Joan Crawford has risen from the grave

Greetings, Ensign Resigns Insignificant Consignment---


Here is your horoscope for Tuesday, March 23, 2010 (It is, of course, Joan Crawford’s birthday, leading One to wonder if One still celebrates birthdays when One is dead. Joan would have been a hundred and five years old today, which is a pair of Come-Fu(k-Me-Orthopedic-Pumps that don’t even bear contemplation. (Is it just Us, or in this particular pixture, does Miss Crawford appear to be auditioning to play Endora on Bewitched?)):


(It is also Tuesday, and the sun is shining. Unlike yesterday, when We spent the entire day indoors, working on a sketch. Oh, and, for a full minute and a half yesterday, We actually had a jawb. We were going to be a stand-in on the new Conan O’Brien pilot which is being filmed “here”. Until We were forced to ‘fess up to not having a car, because the thing is actually being shot in Andalusia. Which, last We heard, is in Spain, but it turns out it’s also in Bucks County somewhere. Where it’s not is in Philadelphia, so please don’t pretend you’re shooting your little program in Our fair city when you’re totally NOT. B1tches.)


(This weekend will mark the two-year anniversary of Us moving into OurHouseWhereWeLive. In honor of the occasion, all of Our lightbulbs have decided to blow at once. Whoop-de-fu(kin’-doo.)


(Oh, fercrissakes, Micro$oft Weird™! They are LIGHTBULBS. They are not “light bulbs”. As opposed to what? Dark bulbs? Heavy bulbs? Shut yer stupid piehole. (It’s a piehole, not a pie hole. Jeebus.))


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Don't worry about your antennae, (Because it’s the fact that you have two pairs of wings and lay your eggs in rotting meat that will really freak people out.)


because there's no way they'll lead you astray. (Astray, Ashtray, Nanette Fabray. (We’re not sure what just happened there, but We’re pretty sure it wasn’t funny.))


The advice of others may not be quite so reliable, (Who are these unreliable others, and what made them imagine that they were qualified to give Us advice? More to the point, how soon can We have them flogged to within an inch of their lives and flung over the parapet?)


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. (Sorry…what did you say? (Heh…see what We did there?))


(We don’t actually have a parapet, so if you give Us cr@ppy advice, We’ve got nothing to fling you over. We suppose We could fling you down Our four front steps, but you’d take forever to kill that way. (Sigh. Now that We’ve made you aware, we shall no doubt be deluged with a veritable sh1tstorm of cr@ppy advice.))


Don't smile, wink or hold someone's gaze a second too long -- because if you do, you won't be able to convince anyone that you didn't mean it 'that way.' (In THIS neighborhood? Are you kidding Us?)


Finalizing the deal won't be a problem. (Simonizing Lucille, on the other hand, will be fraught with peril. (Those who think We just spew Our bon mots randomly into the abyss will want to note that Joan Crawford’s birth name was Lucille LeSueur. So much for your random abyss bon mot-spewing conspiracy theories. Freaks.))


Your confidence and je ne sais quoi will be unstoppable. (Didn’t We just discuss this “je ne sais quoi” business in here recently? Don’t MAKE Us tell you again. It’s all fun and games till someone puts out an Eye-talian.)


Prying your competition's admiring eyes away could be a bit more challenging, though. (Not if you’ve got the right crowbar…d@mmit, we’ve made THAT joke in here recently, too. Are these horoscopes re-runs, or what?)


(Kelli, you despicable shiftless b1tch of a lazy wh0re! We knew this “je ne sais quoi/crowbar” combo sounded familiar (and also like a really bizarre Happy Meal™), so We went digging through the archives…From February 27th, not even a month ago, people (and this b1tch gets PAID for this):


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.))


The unmitigated Gallic gall of non-mitigation! All of Our illusions are shattered…wherever shall We find reliable Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation)s now?)


(We are too upset to go on. (Plus, we have a Yuri sketch to write.))


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


cowgrass…when it absolutely, positively has to be there overnight )

And another hundred people just got off of Lorraine

Greetings, Er…Response Indicates Confusion---


(Before We begin, apparently Hotmail and Comcast are having issues with each other. Our notifications are bouncing back from all of Our Comcast users. So, presumably, if you think you have emailed Us from Comcast, you may be mistaken.)


Here is your horoscope for Monday, March 22, 2010 (We thought, since it was Monday, and all y’all’re workin’ for a livin’, you could use a little d1ck. (Well, not a little d1ck…in fact, We don’t pretend to know anything about the size of the pixtured d1cks. Just that they are khaki-covered and camouflaged. (Today on Oprah: does a camouflaged d1ck pass as a hoo-hoo? The question before Us is where’s her clit0ris?) Also, the two couples on the ends seem to have had much more success in figgering out what to do with their d1cks than the two gentlemen in the middle.)):


(Whew! That’s a lotta stuff about d1ck! (See D1ck. See D1ck run. Run, D1ck, run. (You call it reading; We call it kiddie p0rn.)) And just what, We imagine you musing aloud, does all this stuff about d1ck have to do with Eric’s Daily Horoscope? And We shall tell you, as even the most rank amateur Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) knows, d1ck ain’t got d1ck to do with your horoscope, until you consider the position of Uranus.)


