnnddd this seems like as good a time as any for Our-O-Scope…)

If you feel like you can't go anywhere without meeting 15 people who want a piece of you, you're probably right. (Hmmm…We thought We were being facetious, but maybe We actually do have cannibal readers. There’s a brunch We’re not looking forward to. Also, We shall have to give more thought to those occasions on which We are given to saying, “Eat me.”)

Mercury's current passage through your 11th House of Friends is usually a very sociable time - people are drawn to you and want to talk to you. (Well, We suppose that’s better than people being drawn BY us. Although being drawn by Us would be somewhat better than being drawn by, say, Pablo Picasso. Because you’d be all out of perspective and have both eyes on the same side of your head. But you’d be worth an awful lot of money. Unless, of course, you were drawn in his Blue Period, in which case there’s a chance you’d look normal, and still be worth an awful lot of money. Which begs the question, did Picasso have a Happy Period?)

(We wonder if We have a fever. We don’t wonder enough to stick a thermometer up Our butt, but still, We wonder.)

Nice! (Wha’d’d’We, miss something? (Micro$oft Weird™ is denying all knowledge of “Wha’d’d’We” as a word. We can understand its confusion, as “Wha’d’d’We”, in addition to its Engrish meaning, is also Aramaic for “I’d walk a mile to blow a camel; one hump or two?” (Sure, it’s not that funny. But who the h3ll else do you know who tells Aramaic jokes?)))

But nothing lasts forever (Except possibly this horoscope.)

and this cycle will draw to a natural conclusion for another year in about a week. (Unless it gets its times muddled, and draws to a natural conclusion for another week in about a year.)

So get out and about and talk your friends' heads off now (Again with the cannibalism?)

for in the very near future, there's a very good chance you're going to want to or have to be alone a little more for a while. (So wait…would a cannibalistic hermit starve to death? Inquiring minds want to know…)


which twin has the cowgrass?)

Saturday, February 20, 2010

And my heart will go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on…

Greetings, Eccentric Rapper Introduces Coloratura---

Here is your horoscope for Saturday, February 20, 2010 (Happy birthday to Katie, who turns twenty-four today. And Happy Saturday to the rest of all ya’ll.):

(Since so few of you were there to witness it (but Our thanks to those who were) We are here to tell you that We pretty much sold out the World Café Live last night. Also, We killed, and came in almost exactly to Our time limit, to the great joy of the staff and management, and the act that followed Us. Our next show will be in May, on multiple dates TBA somewhere around Mothers’ Day, and is tentatively entitled The Mother Of All WaitStaff Shows. Perhaps you’ll pencil Us in.)

(Our garbage was just collected on OurShtreetWhereWeLive. Of course, We don’t mean Our actual garbage, but rather the garbage in OurNeighborhood. Our Own Personal garbage has not been sitting outside since last Sunday, ThankYouVeryMuch.)

(In still other news, Eric Junior is currently looking (with his one good eye) at the inside of a garment We received in the mail. The garment is Ours (or Eric Junior’s) to keep, and will be joined by a second such garment after We answer (or Eric Junior answers) some questions about the first one. After We answer (or Eric Junior answers) some questions about the second one, We will be paid ten dollah. The WorldWideInterWebNetz are Our friend.)

(Hey, We appeared in public last night in black boxers with fire-engine-red lipstick prints* and the words “Kiss me!” all over them…did you imagine there’s something We wouldn’t do for money?)

(*Not actual lipstick prints. But then, you knew that.)

(Meanwhile, the snow, she is melting at an amazing rate. Just in time for next week’s forecast, which appears to include snow every single day. Lovely.)

(And now a word about today’s pixture. Obviously, this is a spoof of the iconic “I’m the King of the World” pose from the 1997 fillum Titanic. Just as obviously, these people are not Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, and little effort has been expended to make them appear to be, what with the modern clothing and all. However, much like Your Humble Scribe here, you are very, very, very, very, very, very g@y if one of your first thoughts upon taking the whole pixture in was, “Day-um, her shoes are really ugly.” We’re just sayin’.)


You will be energetic, solid, resistant, spirited, trustworthy, hardy and resolute. (Just reading that makes Us want to go lie down.)

You will see everything through rose-tinted spectacles. (We are pretty sure that the last time anyone actually said “spectacles” to refer to optical aids as opposed to memorable extravaganzae (We will pluralize how We d@mn please, Micro$oft Weird™) was during the Eisenhower years. Shut. Up. Kelli.)

You will be objective, lively, competent, prudent and calculating. (By Our calculations that’s a dozen adjectives that “We’ll be” so far. Clearly this is a case of throwing everything against the wall to see that sticks.)

