One less bell to answer.

Greetings, Endtables Reupholstered In Calico---


Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, May 12, 2010 (As you can see from the Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Blanc Mange Frere Jacques Cousteau, since We constantly have to do everything Our Own Self because no one lifts a finger to help Us, while YouPeople were all busy with whatever petty concerns have been occupying your tiny little minds, We found Osama bin Laden. You’re welcome.):


(We have moved to a new paragraph to wish you a Happy Hump Day, because if We’d said “Hump Day” in the same paragraph with a discussion of that pixture, We might have puked up Our Own spleen.)


(WaitStaff show blurb which you MAY have seen before (unless you are a n@ked skimmer (in which case, We have most likely seen you n@ked)) follows:)


(We have been somewhat less relentless than usual in Our peddling of this show, but, as the size of Our paycheck is tied to your attendance, that nonsense is about to stop. The show, you may recall, is called The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows, and it is happening on Sundays, May 16th and 23rd, at 7PM, and Wednesday and Thursday, May 19th and 20that 8PM at L'Etage Cabaret at 6th and Bainbridge Streets. You can get tickets here. The show’s theme is mothers, and, in addition to special guest appearances by some of the WaitStaff’s mothers, it also boasts returns of audience favorites Yuri (and PuppetYuri), Jesus and his mom, Mrs. MotherOfGod, and a Very Special Episode of The Real Housewives Of South Philly, in which We actually meet the Duchess’s mother. So get your tickets. NOW.)


(Because We are starved for live entertainment, We recently took a highly scientific definitive WorldWideInterWebNetzian quiz to determine What Letter Our Soulmate’s Name Starts With. The answer, lest We keep you in suspense for a moment longer, was M. (Before all y’all whose names start with M begin deleting Us from you address books, We should also point out that said quiz informed Us that We were going to meet Our soulmate at a magic show. So there’s that.))


(Is anyone concerned that Micro$oft Weird™ doesn’t even think “soulmate” is a word? What about Soultrain? (Nope.) What about Alexander Solzhenitsyn? (Oh, THAT it knows. We, of course, had to look up the spelling. (Well, naturally We didn’t know how to spell it; We were already wasting a brain cell remembering his name.)))


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


You're still in the right place at the right time to have a good think about your finances. (We are thinking that it is pretty much time to win PowerBall™.)


This is a cycle which only happens twice a year - the next similar cycle will take place in 6 months time. (So it’s a BI-cycle. Not to be confused with a BI-s3xual. Which is a mythical creature not unlike a UNI-corn. Not that We’re TRI-ing to stir up controversy. )


(Vacation time shares in Our mind are going fast.)


Don't use that as an excuse to do nothing though. (Wait…We need an excuse?)


Now is the time (For All Good Men to come to the aid of their Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist)…namely, Us.)


to work out how confident you feel (We are wearing Depends™ AND a MaxiPad™, and yet We’re pretty sure We just piddled on the carpet.)


about your financial future (There’s a future?)


and to take any steps you need to, (All thirty-nine of ‘em.)


if you're not feeling too good about the way it's all unfolding. (Here’s an idea…if everybody who’s reading this right now sent Us a dollar…We’d have two dollars. Never mind.)


Don't let your ego get in your way. (Leggo my ego. B1tch.)


If you need help, ask. (Yeah. Because THAT works. See also: ContractorBoi.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




Raise your hand, raise your hand if you’re cowgrass.)

There was something in the air that night, the stars were bright, Fernando

Greetings, Enterprising Raccoon Invents Canopener---


(Oh, c’mon, Micro$oft Weird™! Now “canopener” isn’t a word? Clearly, you’ve never seen a Jeff Stryker movie.)


(You weren’t expecting such smut so early in an Eric’s Daily Horoscope, were you? Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.)


(The hidden word in the preceding sentence is “inane”. (Our mind….it’s a terrible thing that it’s so much smaller than Our waist. (This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs, using Cool Ranch Doritos™ to scoop up a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey™.)))


Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, May 11, 2010 (Ah, Tuesday. One day closer to the weekend. Also one day closer to death. Glass half empty, glass half full, glass shattered on the counter and a piece stuck in your eye. (We are pretty sure that all of Our Gentle Readers who used to chide Us for Our negativity have long since abandoned ship, because it has been veritable years since We’ve heard a peep out of any of ‘em. So they’re either gone, or they’ve learned to keep their d@mn Pollyanna pieholes shut. Meanwhile, in a fit of apple-pie-optimism and bluebird-of-happiness-ness (Ha! P3nis!), We bring you this heartwarming Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Bourguignon Bouillabaisse Franco American Spaghettios™ (Uh-oh) of two tards in love. Doesn’t it just make you all moist? (Oh, are you not properly toilet-trained either?)))


(In other news, you will recall that yesterday evening, We were off to rehearse the WaitStaff show in front of MizGerreGarrett’s sketch comedy class at Drexel. It was a smashing success, and the chirren even got most of Our old-geezer pop culture references. So now We have almost a week to fine-tune the comedy so that even the most tight-anused well-toilet-trained among you are issuing forth Hershey™-squirts of glee as We strut and fret Our hour upon the stage. (We know that Micro$oft Weird™ knows perfectly well that “anused” is a word. It is only pretending that it isn’t because, in an earlier paragraph, We were (figuratively) waving Jeff Stryker’s p3nis about, and you can’t Hershey™-squirt through the Holland Tunnel.))


(My, that was crass wasn’t it? Too bad, so sad… (You just filled in the rest of that your ownself, didn’t you? P3rvert.))


(We have been somewhat less relentless than usual in Our peddling of this show, but, as the size of Our paycheck is tied to your attendance, that nonsense is about to stop. The show, you may recall, is called The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows, and it is happening on Sundays, May 16th and 23rd, at 7PM, and Wednesday and Thursday, May 19th and 20th at 8PM at  L'Etage Cabaret at 6th and Bainbridge Streets. You can get tickets here. The show’s theme is mothers, and, in addition to special guest appearances by some of the WaitStaff’s mothers, it also boasts returns of audience favorites Yuri (and PuppetYuri), Jesus and his mom, Mrs. MotherOfGod, and a Very Special Episode of The Real Housewives Of South Philly, in which We actually meet the Duchess’s mother. So get your tickets. NOW.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Mercury is now going forwards again (Meanwhile, Uranus is backing up nicely.)


- which means that life should start to seem more straight-forward. (Oh, please. If any more straights come forward, how will We EVER get l@id?)


There will be fewer people throwing temper tantrums (Therefore it must follow as the night the day that there shall be fewer people catching them.)


and/or acting madly confused. (We got nothin’. We were gonna put another Uranus joke here, but We thought it would be nice to let all y’all do one your own selves. So We’re just gonna leave ya a little space for your very own Do-It-Yourself Uranus joke.)














Some recently-elusive people will start returning their phonecalls and emails. (ContractorBoi? CuteBoiInTights? Ya know, it’d be nice if, when people were gonna stop returning your phone calls, they’d make one last phone call to tell ya WHY. Just sayin’.)


Today as Mercury changes directions, you can expect one last blast of mayhem; after that, it's smoother sailing. (Mayhem, you say? No way! Henway! (What’s a henway? About a pound and a half. (Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Joke overboard!)))


Your financial statements will start to make more sense, (And yet, no dollars.)


there will be fewer annoying glitches (One would imagine that “annoying” would be inherent in the meaning of “glitches”. But then, One would imagine that a “professional” Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) would have an editor to put a stop to such inanities.)


when it comes to dealing with money, and if you're trying to buy or sell something, (Anybody want a kidney?)


you can expect a lot less confusion and upset. (We were holding out for upfusion and conset. Nothing EVER goes Our way.)


Hallelujah! (Go fu(k yerself. Bee-yotch.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




Cowgrass. Pleasure you want. Protection you trust.)

Look at me noooooowwwww…will I ever learn?