(You’re welcome.)


(Meanwhile, Happy Birthday to Stephen Sondheim, who turns twenty-four today. Isn’t it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you dressed as Cher…)


(It has come to Our attention, thanks to the “Labeling” feature here in Bloggonia, that We mention Cher a lot in Eric’s Daily Horoscope. Not so much because she is particularly newsworthy, but because she conveniently rhymes with lots of stuff. Like Nair™, and au pair. (If Our str8 boi readers would like to pause here and reflect on Nair™ing the au pair’s derriere, We won’t think any the less of you. After all, We did start off with all that stuff about d1ck.) However, We must take great care (heh) that Our Cher labels don’t exceed the labels devoted to The Patron Saint Of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, Mister Johnny Depp. Amen.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Sentimental? (Awww…)


Nostalgic? (No, but We do remember a time when We were…)


Oh my, yes. (Oh my, Shut. Up. Kelli.)


Poetry, love songs and yes, even weepy old movies are all you're interested in at the moment. (Well, that and d1ck.)


You're definitely in the mood for a kinder, gentler world -- but don't toss out the heavy metal CDs just yet. (What about the 8-track tapes? Can We toss out the 8-track tapes?)


This, too, shall pass. (Like gas out your @ss, this too shall pass. Kiss Us quick, We’re a rap star. LL Cool E. Which is, of course, different from LL Coolie, which would be a Chinese rap star. It must be awfully easy to rap in Chinese, since all the words rhyme with “wang”. This is why Sondheim wrote Pacific Overtures in English; because writing it in Chinese would have been no challenge. It’s also why there are no love songs in that show; how can you write a love song for people who can’t say Ls?)


(You know you rove Us.)


Step away from the computer, (Well, that won’t exactly help in getting this extremely tardy horoscope to Our adoring public, now will it?)


and the person you've been IMing who's definitely, absolutely, positively the love of your life. (Does anyone actually IM anymore? Like, on AOL, or some such? We couldn’t tell you the last time We even attempted to turn AOL on…)


Or at least insist on a very, very recent photo. (Of their d1ck?)


It will be impossible to refuse you, no matter what outlandish request you come up with. (See, now you’re just baiting Us.)


You're golden. (Much like the showers.)


(We sped up towards the end there, because it was threatening to become tomorrow before We published this thing, and because We have sketches to write.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


because Cowgrass Fahm remembuhs)

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Greetings, Episcopalian Reincarnated Into Confucianist---


Here is your horoscope for Sunday, Sunday, Sunday (sorry), March 21, 2010 (Happy birthday to anybody whose birthday it is. We don’t think We know anybody personally who’s having a birthday today, but We sure wish We did, because mmmm….cake.):


(Actually, We haven’t even had Our coffee yet. But, before We do, We would like to draw your attention to the commentary section of Eric’s Daily Horoscope here in Bloggonia. Yesterday’s subject line (“Just panties…what else do I need?”) caused Our Sistah Ovella and Us to wax nostalgic (but, fortunately, not bikini wax nostalgic, which can be dangerous (or wax the carrot nostalgic, which is just plain rude)) in the commentary section about the greatest movie ever made. Which is, of course, The Poseidon Adventure. (What did you think We were gonna say…Citizen Kane? Some fat guy in black and white…what’s so great about that?) “Just panties…what else do I need?” is, of course, a line of dialog from said film, spoken by The One And Only Stella Stevens, and, as such, would seem to violate the Eric’s Daily Horoscope time-honored tradition of using song lyrics as the subject line. But au contraire mon frère Frigidaire Sonny and Cher, it is ALSO a song lyric, courtesy of Our Chicagogonian friends who created Poseidon! An Upside-Down Musical. Herewith is a video for said song, which is safe for work, as long as “panties” are safe at your work (and, if not, what are you doing at work on Sunday with no panties on? Slut.)):

(There. Now wasn’t THAT a d@mn sight better than church? At any rate, if it hadn’t occurred to Us to point this out to all y’all, you’d have totally missed out on it if you don’t also at least read the commentary section. H3ll, We were sure that, by this point, y’all would be commenting up a storm and talking amongst yourselves. (Or maybe you ARE, and you’re doing it all behind Our back(s)…after all, it’s not paranoia if they ARE all out to get you.))


(Speaking of fillums, We fell asleep last night in the middle of (500) Days of Summer , in which Joseph Gordon Levitt, whom We usually love, has a really boring affair with some dull chick which is told totally out of chronological order. Which might be interesting if said affair lasted, say, two weeks, but it lasted for the titular (heh…We love that word) 500 days, and the time-jumps were indicated by on-screen titles: Day 379…Day 12…Day 351…wait, was that third scene before or after the first one???...so You never really knew (or, after a while, cared) where You were.)


