I’m always chasing rainbows

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for SunDee, December 16, 2012.  Happy birthday to Holly, who turns twenty-four today.

http://youtu.be/6f1m5GLfk1Y

This just in from Helen Keller’s Twitter account:

Helen Keller ‏@Helen_KelIer

Why's it so dark out? It's only 2:30

Helen Keller ‏@Helen_KelIer

I heard dropping acid makes you see things...gonna give it a go!!

Helen Keller ‏@Helen_KelIer

Hey I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number...don't expect me to pick up.

And now, because it is Christmastime, fercrissakes, and We have Things To Do, but We’re still trying to post every day for Holidailies™, the following is an encore presentation of an Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! from December 16, 2010:

I see your true colors

Greetings, Eating Reindeer Isn’t Cannibalism---

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, December 16, 2010 (Forgive Our tardiness this morning; having been awake from 4AM till around 7AM, when We finally went to sleep, We just stayed in da bed.  Also, forgive Our REtardiness, as We have nothing whatever to report.  Our excitements du jour include a visit to TheCutestDentistInTheWholeWideWorld, buying ink cartridges for Our printer, and redeeming a free lottery ticket that We won.  How We shall ever recover from the glamour overload, We haven’t got any idea.) :

(We usually choose the Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Joyeux Noelle Bella Bella Bo Bella Banana Fanna Fo Fella Me My ‘Mo Mella Bella Donna Mills first, and then begin writing the day’s entry.  However, We just now went and picked the pixture, and would like you to try a little experiment.  Cover up the caption with one hand, and the part of the hot tub in which Frosty appears with the other.  Deeply disturbing, no?)

(Meanwhile, Donna Mills is 70, people! (Well, except when she’s only 68, depending upon which website you check.  Fortunately, We Our Own Selves Personally are only twenty four, and won’t have to start lying about Our age for quite some time. (It occurs to Us that being currently twenty four means We were born in 1986, and…well, We’re just gonna leave that alone.)))

(Our mouse is hyperactive…has this ever happened to you?)

 (Our-O-Scopes:)

You have got to get your way today, but you shouldn’t burn bridges (Nor should you Beau Bridges.  Although you can Jeff Bridges if you like.  Lloyd Bridges is, of course, dead.)

— they are sure to stay burnt. (Like umber. And sienna.  (Who NAMED Crayola™ Crayons, fercrissakes?  We were CHILDREN, people.  “Umber”, “sienna”, indeed.))

Draw on your tact reserves (Ah, yes, Our tact reserves.)

 to keep people feeling friendly.  (‘Tis the season to cop a friendly feel.)

 This is probably one of your favorite times of the year. (Indeed it is.  Although We are hard pressed to figger out why, in Our previous parenthetical, Micro$oft Weird™ wants Us to add an S to either “season” or “feel”.)

Everyone is a bit more sociable (Do they still make those crackers?  (We just Googled them on Wikipedia, and indeed they do.  And they sell them at Our very own Ack-A-Me. Inquiring minds, and all that.))

— and even the meekest among us (Shall inherit the girth?)

(You know the meek are gonna get what’s coming to ‘em, by and by.)

are a lot more willing to try something new, at least once. (Because if you try it a second time, it’s not new anymore. @sshat.)

Now, you’ve never needed any prodding (That’s what YOU think.)

when it comes to experimentation, so you’ll be even more impetuous, impulsive and risk-loving than usual. (A REAL writer would have replaced “risk-taking” with a third word that started with I.  Just sayin’.  Hack.)

Sure, it’s hard to believe, but it’s true, and you’ll enjoy every minute — especially now that you have a playmate who’s equally game.  You may want to move forward with this low-key relationship, but you don’t know what to say. Don’t force the issue — your energy and honesty can get you through this. You should come out smiling on the other end.  (Obviously, all of the preceding stumbled in here from somebody else’s horoscope entirely.  “Playmate”?  “Relationship”?  “Our energy”? “Smiling”?  Must be Capriquarius or something.)

(Join Us again tomorrow, when We’ll have clean teeth, ink in Our printer, and a losing lottery ticket.)

 (You’re Your-O-Scopes:

 

http://www.humorscope.com)

 

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  http://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)

*****************************************************************************

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really. She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman. At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality. There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste. Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.