You will feel good. (Like We knew that We would now.)

You will live through a very good period, (But will it be a happy period?)

especially on the intellectual front. (Um, boxers with lipstick prints. Obviously, “intellectual” is way back there somewhere.)

You will have a lot of luck. (Tell the PowerBall™ people.)

Time when you have difficulty in concentrating on work, especially anything intellectual. (But didn’t you just say…oh, never mind.)

You will probably become intolerant, fanatical and with excessive hardness, seriousness and rigor. (Well, don’t sugarcoat it.)

You want to move, to travel, to see friends. (Especially the imaginary ones.)

Your imagination will play nasty tricks on you. (Okay, so wait…if Our imaginary friends play imaginary tricks on Our imagination…Our heads hurt.)


plop-plop fizz-fizz, oh, what a cowgrass it is )

Friday, February 19, 2010

Once upon a looking-for-Donna time, there was a 16-year-old virgin

Greetings, Enactors Redacted Interactive Contract---

Here is your horoscope for Friday, February 19, 2010 (Happy birthday to BoBoB, who turns twenty-four today. And happy birthday in advance to Katie, who turns twenty-four tomorrow, just in case We finally decide to take Ourselves a day off from Bloggonia.):

(Today, of course, is Our WaitStaff show at the World Café Live. So naturally, We couldn’t possibly get a good night’s sleep so We could enjoy feeling like a human being today. Because that would just be wrong, shockingly wrong. So instead, We were up from about 2:30 till about 6:30, and got some intermittent sleep after that. Fortunately, We have made Ourselves lots of lists to get Us through the experience. UNfortunately, there is one of the lists in front of Us now, and it reads: “Wig Boxers Envelopes Stigmata”. You will notice that not only is that not the least bit instructional or enlightening, it is not even a sentence, what with missing a verb and all. Sigh. Presumably, We shall show up at the World Café for tech rehearsal later and all will become clear to Us.)

(We will herewith give all y’all one more chance to make your reservations by going to . For the serious procrastinators among you, there will still be a few tickets available at the door. The show will start promptly at 7:30, as there are other shows following Ours, and We will be meeting Our throngs of adoring fans afterwards at Slainte at 30th and Market )

(And now for something completely different, here, courtesy of OurTracie, is a little commercial that sums up how We feel about winter. (Of course, if it were (subjunctively) to do anything more than sum up, it would have to show OurStreet that has only ever been plowed once and so has a foot of ice on it, thereby preventing OurTrash from being collected for two weeks now, and OurRoof, which must have a similar foot of ice and snow on it, which is now busy melting into OurBathroom, which was only just repaired last year at this time by OurContractor, who hasn’t returned OurPhoneCalls since July, and who is the only one who knows the contact info for OurRoofer, who was the only one who could fix OurRoof during the six-month leak fiasco of 2008-2009. Fu(king weather.))

(Meanwhile, on a completely different subject, may We just say how much We enjoy watching WhatGoesAroundComesAround on Our WorldWideInterWebNetz?)

(Our-O-Scope…(Because it is virtually noon, and We have to leave OurHouseWhereWeLive at 3.))

Today the Moon moves further through Taurus and goes over the Fixed Star Algol. (Oh. Well. Then. That clears that right up. The Fixed Star Algol, eh? Hmm. Who knew?)


Algol was traditionally regarded as the scariest, most evil Star in the skies (Oh, well then.)

however modern astrologers are rethinking their take on that. (Mmm-hmm. Ever since McDonna came along.)

Fixed Star expert says (“Fixed Star expert”? Excuse Us, but does “Fixed Star expert” have a name?)

Algol is powerful but that power shouldn't be confused with evil. (Why couldn’t We just have a nice little horoscope that says things like, “Your entertainment endeavors are well-aspected”. Who the fu(k ever heard of this Haldol thingie anyway?)

Algol has strong associations with the Dark Goddess Medusa who's seen by Goddess scholars as one of the most intriguing and powerful Goddesses of all, despite the grisly end that she met. (We currently have Our fingers in Our ears and are singing “La la la la la la la la la.”)

FYI Johnny Depp has two planets on Algol and he seems to be doing all right for himself, thank God/dess. (Oh, see, now. You just hadda drag Johnny Depp into it, didn’t’cha? And he has two planets on some star nobody’s ever heard of, eh? We’ve replaced the fine coffee they usually serve with Folgers™ Crystals. Your instructions were to give him two test tickles. Close cover before striking. Do not remove under penalty of law. Sing polly-wolly-doodle all the day.)

