Mocha chocolatta ya ya, Creole Lady Marmalade

Greetings, Eggplantine Remoulade Invigorates Cornbread---

(Okay, We may have coined “eggplantine” as a stretch based on the existence of aubergine Ovaltine™.   But “remoulade” is so too a word, Micro$oft Weird™.  You don’t get out much, do ya?  (Micro$oft Weird™ is now telling Us that neither “aubergine” nor “Ovaltine™” is a word.  Right after We finish up this Erix Daily Horoscope, We’re gonna kick Micro$oft Weird™’ s @ss at Scrabble™.))

Here is your horoscope for Monday, November 22, 2010 (Happy Kennedy Assassination Day to all you assassins out there. (Didja notice there were four asses in that sentence?  (Four asses are, of course, what you see if you look at Mount Rushmore from the back. (Vacation time shares in Our mind are still available for this holiday season.  The skiing is supposed to be great this year.))));

(But enough about politics, and politicians’ assasses.  ‘Tis the season to run around like a chicken who won’t give head. (Not only is Micro$oft Weird™ pooh-poohing “assasses”  (heh…see what We did there?), it is also looking askance at “’Tis”. And, as We all know, One can’t have a holiday season without “’Tis”.  If We can’t say “’Tis the season”, then ‘twon’t be. (A note to the “taking Christ out of Christmas” wingnuts:  we say “holiday season” because it is a season of holidays, only ONE of which is Christmas.  It starts with Thanksgiving, and includes Black Friday, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, Boxing Day, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, the Feast of Epiphany and Sucretia, and Mary Todd Lincoln’s birthday (seriously…look it up).  You will note that only ONE of those holidays is Christmas, and most of them haven’t got a blessed (heh) thing to do with Christmas.  (Although We did once hear a story about Mary Todd Lincoln getting laid in a manger, but that’s neither here nor Nair™.)  So if We wish you “happy holidays”, We are wishing for you to be happy from November 25^th through about the middle of January.  Whereas if We only wish you “merry Christmas”, We are wishing for you to be merry (whatever the h3ll that is) for twenty-four hours in December.   Pretty d@mn stingy, especially when wishing doesn’t cost anything.)))

(Whew!  The way We’re going on in here this morning, you would think We DIDN’T have a list of things to do that’s as long as John Dillinger’s d1ck.  (Quite a bit of history going on in here today, no?  Of course, those who don’t remember history are doomed to teepee tits.  (In addition to being a play on words, that’s a viZZZual joke.  So we’ll pause here for a mo-mo while you viZZZualize.  Go!)))

(Stop!)

(Micro$oft Weird™ accepted “mo-mo” without batting an eye. (To be fair, it may have been distracted by the viZZZualization of teepee tits.)  Turns out, a mo-mo is a Tibetan dumpling.  Which isn’t what We intended at all, but which sound yummy nonetheless. (“Nonetheless” is, of course, a word One uses to express the fact that One would always be happier if there were (subjunctively) one less nun.))

 (Our-O-Scopes:)

If you’ve been thinking about getting a new phone (What?  And give up Our rotary cell phone that still takes nickels and whose number is BUtterfield-8? (Yes, that IS a leftover joke.  But We’ve been keeping it in a green bag in the crisper, so it hasn’t started to stink yet.))

 or diving into some new pool of techno-geekery, (Yes, indeedy-doo, a pool of techno-geekery.  We are not particularly well-versed in the cultural phenomenon that is Harry Potter, but We are pretty sure “pool of techno-geekery” was coined for the fifth book in the series, Harry Potter and the Vibrating Anal Beads.)

(Daniel Radcliffe just shivered and got all damp in his panties. (What?  You didn’t know that Daniel Radcliffe was an Erix Daily Horoscope reader?  Honey, We are HUGE in Great Britain.  They’re still chortling over “teepee tits”.))

today is the perfect day to go for it. (Oh, please.  We have so many places to go today, We don’t know whether We’re Alan Cumming or Joanna Going. Seriously.  But We suspect We’d better decide before We get dressed.)

You’re totally in touch with your inner cyborg!  (Dunno ‘bout DAT, but, if you’ve seen Our @ss lately, you know We’re in touch with Our inner smorgasbord.)

Unpredictability is the name of the game now. (Well, it’s a good thing you told Us, ‘cause now We’ll be ready for it.  Oh, and, by the way, after We finish all of Our errands, We’re planning to be spontaneous.  From about 6:30 till 7:45.)

Fortunately, that’s a condition you adore. (Well, We have a kabillion errands to run, and it’s NOT pouring down rain.  We’ll take what We can get, but We’re not sure We’d go all the way to “adore”.)

Does this mean you’ll be inspired to be even more impulsive, eager and enthusiastic than usual? (Don’t hold your breast.)

It certainly does — and that could make it tough for you to concentrate, (Sorry…what?)

and even tougher for you to sit still long enough to finish up any of the projects you’ve got going.  (Fortunately, all of today’s projects are pretty much one-step.  Granted, with a lot of steps in between them, but still.)

Once it’s set down on paper, (We have a To-Do List, on which one of the Things To Do is “look at other list”.  Our world, and welcome to it.)

you should have no trouble moving forward.  (Taxi!!!)

(Anybody else look over at the index and realize that this is not the first Erix Daily Horoscope to mention Mary Todd Lincoln?  Just Us?  Alrighty then…)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com )

Eating their nuts, saving their raisins for Sunday

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 (Our Our-O-Scope:)

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

This necessary intimidation (ExSQUEEZE me?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(There; that’s better.)

(Your Euro-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com

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