                                                                                                                                    

Hanging out on Second Avenue eating chicken vindaloo

 Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Wednesday, March 23, 2011.  Happy Hump Day One And All, Monte Hall, Lauren Bacall. We are being quite easily distracted by bright, shiny InterNetz this morning, as We, for some reason, arose at the crack of ass to begin frutting and stretting Our hour upon the stage.  Unlike yesterday, when We had actual things We needed to accomplish, and somehow managed to stay fast abed until 11AM.  Why, even Himself was up before We were!  Today, when all We need to do is help Himself learn his  lines for gay sensitivity tomorrow (and We just counted them…he has  twenty-eight.  If only We were (subjunctively) paid per utterance HERE what HE is paid THERE, We would be supporting Ourself in the manner to which We wish to become accustomed. (We are apparently SO easily distracted that We’ve become distracted in the middle of explaining how easily distracted We are…oh, look; a balloon!)),  We have already gone off on a vindaloo-seeking tangent and beaten Our previous record at sudoku.

Does “gone off on a vindaloo-seeking tangent and beaten Our previous record at Sudoku” sound dirty to you?  Because (A.) it’s not, and (2.) you’re a filthy perverted bum-licker.

Micro$oft Weird™, for some reason, insists on capitalizing “sudoku”.  (Does “capitalizing sudoku” sound dirty to you?  Are you looking at porn in another window while you read this horoscope?  Show Us on the doll where you touched yourself…)

Yesterday, meanwhile, was the birthday of both Stephen Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Weber.  We?  Did not get so much as a morsel of cake.

Speaking of gay sensitivity (We just LOVE saying that…as We all know, Himself is ten of the most sensitive gays We know.  Why, he’s just like that princess, in the fairy tale The Princess and the Pee. (We know, We know…you’re going to tell Us it’s actually The Princess and the Pea.   Well, The Princess and the Pee is the lesser-known original Grimm (also, grim) fairy tale, in which Her High-ness is kept awake by chronic bedwetting.  Because, seriously, what would give YOU more trouble sleeping?  A random legume, or urine-soaked sheets?  Thought so. (“Random Legume” is, of course, either a minor character in Guys and Dolls, or one of the answers on the Magic 8-Ball™. (You thought We were going to say it was Our nickname in high school, didn’t you?  We scoff at your expectations of predictability.  (Also, what kind of stupid nickname would “Random Legume” be? (It occurs to Us at this very second that it is possible that “Random Legume” was Orson Bean’s real name.  But then who the hell would CHOOSE to be called “Orson Bean”?))))))…you thought We had lost the thread, didn’t you?  Oh, no, Vincent van Gogh.  Speaking of gay sensitivity, there will be no episode of Erix Daily Horoscope tomorrow, as Himself has to be up at the crack of ass to transport his gay sensitive ass (as well as the rest of him(self)) to the provinces to do gay sensitivity training.  And somehow, We find that We just can’t write when Himself’s not in his bed, snoring away.  Sigh. Cain’t help lubbin’ dat man of mine…

We are thinking that “gay sensitive ass” really DOES sound dirty.  Also, that some ointment might be in order. Also also, that it was, quite possibly, Himself’s nickname in high school.

Apropos of nothing, sometimes brilliancies occur to Us and We have nowhere apt to display them. To wit:  “Let he who is without chin cast Franchot Tone”.

Don’t forgot to make your reservations to laugh at Himself and his little friends on April Fool’s Day:  http://thewineroom.com/wineroom.cfm?t=main&p=main  .

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.):

And so, without pork vindaloo:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

You need to deal with some people you don’t know well (We’d know them a whole lot better medium rare.  Just sayin’.)

— but you’ve got just the right kind of energy to build bridges.  (We do not, however, have the energy to Beau Bridges.  Although We might be persuaded to attempt to muster some for Jeff Bridges.  Lloyd Bridges, as We are sure We have pointed out before, is dead, and, consequently, requires virtually no energy whatsoever.)

In fact, even language barriers aren’t all that problematic for you!  (Mais oui, zat eez becauze We speek in, how-you-say, zee tongues.  As in, “Zis tongue seats five.”)

Breathe easy (Hey, they won’t buy the balloon if they can get the air for free.)

(We’ve never understood that saying.  Even when there are cows in it.  Cows and milk are two quite different things, no?  You ever see a filet mignon made out of milk?  Or a leather jacket?  

(Sixteen vegans just spontaneously combusted.  That, in case you were wondering, is why it smells like edamame farts in here.  (Edamame Farts was, of course, the wacky next door neighbor on the failed 60s sitcom, I Love Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.)))