(Yep. We’re gonna be funny tonight.)


cowgrass )

Thursday, February 18, 2010

How are things in Glocca Morra?

Greetings, Emphatic Rebuttal Infuriates Czar---

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, February 18, 2010 (We have finally smartened up and put all the WaitStaff show info in pixture form above, to spare all y’all from having to get n@ked yet again to skim a whole paragraph of information. You’re welcome.):

(This, however, is the important part: after the show, as We are forced to depart the World Café Live immediately (no doubt amidst a hail of rotting fruits and vegetables (“Hey!” We hear you cry, “Some of my best friends are rotting fruits and vegetables!”)), We have decided to reconvene to accept accolades, acolytes (that was an altar boy joke…on your knees, b1tch!), and, most importantly, free drinks two blocks away at Slainte (which see: ). This, We are told, is an Irish drinking emporium whose name does not rhyme with “taint”, as One would imagine (although that would, We suppose, make it a g@y drinking emporium). Instead, it sounds, when pronounced by Irishian Irish speakers of Our acquaintance, something like a cross between “lawnchair” and “trenchmouth”. This is because Irishians are a very strange people who don’t even call their language “Irish”; they call it (oh, like you didn’t see this coming) “Gaylick”. But what can One expect from folks who once starved a bunch of potatoes to death for no reason whatsoever?)

(Leprechaun, shillelagh, HassenPfeffer Incorporated.)

(As a special boner…er, bonus treat, those of all y’all who have only started following the WaitStaff since the beginning of Our appearances with same will not yet have seen the following video. Which is totally NOT safe for work. Unless, We suppose, you happen to work in a brothel.)

(We should also note that the WaitStaff’s well-oiled (heh) publicity machine is in high gear, and tickets are flying out the door faster than a starving potato in a leprechaun colony (what???), so get yours NOW. Here We are in today’s City Paper: (You will note that We Our Own Selves Personally do not appear in the accompanying photo, which is an old WaitStaff publicity photo taken prior to Our affiliation with same. In fact, only two of the people pictured will be in tomorrow’s show; the rest are…well, We’re not exactly sure, but We have heard the phrases “making license plates” and “penile servitude” bandied about.))

(And, in case you needed one more inducement to attend, Our mission du jour is to go shopping for exactly the right pair of boxer shorts in which to do the tango. (Whaddaya mean, the World Café Live just called and said they’re closed tomorrow?))


It's time for you to take some time out. (We hear there’s a special chair for that.)

Phone off the hook. (Okay, let’S just think about that one for a second. (The S is capitalized because it’s a contraction of “let Us”, which involves The Royal Us. But then you knew that already.) Once those chirren born in 1990 whom We were discussing yesterday have chirren, there will be a whole generation of people who have no idea what the fu(k “phone off the hook” even means. Seriously, people. Turn off your eight-track tapes of Lawrence Welk and give that a moment’s thought.)

Sit down. (Sit on my face and tell me that you love me.)

Breathe. (Oh, please. If you have to be told, perhaps it’s better if you just stop. More air for the rest of Us.)

Think about your past year. (Scr3w that noise. Think about this: which is funnier: “Is that a shillelagh in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” or “Is that a leprechaun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” We Personally are leaning toward the leprechaun, but discuss.)

(We’ll take “Phrases No Sane Person Would Ever Type” for $500, Alex…what is “leaning toward the leprechaun”?)

What are you grateful for? (Ingrates.)

(No, give it a minute. It’ll come to you. That was one of Our rare suBtle jokes. THERE ya go!)

If you have time, it's a good time to actually make a list. (If We don’t have time, should We make a list of things We don’t have time for?)

Think about your blessings. (Then think of Debra Messing covered in Thousand Island dressing. (That was a little bone We just threw to Our str8 boi readers, to make up for the “Cindy Brady’s pubes” thing from yesterday.))

(As a little insight into the inner workings of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, We would like to point out that We originally covered Ms. Messing in Russian dressing, but We decided that Thousand Island was funnier.)

Sometimes the mere act of reveling in all that is good actually brings on more good things. (Mmm-hmm. And sometimes, unicorns f@rt cinnamon-scented rainbows.)

If you want to have some peace and quiet now, the skies support you. (The skies, you say? We find Ourselves somewhat nonplussed.)

(Insert reflection on what a peculiar word “nonplussed” is here.)

Feel free not to say yes to every single invitation, if you don't actually feel like it. (Oh, please. If anyone ever actually invited Us anywhere, We don’t have a thing to wear, We just washed Our hair, there’s no time to Nair™, Fred Astaire, Linda Blair, Sonny and Cher.)