Greetings, Echinoderm Recoils Into Conch---


Here is your horoscope for Monday, May 10, 2010 (Happy Monday! Was that a weekend, or what? (No, seriously. Was it? We have no idea. We have not even read Our Sunday paper yet. The New York Times crossword puzzle remains inviolate. (Not, however, in violet, which would probably imply a purple paper, which would be patently poppycock. (Since We’ve no doubt met at least once before, it will come as no surprise to you that, having typed the preceding, We went off to Google “poppycock” on Wikipedia. And here is what We found: “Poppycock – anglicized form of the Dutch pappekak, which literally means soft dung or diarrhea (from Dutch pap pap + kak dung) – is an interjection meaning "nonsense" or "balderdash". Poppycock is also a brand of candied popcorn.” (We couldn’t possibly make this sh1t (heh) up.))))


(Speaking of Sunday, since We stopped publishing Eric’s Daily Horoscope on Sundays (and Saturdays, for that matter Mad Hatter pancake batter (sorry…Tourette’s)), We have developed a backlog of religious pixtures Du Jour Au Jus Crème Brulee Robert Goulet Maurice Chevalier. So today’s is one. You’re welcome.)


(You may recall that, on Friday, We were off to the hinterlands to the theater to see Flaming Guns of the Purple Sage. This entailed leaving OurHouseWhereWeLive at 6PM, and returning at midnight, to see a play that lasted under two hours. And We didn’t even have a drink afterwards. However, We are very glad that We went, as Our MizMaryPat and MizDonna were hysterical in same, and a good time was had by all. Unfortunately for all y’all, said play has now closed, so you don’t get to see it. Nanny-nanny poo-poo.)


(Micro$oft Weird™ would like you to know that “Nanny-nanny poo-poo” is a sentence fragment. It would further like you to know that “poo-poo” is misspelled. Does Micro$oft Weird™ have its finger on the pulse, or what?)


(It occurs to Us that We have absolutely no idea what We did on Saturday. (It further occurs to Us, after a fortuitous typo, that Saturday might be more fun if it were (subjunctively) renamed “Satyrday”.))


(In other news, We are off this evening to rehearse the WaitStaff show in front of MizGerreGarrett’s sketch comedy class at Drexel. We have been somewhat less relentless than usual in Our peddling of this show, but, as the size of Our paycheck is tied to your attendance, that nonsense is about to stop. The show, you may recall, is called The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows, and it is happening on Sundays, May 16th and 23rd, at 7PM, and Wednesday and Thursday, May 19th and 20that 8PM at L'Etage Cabaret at 6th and Bainbridge Streets. You can get tickets here. The show’s theme is mothers, and, in addition to special guest appearances by some of the WaitStaff’s mothers, it also boasts returns of audience favorites Yuri (and PuppetYuri), Jesus and his mom, Mrs. MotherOfGod, and a Very Special Episode of The Real Housewives Of South Philly, in which We actually meet the Duchess’s mother. So get your tickets. NOW.)


(L’Etage Cabaret is upstairs from Creperie Beau Monde. It had never occurred to Us, until now, to look up what the h3ll does “L’Etage” mean in French. We suspected it was something marvelously Bohemian and maybe slightly decadent, like “when the lemur bends over, his anus winks at Us”. Turns out, it means “upstairs”. Who knew?)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Copying machines, washers and even carburetors that are too close to you now will voice their objections by breaking down at the very minute you close in on them. (So We are thinking perhaps We should avoid friends with pacemakers?)


Don't be frustrated. (Give Us a bl0wjob, and We won’t be.)


(Too crass? Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.)


The electricity you're putting out now is enough to intimidate an entire army. (Meanwhile, We’d settle for just one guy in uniform, and a peek at the general’s privates. (To say nothing of the private’s g3nitals.))


How can one poor little engine withstand that? (Clearly, you have never heard of The Little Engine That Could. )


You're attracted, but for the life of you, you can't figure out why. (I think I can, I think I can. Why? Because *I’ve* seen the private’s g3nitals.)


Think of this as a gift, and don't shake the box until it's time to open it. (See, right now, that sentence is only doubly amusing to Our fellow WaitStaffians. But when you come see Our show, it will be doubly funny to you, too.)