(That may be the best drug joke We’ve ever told in here.  It was certainly the most circuitous.)

— today you will get a lot closer to answering the questions you’ve been wrestling with. (If you’ve seen Our ass recently, it will come as no surprise to you that the wrestling in question is sumo wrestling.)

Before the day is through, you’ll be taken to the right place and given all the right tools (An adz, an awl, and a rusty Phillips head screwdriver.  Kiss Us quick, We’re MacGuyver.  Well, actually, Tranny MacGuyver.  (Everybody wave hi to the lovely and talented Willam Belli.  Hi, Willam!)  

Meanwhile, whoever Phillip was, he must have had an extremely peculiar head.)

to contemplate your situation and think through your options. (We love options.  They make it so much easier to do the wrong thing.)

There’s no such thing as bad answers (There is, however, such a thing as really stupid questions.)

— just right answers. (What about WRONG answers, twatnozzle?  Are you saying there’s no such thing as those?)

(We just this very minute made up “twatnozzle”.  You can tell, because Micro$oft Weird™ doesn’t think it’s a word.  But if you use it three times in a sentence, it’s yours.  Twatnozzle, twatnozzle, twatnozzle.  (Oh, look:  Michael Keaton!))

(We were going to throw you a curve and say “Buster Keaton”, but We found that the joke became too obscure.  Also, Diane Keaton got a restraining order, and Meredith Baxter Birney isn’t funny anymore.)

(Honk if you know why Meredith Baxter Birney was in that sentence.  (Clearly, We are going for Most Celebs Named In A Single Erix Daily Horoscope.  You would think there was a prize.  There isn’t.  Because, if there (subjunctively) were, We’d have to buy it, and wrap it, and present it to Ourself, and, really, why bovver? (Sorry…We can’t hear for all the honking.  It’s like somebody’s trying to squeeze the shit out of a whole flock of geese.)))

(Aaaaand in one swell foop, We’ve tied in today’s Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Albert Camus Maya Angelou Horton Hears A Who My Sweet Babboo. Because Our storylines are like the finely-tuned mechanism of a Swiss crotch.)

(We have just been trying to put all of today's celebs in the label field.  Everybody from Diane Keaton on didn't fit.  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.)

So don’t be afraid to dig deep into your subconscious and face some nagging fears. (Thank you Sigmund Freud.  Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.  Other times, it’s a really nasty butt plug.)

(Try not to dwell.  (Okay, if you’re dwelling, We will just mention that We’ve just given the Chantix™ people a brilliant commercial idea.  (See?  Next time, when We say “Don’t dwell”, DON’T.)))

This may be a time when you have to give something up to get something you need. (We have already given up sacrifice for Lent.)

(We were going to make a “sacrifice fly” joke there, but that would involve Our finding out what the hell a sacrifice fly is.  Plus, it’s been far too long since We’ve had anything to do with a fly that was not Our Own.  Sigh.  Not funny.)

Some seriously active energy is coming your way, (As opposed to what?  Seriously INactive energy?  Asshat.)

 but before you launch yourself into furious action, (Now THERE’S a picture.)

do your homework (The dog ate it.)

and find something new that involves new faces (Does it involve sitting on them?)

— your enthusiasm is sure to be a big hit! (Especially with an exclamation point after it! Oh, look: sparkles!)

*****************************************************************************    

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com )

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really.  She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman.  At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality.  There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste.  Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.

I see your true colors

Greetings, Eating Reindeer Isn’t Cannibalism---

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, December 16, 2010 (Forgive Our tardiness this morning; having been awake from 4AM till around 7AM, when We finally went to sleep, We just stayed in da bed.  Also, forgive Our REtardiness, as We have nothing whatever to report.  Our excitements du jour include a visit to TheCutestDentistInTheWholeWideWorld, buying ink cartridges for Our printer, and redeeming a free lottery ticket that We won.  How We shall ever recover from the glamour overload, We haven’t got any idea.) :

(We usually choose the Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Joyeux Noelle Bella Bella Bo Bella Banana Fanna Fo Fella Me My ‘Mo Mella Bella Donna Mills first, and then begin writing the day’s entry.  However, We just now went and picked the pixture, and would like you to try a little experiment.  Cover up the caption with one hand, and the part of the hot tub in which Frosty appears with the other.  Deeply disturbing, no?)