(Oh, shut up.)


cowgrass tastes good like a cigarette should)

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

And they knew that it was much more than a hunch

Greetings, Enjoy Romantic Interlude, Carrottop---

Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, February 17, 2010 (Today’s pixture is, of course, related to yesterday’s news of the Liberace bio-pic. We learned that little Hollywood tidbit (kiss Us quick, We’re Rona Barrett) too late to add said pixture, plus We didn’t want to deprive you of the Fat Tuesday pixture treat. In other news, it is, of course, not only Ash Wednesday, but…hmm, We just had to interrupt Ourselves mid-sentence, as We just realized that, for many, if not most, of all y’all, it is not actually Hump Day at all, Monday having been Pepsodents Day. Which is probably for the best, as We were well on Our way to crossing Ash Wednesday with Hump Day and doing a whole series of Ass Wednesday jokes which would no doubt have made Baby Jeebus cry.):

(Meanwhile, a slew of Our younger readers (i.e. those who are only turning twenty-four for the second or third time) just clapped their veinless hands to their poreless faces and hurried their perky little buttocks over to Wikipedia, where they Googled “WhoTheFu(kIsRonaBarrett?”)

(Yes, We realize that going to Wikipedia to Google is a mixed matador, but what can We say? We like hot men in tight pants who don’t put up with bull.)

(Heh. We slay Us. Are We ten of the funniest people you know, or what?)

(Whoever said “Or what?” can go kiss the lady from yesterday’s pixture right on the lips. No, the other lips. (Yeah, good luck finding those. Talk about your “roll her in flour and poke at the wet spot”.))

(You will have to forgive Us…as We told you, with Our rehearsal yesterday evening, We were unable to either Mardi or Gras. But, in the spirit of the party that the rest of all y’all were no doubt having without Us, here is a little nature video. Because We do so love to contribute to your edumacation. This is completely work-safe, although it may cause you to crave a liquid lunch. On a Caribbean island.)

(Speaking (as We were, a moment ago) of Our younger readers, it was brought to Our attention the other day that there are now, right here on this very planet, fully-grown folk who were born in (wait for it) 1990. Now, granted, they can’t legally drink yet (till next year), but still, there they are. The reason such a shocking fact was brought to Our (somewhat fickle) attention is that someone We know is actually dating such a person. (And trust Us, this is not one of those occasions where One is saying “this friend of mine” when One is actually talking about Oneself. If We were (subjunctively) dating such a person, the shortage of smelling salts in apothecaries of the Tri-State Area would have reached epic proportions by now. We would own a home defibrillator, and We would know how to use it. (Come to think of it, that might be fun even if One isn’t dating anyone. Or especially if One isn’t dating anyone.) Why, We have underwear that are older than these people. We could probably tell you where We were and who We were doing when they were born. We could only hope that the paucity of intelligent adult conversation would be compensated for by the fact that they can Do It eighteen times a day…)

(If anyone is looking for Us, We will be on, lying about Our age.)

(Okay, literally and truthfully, this just happened: a dating service just sent Us an email that said “Why is Eric still single?” The only way We could be less amused is if We were (subjunctively) Queen Victoria’s gynecologist.)

(Speaking of origami sculptures made of c0ndom boxes, the WaitStaff’s post-VD sketch comedy show Desperate and Dateless plays for one night only at the World Café Live at 7:30 on Friday, February 19th, and you can buy your tickets here: We are gonna have to wrap this cr@p up now, as We have an appointment to have Our hairs did.))


In theory, Aries people are forward-moving, non-procrastinating, self-motivating powerhouses. (Hmm. You didn’t mention “easily distracted”. Because you lost This Particular Aries at “are”.)

That's the theory. (Of a lovely lady. Who was bringing up three very lovely girls. All of them had hair of gold. From a bottle. The rugs don’t match the drapes. (Oddly enough, that didn’t rhyme. It did, however, force you to think about Cindy Brady’s pubes, so Our work here is done. (Ya know how We always say that every so often, We like to throw Our str8 boi readers a bone? Well, that was sort of an anti-bone.))

Of course, there are plenty of things which can be in your chart which make it hard for you to be all that. (Honey, We are All That, and A Bag Of Chips. (We have never actually known what the h3ll that was supposed to mean. So, if you’ve recovered from Cindy Brady’s pubes, and would care to explain it to Us, We’d be grateful.))

Right now, the fact that your ruling planet Mars is stuck in a reverse cycle means that you may have even more trouble getting motivated and moving. (It also means it’s probably time to add the fabric softener. Lemme just unplug this defibrillator.)