You're wired for sound, (And if you stick a microphone up Our @ss, you’ll hear Jimmy Hoffa hollering for help. Also, We’ll sweep the floor while We’re at it. Olga Korbut, ladies and gentlemen.)


and not feeling at all patient (Not even a little patient. (Hi, Maaaa!))


with anyone who's dragging their heels, (Insert drag joke here.)


especially if there's work to be done. (Don’t We have people for that?)


Here's a tip: to avoid confrontation, work alone. (Here’s a tip: don’t look a gift horse in the @ss; it might p00p on your face. Also, don’t put all your eggs in one basket, or there’ll be no room for the private’s g3nitals.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




cowgrass…good to the last drop)

Ai-yi-yi-yi, I’d rather get l@id than be eaten

Greetings, Enchiladal Repetition Interrupts Chorale---


(Dear Micro$oft Weird™: “enchiladal” is, of course, the adjectival form of “enchilada” and, as such, is a perfectly legitimate word. Shut yer fu(kin’ piehole. (“Piehole”, aka “the hole into which one puts pie”, is also a perfectly legitimate word, albeit completely unrelated to “frijole”. So unrelated, in fact, that they don’t even rhyme, even though they look like they should. Here they are used in a sentence: “Anatole went into asystole when he looked through the keyhole and saw Angelina Jolie putting a frijole in her piehole.” You’re welcome.))


(You may have noticed Our absence from Bloggonia yesterday. (Or you may not have…We have no way of knowing, Wynonna. (Also, you picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille, but that’s neither sheer nor Nair™.)) We were busy having Ourselves a interview. A interview, for those of you are unfamiliar, would be a conversation between two people in which both of them are secretly wondering why in the h3ll one of them (i.e., Us) is rambling incoherently on like a drunken retard at a lunatics convention when it’s only one o’clock in the afternoon. We would tell you more about it, but We don’t want to jinx anything.)


(In still other news, (We just typed a whole paragraph, then realized We can’t be sharing any of the information yet. Suffice it to say, We sure do wish The City That Loves You (On Your) Back loved Us as much as Greater Bostonia does.))


(In other other news, We are off this evening to see Our MizMaryPat and MizDonna in Flaming Guns of the Purple Sage at Allens Lane. Having consulted Our SEPTA oracle, We find that it is going to take Us longer to get there than it will take Us to watch the play. On the plus side, it appears that it will not be raining upon Us as We do so (get there, that is. Not watch the play. It couldn’t rain on Us while We watch the play. Because the play is indoors. Silly goose.).)


Here is your horoscope for Friday, May 07, 2010 (Happy birthday to Pat, who turns twenty-four today. (We finally exchanged your gift yesterday, and will be mailing same today.) And happy Friday to the rest of all y’all.):


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Use your rather diffuse energy to help a friend or family member who’s flailing. (Flailing…takes me away to where I always heard it could be. Just a dream and a wind to carry me, soon I will be free…)


(Sorry. It couldn’t be helped.)


You can be their anchor, (We would rather be their anchovy.)


(“Anchovy” is a peculiar word, no?)


even if you’re not entirely sure how stable you’re feeling yourself. (We’re actually feeling somewhat distabled. Although the politically correct term is, of course, “differently stabled”. But that’s a horse of another color. (Heh. Get it? Stable…horse. (Oh, shut up.)))


Your life has been rather interesting recently. (To whom?)


You’ve challenged authority and come away virtually unscathed, (Also, We fought the law and the law won. Also also, We shot the sheriff. But We did not shoot the deputy.)


and then you moved on to handle cranky relatives, jealous friends and a sweetie with a bit of an attitude for no good reason. (No wonder We need a nap.)


It’s long past time for you to take a break and allow the universe to arrange for a last-minute change of plans that is sure to work out well for you. (Oh, yeah. That’s JUST what We need…The Universe making Our plans. That’ll work out well.)