(Meanwhile, Donna Mills is 70, people! (Well, except when she’s only 68, depending upon which website you check.  Fortunately, We Our Own Selves Personally are only twenty four, and won’t have to start lying about Our age for quite some time. (It occurs to Us that being currently twenty four means We were born in 1986, and…well, We’re just gonna leave that alone.)))

(Our mouse is hyperactive…has this ever happened to you?)

 (Our-O-Scopes:)

You have got to get your way today, but you shouldn’t burn bridges (Nor should you Beau Bridges.  Although you can Jeff Bridges if you like.  Lloyd Bridges is, of course, dead.)

— they are sure to stay burnt. (Like umber. And sienna.  (Who NAMED Crayola™ Crayons, fercrissakes?  We were CHILDREN, people.  “Umber”, “sienna”, indeed.))

Draw on your tact reserves (Ah, yes, Our tact reserves.)

 to keep people feeling friendly.  (‘Tis the season to cop a friendly feel.)

 This is probably one of your favorite times of the year. (Indeed it is.  Although We are hard pressed to figger out why, in Our previous parenthetical, Micro$oft Weird™ wants Us to add an S to either “season” or “feel”.)

Everyone is a bit more sociable (Do they still make those crackers?  (We just Googled them on Wikipedia, and indeed they do.  And they sell them at Our very own Ack-A-Me.  Inquiring minds, and all that.))

— and even the meekest among us (Shall inherit the girth?)

(You know the meek are gonna get what’s coming to ‘em, by and by.)

are a lot more willing to try something new, at least once. (Because if you try it a second time, it’s not new anymore.  @sshat.)

Now, you’ve never needed any prodding (That’s what YOU think.)

when it comes to experimentation, so you’ll be even more impetuous, impulsive and risk-loving than usual. (A REAL writer would have replaced “risk-taking” with a third word that started with I.  Just sayin’.  Hack.)

Sure, it’s hard to believe, but it’s true, and you’ll enjoy every minute — especially now that you have a playmate who’s equally game.  You may want to move forward with this low-key relationship, but you don’t know what to say. Don’t force the issue — your energy and honesty can get you through this. You should come out smiling on the other end.  (Obviously, all of the preceding stumbled in here from somebody else’s horoscope entirely.  “Playmate”?  “Relationship”?  “Our energy”? “Smiling”?  Must be Capriquarius or something.)

(Join Us again tomorrow, when We’ll have clean teeth, ink in Our printer, and a losing lottery ticket.)

 (Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com )

I’m bringing sexy back

Greetings, Executive Reorder Inexplicably Countermanded---


(Those wacky, zany, madcap Chinamen and their “shave-the-red-headed-white-baby” fetish. Heh-heh-heh.)


Here is your horoscope for Monday, March 08, 2010 (We know what you’re thinking. (Oh, yes, We do. We are practically psychic, and We have Our finger on the pulse. (And no, your tighty-whiteys that say “Monday” on them are not deterring Us. Our pulse-seeking finger is intrepid.)) You are thinking, “How does One continue to live in a world in which Sandra Bullock has an Oscar™?” Naturally, We would not bring up your dilemma if We did not have the answer. (We would like to think We are capable of pretending to be kinder than that. At least in public.) And the answer is, you have already been living in a world in which Oscars™ are possessed by Goldie Hawn, Kim Basinger, and Cher. So, although at first you were afraid, you were petrified, We suspect you will survive.):


(We Our Own Selves Personally did not watch the G@y Super Bowl. We were busy cinematically experiencing an indie film called The Open Road, starring Mister Justin Timberlake. (It also starred Mister Jeff Bridges, so, see, topical.) There are spoilers ahead, boyzzz and gurrlllzzz, so, if you’re planning a Justin Timberlake film festival any time soon, you may want to skip to the next paragraph. First off, a synopsis (like your scr0tum, here it is in a nutshell): Minor League Baseball Player Mister Timberlake needs to collect his estranged alcoholic ex-baseball player father, Mister Bridges, from somewhere across the country and bring him to see his ex-wife, Mister Timberlake’s mother, Miss Mary Steenburgen aka Mrs. Ted Danson, who is dying of Old Movie Disease. (She is not Mrs. Ted Danson in the fillum, she is Mrs. Ted Danson in real life. Which is only important to this story in that she apparently had it in her contract that, if she put on Old Movie Disease makeup for these people, they would give her husband a role. So Mister Danson plays Mister Timberlake’s coach in one scene, thereby depriving some actor who really needed the paycheck of work.) There is also some random young actress thrown into the mix to play Mister Timberlake’s girlfriend and thereby demonstrate that Mister Timberlake’s character is Not G@y, but she’s not important because they never have a s3x scene and who the h3ll makes a Justin Timberlake fillum and doesn’t make him take his clothes off? You can tell you’re watching a really cheap indie fillum because there’s only about enough script for A Very Special Episode Of Blossom, so they fill out their ninety minutes with a lot of shots of Mister Timberlake’s red Hummer (no, really) hurtling down various American highways. Said shots being cheap because there are no actors in them.)