Rather than giving yourself a hard time, (Yeah. ‘Cause We wouldn’t want that, now would We? (Where’s a d@mn nineteen-year-old when ya need one?))

congratulate yourself on any small steps that you do take in the direction of where you want to be. (Congratulations! You may already be a wiener! Cindy Brady’s pubes!)


4 out of 5 dentists recommend cowgrass for their patients who chew grass)

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Goodbye, Ruby Fat Tuesday

Greetings, Elbow Room Isn’t Conservatory---

Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, February 16, 2010 (Wow, the holiday hits just keep on coming, don’t they? First VD, then Presidents’ Day, and now Fat Tuesday. As you can see above, We found the very fattest pixture We could (that was not of Our Own Self) to use as today’s pixture. We know that the technical term is “cameltoe”, but We’re pretty sure We can see the entire camel in there. Of course, We are also pretty sure that, the next time We fly on a plane, that will be seated next to Us as Our punishment. Our world and welcome to it.):

(Speaking of Our world (and welcome to it…pull up a chair; the coffee will be ready in a minute. Did you have any trouble finding the place? How’re the wives and kids?), snow? Again? REALLY? Which particular religion’s G0d is to blame for this travesty, and how do We get Him, Her, or It impeached? Despite the fact that here in Souf Philly, the quantity of snow deposited on the stoop of OurHouseWhereWeLive will be easily dispensed with with a broom (if it hasn’t already melted by the time We bestir Our Big Fat @ss to go out there), We are fed up to the very teeth with having the d@mn weather impact Our plans. Also, We are Seasonal Affective Disorderly to about the nth degree.)

(On the other hand, We are just about fat enough to celebrate the fattest Fat Tuesday that anyone has ever fatted. (In the interests of enlightenment, We just went to look up Shrove Tuesday, because We couldn’t remember what the h3ll is a Shrove. Trust Us, you don’t want to know. Atoning for sins, indeed. How about the first one to atone is the one who just got done dumping more snow on Us? Also, which twin has the Atoni™? Meanwhile, have a pancake.))

(Naturally, in real life, We are unable to celebrate Fat Tuesday properly because We will be at rehearsal, where being drunk and talking with One’s mouth full are somewhat counterproductive. We are so looking forward to strutting and fretting Our hour upon the stage upon a stage that’s actually large enough to contain Our Fat Tuesday @ssz. (Have another pancake.) And We do so look forward to seeing all of you there. We are still working out the details of where to meet all y’all for a tasteful cocktail afterwards (as We have already mentioned, there is another show immediately following Ours, so We have to toddle along toot suite), so stay tuned to this space for upcoming bulletins. (Which is, as you are no doubt aware, completely different from upcoming bouillabaisse. Which might mean, depending upon interpretation, either that you are about to be served a lovely fish stew, or that someone is about to blow chunks of same into your lap.))

(Did no one notice that We said, “How’re the wives and kids?” back there? That was a little Mormon joke. We’re not sure if Mormons celebrate Fat Tuesday. We know that Mermans celebrate it by singing “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” while they eat their pancakes. (Well, they sing in between bites. Morons celebrate by trying to eat and sing at the exact same time, which is how We got the upcoming bouillabaisse in the preceding paragraph. (The humor in here is so chunky, you’ll be tempted to eat it with a fork. But use a spoon…We don’t need you puking up your fu(king soup in Our lap.)))

(Something in the middle of that last bit made Us think of Werewolves of London, but We are d@mned if We remember what. At any rate, here’s this: I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's. His hair was perfect. Well, as perfect as anything can be in an imperfect universe. Well, okay, he had hair, but it's not entirely clear how much attention he devoted to its perfection. I mean, it's not like he used product, or anything. Unless you count the bits of bone and gristle and rotted flesh that were clinging to it. Okay, so maybe "perfect" isn't the word. But he *WAS* drinking what appeared to be a pina colada. Or possibly a mai tai. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a Tom Collins... (This, in case anyone was wondering, is why We don't write lyrics.))

(In case you were interested (and how’s that for wishful thinking?), the snow on Our front stoop has indeed melted. Of course, now it is snowing again. No pancakes for you, G0d.)

(Now that We are deep in the bowels (eeeuuuwww!!!) of today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope, where We have clearly lost even the n@kedest of skimmers, We would just like to say that, amongst the many other things of which We are sick and tired, We are particularly sick and tired of having Our random acts of kindness ignored as though they (and, presumably, We) do not exist. We are not saying you need to throw Us a parade, or bake Us a cake (although, mmmm….cake), but have you ever heard of “thank you”? Were you raised by fu(king wolves? Were you fu(ked by raisin cookies? Well, WERE YOU???)