It can be hard to escape group pressure, especially if many of those you care about are sure that they’ve found just the right person for you. (Never ever ever in Our life has this ever ever happened. No one has ever “found just the right person” for Us. Are you saying that’s about to change? There is allegedly a party coming up…perhaps said person could jump out of the cake.)


It’s past time for a little solitude, so you can regain your bearings. (To say nothing of Our ball bearings. Because We would really like to regain Our ball bearings.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




only good-tasting tuna get to be Cowgrass)

I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan

Greetings, Effeminate Ranchhand Intimidates Cowpuncher---

(This morning’s paradox: Micro$oft Weird™ recognizes “cowpuncher” but not “ranchhand”. Perhaps “ranchand” is meant to only have one H? No, that looks stupid. Ranchhand, Ayn Rand, Nancy Marchand. Also, “cowpuncher” sounds vaguely obscene.)


(This morning’s pair o’ ducks: Donald and Daffy.)


(Oh, get your minds out of the gutter…they’re cartoon characters, fercrissakes.)


Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, May 05, 2010 (Happy birthday to The Sainted Mother, who turns twenty-four today. Those of you who are aware that We Our Own Self Personally also recently turned twenty-four might think that this should be this morning’s paradox. Au Contraire Fred Astaire Madalyn Murray O’Hair. There is, as We have pointed out on previous occasions, a time machine. It is in the credenza. Where is the credenza, you ask? (You must be new here.) It is in the time machine. Also, happy Cinco de Mayo. Unless, of course, you live in Arizona. Y’all remember Arizona, right? Phoenix, Flagstaff, Fascism? And, as if all that weren’t (subjunctively) exciting enough for you, Happy Hump Day.):


(Before We begin, a little music video to brighten your day. This is work-safe, unless your workplace is a no Lady GaGa zone. (Did We ever mention that Lady GaGa is Our hairdresser’s cousin? Six degrees of Kevin Bacon’s p3nis, Bay-Bee!))

(While all y’all were watching the video, We were inputting today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope labels (Ayn Rand, Fred Astaire, etc.). We were shocked to discover that We have never mentioned Kevin Bacon in these pages before (since We entered Bloggonia). Sorry, Kevin. Please keep reading anyway. Love to the missus.)


(Our Our-O-Scope)


Life should be looking up for you now. (Mmm-hmm. In Our universe, looking up is just a prelude to a bird p00ping in Our eye. And before all of Our critics pounce upon Us for being negative, We are actually once again proving that We are The Eternal Cock-Eyed (heh) Optimist, as the way We are choosing to look at it is that Our glass eye is half FULL of bird p00p. (Which is, of course, a corollary to the saying, “With all this horsesh1t, there must be a pony.”))


Even Aries who have partners (Hmm. Apparently, before We decided to become a housewife, We should’ve gotten Ourself a HUSBAND. To bring home the Kevin Bacon, as it (subjunctively) were. Sigh.)


who've been hard to get along with of late should find that their partners are behaving more like normal human beings now. (Well, good. Because that invisible rabbit shtick was getting very tired.)






Just remember this, what you're doing in private- yes, it's your business. (But what you do WITH your privates is SHOW business.)


(We’re gonna take a little pause here to give you a chance to reflect on that last bit. Which is really quite fraught with meaning, if you think about it. Especially if you tilt your head and squint.)


However, sometimes we keep things private because we know that if we tell our friends what's really going on in our lives, they're going to tell us to get a grip, and we just don't want to hear it! (Sorry…what did you say?)


(SWWDT?)


(That’s one of them acronym thingies. Like “WWJD?” Which, of course, means “Who would Jesus do?” We’re guessing Mary Magdalene, but probably NOT Lady GaGa. Speaking of Jesus, He and His mom, Mrs. Mary MotherOfGod, will be making an appearance in the upcoming WaitStaff show, The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows. You DO have your tickets already, don’t you?)