(If you cannot predict each and every scene of this cinematic epic, especially the denouement, you have apparently never watched an American movie. Or a General Foods International Coffee™ commercial. Since We were blissfully unhampered by having to pay any attention to the “plot” or the dialogue, We were able to focus on a whole bunch of more interesting things (We are pretty sure We saw a scene where grass grew.) First off, We should mention Mister Harry Dean Stanton. Now, We realize that many of you will not recognize his name, but trust Us, you would Know Him If You Saw Him, as he has been in every fillum made since 1929, with the possible exception of The Women. (That there was a little cinematic joke for Our fellow cinephiles. The Women, you see, didn’t have any men in it.) In this particular instance, Mister Stanton played Miss Steenburgen’s father, but that’s not the point. The point is, We looked him up, and he’s eighty-three years old, BlessHisHeart. Ya know how they say that, as you get older, everything shrinks except the cartilage in your ears and nose, which continues to grow? Well, judging by the size of Mister Stanton’s ears, he’s getting ready for the remake of Dumbo. We’re just sayin’.)


(Also in the fillum in a minor role was Mister Lyle Lovett, who, as far as acting goes, is a pretty good country singer. He is also ten of the least attractive men you will ever see, although We have a special place in Our heart for him, as he was once married to Miss Julia Roberts (yet another Oscar™ winner), and it gives Us great pleasure to think of him banging her like an old screen door.)


(Speaking of Mister Lovett (and, parenthetically (hence the parentheses), throughout all of Sweeney Todd, they never seem to do that), it is during the scene that he shares with Mister Timberlake that the latter’s lack of histrionic powers becomes painfully evident. (We were already presuming Mister Lovett’s lack of histrionic powers, but then, nobody was making him the star of a movie.) Seems Mister Bridges et. al. were carrying Mister Timberlake during most of their scenes. Who knew? Especially since the major emoting required of Mister Timberlake was to brood in a romantically appealing fashion. Now, clearly Mister Timberlake keeps hisself in fine physical shape; even in the Costumes-by-WalMart that were on display here, his fine physique was evident. And We know from other sources that he has more body art than the Rosetta Stone has hieroglyphics (although why they weren’t showing them here is a mystery to Us). Presumably, he cannot help his unfortunate hair, but, at any rate, he has almost all the prerequisite attributes of a first-class romantically-appealing brooder. So why, oh, why didn’t someone send him to a speech teacher so he could stop sounding like Liberace’s hairdresser?)


(Whew! That’s a lotta stuff about fillum! Good thing the Oscars™ only happen once a year! (So did Mister Bridges thank Mister Timberlake in his acceptance speech, or what?))


(Our-O-Scope…)


Anyone who happens to get in your way right now will be bulldozed, trampled and otherwise made to believe that they are not an obstacle worthy of you. (What’s that? An actual insight? Who are you, and what have you done with Kelli?)


Great. (Ah, the old “one-word sentence” trick. Two can play at that game. Aardvark. Rutabaga. Indubitably. See? Simple. @sshat.)


Now help them up and apologize. (We are so very, very sorry that you were stupid enough to try to get in Our way. Howzat?)


Chances are, (Johnny Mathis is a f@g?)


they really weren't out to trip you up deliberately. (A likely story. Of a lovely lady. Who was bringing up three very lovely girls. All of them had hair of gold. From a bottle…)


(Sorry.)


Restraining yourself may be tough, (You think that’s tough, try getting a restraining order against yourself. It’ll say something like “you have to stay five hundred feet away from yourself at all times”, and then won’t you just be in a pickle?)


but it will definitely be easier than the apologies you'll need to make if you let it fly. (We went the whole way back through this horoscope, and that “it” has no antecedent. Grammar Police, lady; you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be pointed at and mocked for the illiterate gibberish of a retard that it is.)


Hold your breath, if need be. (Can’t We hold other people’s breath instead? We like when they turn blue.)


(YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


wow…atsa spicy cow-a-grass)