(Have a pancake, Mister Goldstone…have a napkin, have a chopstick, have a chair…)

(Speaking of places you least expect to find Rocky Road ice cream, the WaitStaff’s post-VD sketch comedy show Desperate and Dateless plays for one night only at the World Café Live at 7:30 on Friday, February 19th, and you can buy your tickets here: We are gonna have to wrap this cr@p up now, as it just occurred to Us that We are supposed to be re-writing the opening for said show, and We are not feeling particularly funny at the moment.))

(However, We have just learned that they are making a movie about Liberace starring Michael Douglas as Liberace and Matt Damon as his (much) younger lover, and now We have to mental floss.)


The people in your life can really inspire you if you let them right now. (Hey, We do everything the voices in Our pants tell Us to do.)

Even if you've managed to surround yourself with people who just sit around all day and moan and complain, hey! (“Hey!” “HEY”?!? Isn’t there some sort of grammar rule that forbids ending a sentence with “hey!”? Even in Shakespearean times, We are pretty sure you had to at least use “hey, nonny, nonny”. (YouPeople just love when We do Shakespeare jokes, don’t’cha? Forsooth, and stuff. Odds bodkins, Arthur Godfrey.))

Even THEY can inspire you to get off the couch and do something! (How ‘bout We get off the couch and do someONE?)

And if your friends and the people in general you mix with are nothing like, (Nothing like WHAT?)

look to them to see if you can learn something from them. (Oh, great. Snow AND edumacation. What a lovely day.)

Friendships which has been hurt can now be healed, too. (Subject-verb disagreement such as that, however, is irreparable.)

It's just about forgiveness - who's going to make the first move? (I feel Eartha Kitt move under my feet…because she’s, ya know, dead.)


taste that beats the others cold…cowgrass pours it on)

Monday, February 15, 2010

They’ll go ga-ga at the go-go when they see me in my toga

Greetings, Elements’ Relevant Intelligence Cinderella---

(No, We have no idea.)

Here is your horoscope for Monday, February 15, 2010 (Happy Presidents’ Day to Our American readers. Happy Presentiments Day to Our readers in Bangladesh, and Happy Prestidigitation Day to Our readers in Kuala Lumpur. (Do We have readers in Bangladesh or Kuala Lumpur? We have no idea. It’s Google™…we might. But nevertheless, who could resist an Eric’s Daily Horoscope with Kuala Lumpur in it? One Lumpur two?)):

(As you can see, We have lost what little was left of Our mind(s). Sketch comedy will do that to you. Especially when coupled with losing PowerBall™. Again. Some more.)

(Sorry…We just got distracted by bright shiny InterNetz. What were We talking about? Oh…nothing. Well, there you are then. We’ll just carry right on with that…)

(Does anyone…still wear…a hat?)

(OurBrandon visited Us over the weekend, all the way from MaryLand. (Perhaps it’s just Us, but “all the way from MaryLand” really doesn’t sound particularly far, does it? Sure, it’s another state, but then, so is New Jersey, and One could walk there from here. It’s not like it’s Kuala Lumpur or someplace. (Is it just Us (again), or is it really that the more We say “Kuala Lumpur”, the more it sounds like a name for a really ugly stripper?)) At any rate, OurBrandon left a hat behind. (“Leftahat Behind” being, naturally, an even uglier stripper.) Now, We are not generally a hat person, but, with Our hair currently being such an offense against taste and decency, We felt compelled to attempt to try the thing on. Turns out, Our @ssz is not the only thing around here that’s fat. Apparently, We have a Big Fat Head. (“Big Fat Head” is, as you’ve probably already guessed, Leftahat Behind’s Siamese twin sister. Now there’s an ecdysiastical extravaganza that has to be seen to be believed.))

(We shall pause here, while those who were unable to intuit the meaning of “ecdysiastical” from context go look it up and use it three times in a sentence to make it theirs. (Also, We really wanna see any sentence that has the word “ecdysiastical” in it three times.))

(You can pull all the stops out till they call the cops out, grind your behind till you’re banned.)

(Speaking of nipples to the wind and t1ts akimbo, the WaitStaff’s post-VD sketch comedy show Desperate and Dateless plays for one night only at the World Café Live at 7:30 on Friday, February 19th, and you can buy your tickets here: . As of yesterday’s rehearsal, the show is now thirty-seven percent funnier than Leftahat Behind and Big Fat Head’s All-Singing, All-Dancing, All-Ping-Pong-Ball-Out-Your-C00ter-Shooting tribute to the Spanish Inquisition. (You weren’t expecting that, were you?))