Keep your secrets advisedly! (Also, keep America beautiful. Nuke Arizona.)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




it’s not nice to fool Mother Cowgrass)

Even educated fleas do it

Greetings, Embedded Rivet Impedes Carbondating---


(Oh, carbondating is so too a word. Not that We’re dating at all, but, if We (subjunctively) were, it would be carbondating. Because (A.) We are old, and (Number 2. (Heh. We said, “Number 2”.)) one of Our only dating requirements is that they be carbon-based life-forms. (Our only other two requirements are a p3nis and a pulse. We are, in fact, willing to entertain the notion of NON-carbon-based aliens from other planets as long as they possess the latter two. The p3nis and the pulse are, however, non-negotiable. We have not yet descended far enough into the abyss to begin dating the dead. But give Us time; once they show up for the date, they won’t bail on you early, and they certainly don’t monopolize the conversation.)


(We were going to continue the above with some witty discourse about dating the UNdead, but then We realized that, other than being aware of the existence of Twilight, and being able to picture the youth with the angsty hair and clown-white face who stars in same (whose name We do not know), We are woefully unable to hold Our own (heh) in a discussion of The Undead In The New Millennium. And We are certainly not going to carbondate Ourselves by saying something untoward like “Jonathan Frid”.)


(Apropos of nothing, you will note that today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Crème Brulee Bain De Soleil Nanette Fabray is apropos of nothing.)


(Was that a double negative? Discuss. (Those of you who are not, perhaps, as grammatological as We Our Own Selves may find it more amusing to discuss a discus at a disco. (Or not.)))


Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, May 04, 2010 (You will be, no doubt, elated to learn that UPS brought Our new printer yesterday at noon. The delivery person was, in fact, a hottie (although not as hottie as the previous week’s locksmith) and was not, in fact, a l3sbian. Consequently, We were left free in the afternoon to run (amok) errands outside of OurHouseWhereWeLive. There is no point to this story, and thus, no end to this paragraph.) :


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


You can safely act on your first impulse now in any and all circumstances. (Good. Shut. Up. @sshat.)


You've been bestowed with wisdom, well-deserved confidence and uncannily good timing. (Good. Can We write that on a piece of paper and have it be Our resume? And can We earn six figures working one afternoon a week at home? KThxBye.)


Needless to say, (Watch…she’s gonna say it anyway.)


the fans will be quite impressed. (See?)


(Wait…”fans”? What fans?)


Don't leave home without a stack of business cards. (Will these Partridge Family trading cards suffice?)


(Suffice?)


The birds are singing, the bees are buzzing and you're in love. (Do bees have penises? Presumably not, or the old saying wouldn’t be “it’s the bee’s knees”, it would be “it’s the bee’s penis”. Or perhaps “it’s the bee’s penis down to its knees”. (Whatever else all y’all were expecting in here this morning, We bet it wasn’t insect p0rn.))


Just in case you're not quite sure, somewhere in the back of your fragrant, pink, smoke-filled brain, however, arrange for a prenup. (It is unclear to Us just what exactly “fragrant, pink, smoke-filled brain” is meant to imply. Also, “prenup” is a very peculiar word. And totally inapt, for someone who can’t legally nup in the first place. B1tch.)


You're not exactly the soul of patience, diplomacy or moderation at the moment (Thank CHR1ST! Because what the h3ll fun would that be?)


-- and that's putting it very, very lightly. (The word you were looking for was “mildly”. Jeebus. We could edit this cr@p for you for a dollar.)


Take one giant step now in any direction. (Oh, you can’t fool Us. You didn’t say “Simon says”. We’re staying right here, ThankYouVeryMuch.)


You'll end up on Park Place with tons of money tucked under your side of the board. (What, they tore down Boardwalk?)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




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

Message in a (Geritol™) bottle…

Greetings, Effortless Regurgitation Inconveniences Contortionist---



Here is your horoscope for Monday, May 03, 2010 (Aaaaannnnddd We’re back. Didja miss Us? Yeah, We can tell, from the voluminous outpouring of expressions of dismay and concern at Our absence. Absence, of course, makes you shart Jane Fonda. (We do not have the intestinal fortitude to sit here and define “shart” for all y’all, so just pretend you understand.) We were off celebrating the anniversary of Our nativity with fambly. But We are back to Eric’s Daily Horoscope, just in time to wish a happy belated birthday to Chris, who turned twenty-four yesterday. (We are not sure exactly how one is “in time” to wish a happy BELATED birthday, but We’re pretty sure there’s a time machine involved.)):