(Are you a fan of the WaitStaff on SitOnMyFaceBook?!/pages/The-WaitStaff/177605379471?ref=ts )


Your gut feelings are your fortune right now. (Fine. Any day now, We shall open a business called Borborygmi-R-Us. Or perhaps We shall become an ecdysiast who f@rts ping-pong balls. The sky is the limit, the world is Our oyster, and freedom’s just another word for @ssraping Tom Cruise. (Speaking of borborygmus and related issues, is there any possible universe in which a double-fudge chocolate Pop-Tart™ can be good for you, even if it is high fiber? We didn’t think so. (That, however, did not stop Us.)))

Don't second guess them or question them. (H3ll, We never guessed ‘em the first time. It was kinda like trick-or-treating at Helen Keller’s house. (WAAAAAAHHHHH!!!))

Your insides are telling you all that you need to know. (Yeah. It’s like f@rt-noise Morse code. Dot-dash-f@rt, dot-dash-sh@rt (Ooops…wet f@rt...who’s got a comb?)).

It's not about being some kind of weird hippy-type sitting around with a long white beard, in a cave, meditating. (Speaking of hippies, after you’ve seen the WaitStaff show on Friday, if you happen to be headed to Woonsocket, Rhode Island (and, really, why wouldn’t you be?), you will want to check out Counterproductions Theatre Company’s production of HAIR! at the Stadium Theater. Info here: )

However it is all about tuning into what the hippies called your Higher Self. (The jokes, they just write themselves.)

What is he or she telling you to do? (Not Bogart that doobie?)

Now is a very good time to start listening. (I’m sorry…what?)

(Heh. See what We did there?)

Lovewise, make a(nother) sacrifice for someone you love and the karmic rewards will be good. (Mmm-hmm. These “karmic rewards” of which you speak…they are, We assume, like frequent flier miles? We can use them, say, to have Our love upgraded to first class? Or to get Our love a free flight to Woonsocket, Rhode Island? Or Kuala Lumpur?)

(Okay, We’re outtie. We are no match for bright shiny InterNetz this morning. Have a lovely holiday, and a happy period.)


Cowgrass!…the American tribal love rock musical.)

Sunday, February 14, 2010

The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your mocha frappacino latte

Greetings, Executioner Refused Infinite Cigarette---

Here is your horoscope for Sunday, February 14, 2010 (We have to amuse you even more quickly this morning, as We have WaitStaff rehearsal beginning at 11AM (!). Trust Us, nothing is funny at that hour on a Sunday morning. Least of all Us. As this horoscope is about to demonstrate. But We couldn’t let the day go by (or the dago go bye-bye (why do these things just leap into Our head?)) without wishing all y’all a very Happy VD. We hope it’s not too itchy, and that the discharges don’t stain anything irreplaceable, and that none of your bits fall off. As you can see from today’s pixture, We scoured the WorldWideInterWebNetz to find just exactly the perfect VD image to express Our overpowering feeling. (“Overpowering feeling” is, of course, a quote from the limerick about a lady from Ealing, which you shall have to research your ownself, because We are busy. (Here’s a hint: over to the right, under those adz you never clique on because you might accidentally help Us out, you will see a list of labels from the history of this horoscope in Bloggonia. The first of these will be “A Lady From Ealing”. If you click on it (and how you resisted cliquing on that adz yesterday that was entitled “Bald Prince William”, We’ll never know), it should bring you a previous installment in which the story of a lady from Ealing is revealed in its entirety. You’re welcome.)))):

(Speaking of pissy ceilings and bald people, the WaitStaff’s post-VD sketch comedy show Desperate and Dateless plays for one night only at the World Café Live at 7:30 on Friday, February 19th, and you can buy your tickets here: . Because if you wait much longer to buy them, the show will have already happened, and you’ll be shelling out money for a useless piece of paper. And wouldn’t that seem a little foolish?)

(Meanwhile, Our Own Personal VD is just a little more shiny-chancred as We have received a card from none other than Mister Johnny Depp. This year, Johnny (or JD, as We like to call him) audaciously proposes that We engage in a threesome. Trust Us, if We ever got Our hands on Johnny Depp, he would be firmly (ROWR!) convinced that there were at least three of Us.)

(Is it just Us, or does “Bald Prince William” sound like a euphemism for something? Please leave a comment if you have any idea what.)


You are having a really hard time getting a read on your colleagues today (Jeebus, it’s almost 9 o’clock! We shall be seeing colleagues in two hours. We sure hope We’ve managed to pencil in a shower by then.)