(Before We begin, a little musical interlude, courtesy of a brother across the pond, in honor of the pope’s visit to the UK. This is totally not safe for work (well, not TOTALLY…no one’s n@ked in it. Or, if they are, they’re a cartoon), and you will have to listen very carefully to hear all of the lyrics (which are very clever, beyond the vulgarity). But it’s a perky, toe-tapping little ditty, perfect for a dreary Monday morning):




(As far as this particular installment of Eric’s Daily Horoscope goes, this may be a long one (that being, of course, what she said). We are awaiting delivery of a printer from Staples. Who have free delivery. What they don’t tell you is, their delivery is by UPS, whose idea of a “delivery window” is “between 9AM and 7PM”. If We are still sitting here at 7PM, We’d better be answering Our door to a tight brown uniform containing one Johnny Depp, with a cocktail in one hand and a bl0wj0b in the other. Seriously.)



(We could relate another anecdote involving a hunky repairman (a locksmith) with whom We were forced to consort on Thursday evening when We were supposed to be packing for Our departure, but since We realize in hindsight that at no point was his key in Our keyhole, We shan’t (which is totally (totes mcgotes) different than “shart”) take up your precious time.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Feel that sting on your skin? (Not Sting, Johnny Depp! Jeebus, don’t you ever listen?)


It's not a sunburn, and it's not a flush either. (Oh, great. Flesh-eating bacteria again? Sigh…just when Our leprosy had cleared up.)


It's the spotlight. (Curses! Foiled by a simple declarative sentence! Our funnyz, they fail Us.)


Whatever you say, do, dream or imagine will cause quite the public commotion. (It puts the commotion on its skin, so come on come on and do the locomotion with me.)


(We’ll take “Pop Culture In The Blender” for $500, Alex.)


Fortunately, (People always say that. But We have yet to see a fortune.)


you'll just so happen to have the right speech prepared for the occasion. (Four score and seven deadly sins, ask not why your country has tea for two, we have nothing to fear but ferret’s elf…wow. Some of those old famous speeches were really stupid, no? People would apparently listen to any old thing before they had WorldWideInterWebnetz.)


Ahem! (Ahoy! Alas! Alack! Abortion clinic!)


(Micro$oft Weird™ would like you all to know that “Abortion clinic!” is a sentence fragment. You’re welcome.)


(In random other news, We spoke to Our friend John G on the phone last night. We bring this up only because We subsequently had a dream in which he and We were hosting the Oscars™. Bizarre, no?)


You're not imagining it. (Don’t you tell Us what We’re imagining!)


Everyone is, indeed, smiling at you. (Well, of course they are. They are also backing away slowly, while speaking in a calm, soothing voice. None of it’s gonna help ‘em, but whatevs.)


Don't question it, but do be merciful. (Kiss Us quick, Our name is Ming. (Did anyone actually get that? Who ARE YouPeople?))


Smile back. (Smoke cr@ck, shoe black, bring sexy back, knick-knack-paddy-whack give a dog a boner.)


You don't have to give them your number. (Well, of course not. What’s a dog gonna do with Our number? On the other hand, a dog will know EXACTLY what to do with a boner. Dogs are funny that way. Not, of course, so much, “Funny: arf-arf” as “Funny: bet you wish you could lick YOUR own ballz.”)


Have your competitors (Wait…people are competing with Us? To win what, exactly?)


met at the door by someone (Where do We find these “someones” who will do Our bidding?)


to gently inform them that this just isn't the best day to compete with you. (This is apparently not the best day for much of anything, except sitting around waiting for the UPS guy to show up. And you just know that, with Our luck, when he finally does show up, he’s gonna be a l3sbian.)


Handing out flowers might soften the blow even further. (And throwing out handj0bs might harden them up for the bl0wj0b. What’s your point?)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




raise your hands, raise your hands if you’re cowgrass)