-- or even your family! (Interrobangs…useful informational tool, or punctuational refuge of the vapid? Discuss.)

That's not a sign that you're losing it, though, because today, communication is just a little mumbly. (“Mumbly”? “MUMBLY”?!? That, no doubt, is the Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopular) technical term. @sshat. Even Micro$oft Weird™ isn’t havin’ any of that.)

It won’t be tough at all to talk yourself into spending a few extra dollars on a dear one to make this a very special Valentine’s Day. (No, indeed. We have actually found a VD emporium that will throw in a Bald Prince William at the end for no extra charge. (See, it doesn’t even matter what it’s a euphemism for…it just sounds dirty.))

In fact, if you’re out shopping for them, better bring someone along who doesn’t love them quite so much. (Yeah, one thing We have no intention of doing today is shopping. KThxBye.)

Just this once, you might get completely out of control when it comes to the plastic. (Fantastic.)

You want a little piece of someone’s heart. (And We have just the chainsaw to get to it. Because, as that lovely old saying goes, “The way to a man’s heart is through his chest, with a chainsaw.” Ah, romance, no pants, go France.)

No, scratch that (D@mn these @nal warts!)

— you want the whole thing! (Hey, if it all comes out in one piece, that’s okay too.)

Your strong attraction to this person leaves you puzzled as to what to do next. (Hmmm…human jigsaw puzzles…We smell a horror movie franchise coming on…)

Why not start off by saying hi? (Aw, shucks, sitting ducks in a tux, try Lux™. (Sometimes, We dazzle you with Our brilliance. Other times, We are just one more retard with Tourette’s syndrome.))


cowgrass…you’re soaking in it.)

Saturday, February 13, 2010

This is what it sounds like when doves cry “Wolf!”

Greetings, Egret Regrets Ingesting Courgettes---

(Because they gave him Courgette’s Syndrome. Heh.)

Here is your horoscope for Saturday, February 13, 2010 (We have to amuse you very quickly this morning, as We are off to a marathon WaitStaff rehearsal. (We would say “of Olympic proportions”, but that would just sound like a desperate effort to be au courant. Also, you would probably think We were talking about Our @ssz.)):

(“Courgette”, meanwhile, is British for “zucchini”. What would possess the Britannians to refer to a perfectly lovely Eye-talian vegetable in French is entirely beyond Us, but, then, a lot of things the Britannians do are inexplicable to Us. However, in this particular instance, they have afforded Us the opportunity to end a paragraph with Prince Harry n@ked, so We are grateful. Prince Harry naked.)

(Did We really just do that? Sigh. Well, at least it kept Us from getting all caught up in a discussion of grammar, style, and etymology which, as you can see from today’s pixture, is serious bidness. Entomology, on the other hand, is about bugs.)

(Speaking of naked princes, the WaitStaff’s post-VD sketch comedy show Desperate and Dateless plays for one night only at the World Café Live at 7:30 on Friday, February 19th, and you can buy your tickets here: . Because if you wait much longer to buy them, the show will have already happened, and you’ll be shelling out money for a useless piece of paper. And wouldn’t that seem a little foolish?)


Hi, All! (Since when is Our name “All”? Our @SSZ’S name may be “All”, but even that’s a bit presumptuous. After all, who the h3ll are you, Prince Harry naked?)

It's Valentines weekend (Scr3w that noise. VD is tomorrow, and that’s it. It’s Prince Harry naked weekend, and you cannot convince Us otherwise.)

(The Relevant Adz Generator is gonna love Us today!)

and the outlook is good. (See, now you’re expecting a “Prince Harry naked” joke. So We’re going to refrain. Now THAT’S comedy!)

If your romance is in trouble, (It’s nothing a little Prince Harry naked wouldn’t cure. (Remember back when Prince William was the cute one and this would have been all about “Prince William naked”? Then all of a sudden he turned into his dad and, trust Us, no one has ever uttered the words “Prince Charles naked”.))

(Whew! That’s a lotta stuff about one naked Prince or another. (You’re thinking about little red Courgettes now, aren’t you?))

(Heh. See how all y’all thought that was just random insanity, and We tied it all up together? Do not attempt this at home.)

then it really must be in some serious trouble because the Stars are looking very positive. (Especially Paul Lynde. We are thinking he’s had work done.)

If you're infatuated with someone and you're thinking about declaring your love - no guarantees but you have excellent stars for it! (Okay, We’re just gonna wrap this up and go start sexting naked Prince Harry. L8r g8tors.)


do you have Prince Cowgrass in a can?)