(This little impromptu nappy-poo toodle-oo Kalamazoo may have impacted Our sleep during the night, when We kept being awakened by bizarre dreams. In the first, We were able to fly. Not the usual dream, wherein One flies like Superman, but instead with giant wings sticking out of Our back. The Sainted Mother was beginning to get annoyed with Us flying around the house, so she promised to take Us outside for flying lessons. But she made it very clear that We could only fly ten times a day. Although she never explained what would happen if We tried to fly eleven.)


(In the next dream, We were sleeping, for some reason, on a cot at the EAC. (This dream, no doubt, was a flash-forward to Our eventual homelessness.) It seemed like a perfectly good idea, until We discovered that a whole lot of people apparently worked the night shift. So We decided that We should probably get dressed (oh, yes, We were nekkid), which would mean retrieving Our clothes from the men’s room, where We had foolishly left them unattended. We woke up from this dream as We picked up Our pants, just knowing that there was no longer a wallet in them.)


(That was 5:30AM. Now it’s 9:30, and We’re finally having coffee. Is some d@mn birthday cake out of the question???)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Touchy? (Touché?)


You? (Moi?)


No way. (Fermez la Bouche, Touché Toupee.)


You may, (Mais oui…(heh. Didn’t see that last one coming, didja? That concludes Our little French lesson for today. We love the French. They invented all the best stuff…mustard, doors, kissing. Toast, dressing, fries. Bread, braids, drains. Horns, connections, the Foreign Legion. Not to mention that cartoon skunk. (No, seriously…don’t mention him. Zey hate zat.)))


however, be a teeny bit moody, cranky or oversensitive -- but certainly not touchy. (Moody, Cranky, Oversensitive, Touchy…these are but a few of the Seven Dwarves in the Snow White remake by Woody Allen.)


Unfortunately, (See, when a sentence starts out like that, ya just know no good can come of it. So let’S just skip to the next one, shall We?)
the rest of the world may not be quite so astute at differentiating between these subtleties.


Be nice, (Also, Be A Clown, Bea Benaderet, Beanie and Cecil.)


(YOU thought We were gonna say “Bea Arthur”. That’ll teach ya to try to predict Us. We haven’t been predicted (or dicted, for that matter) in years.)


even if it's killing you (Softly?)


and brag about your incredible self-control tomorrow. (“Get a load of these Spanx™!” (Or is that not what you meant?))


Talking them into seeing things your way will come easily, but do you really want to win that way? (What kind of @sshole question izzat?)


You can always even things up after dark. (Clearly a lyric from the song “Just Another Smutty Sunday”. Which was, of course, the prequel to “Just Another Manic Monday”. Unfortunately, the sequel, “Just Another Tepid Tuesday” never got written, because nobody could be bothered.)


(Oh, leave Us alone. We didn’t have enough sleep.)


If you know you're not fit for human consumption, (“Not Fit For Human Consumption“, of course, having been Our nickname in high school.)


don't press your luck. (But, more importantly, don’t press your duck. Because We just Googled “pressed duck” on Wikipedia, and EEEUUUWWWWW!!!! Those wacky, zany, madcap Frenchies!)


Get yourself home as soon as possible, get into your jammies and don't answer the phone. (The calls are coming from inside the house!!!)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


Pardon me…do you have any Grey Cowgrass?)

Just panties, what else do I need?

Greetings, Elbowgrease Removes Indelible Coffeestain---


Here is your horoscope for Saturday, March 20, 2010 (Yes, boyz and gurlzzz, now We’re just making up CompoundNouns to fu(k with Micro$oftWeird™. Try it; it’s fun! Happy FirstDay of Spring, and Happy FirstDay of Aries to OneAndAll, AllAndSundry, MichaelLandon, and AlBundy. (Give or take a day. Depending on what calendar you look at. Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulation) is, apparently, not an exact science. Who knew? (We just this second looked up and noticed that Micro$oftWeird™ actually accepted “elbowgrease”, thereby promptly spoiling all Our fun. Poo!))):


(Y’all of course realize what the arrival of Aries means…Aries birthdays! Not that there are any today, which is sad, because We could really enjoy some cake right about now. Speaking of cake, for those who are intrigued by bracketology but not all caught up in ballz (what did he say?), here’s this: http://jezebel.com/5496714/march-madness-the-cake-vs-pie-tournament which is work-safe (it’s about cake and pie, fercrissakes, and what are you doing at work on Saturday anyway?).)


(As far as today’s Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Of The Day goes, in Chinese Ass(tlomarogicar) Ho(loscopuration) (Sound ‘em out, people…get hooked on Phonics! The first pipeful is free.), it’s The Year Of The Tiger, so that explains that. (Actually, it was the cheeriest pixture in Our files, and We made up the explanation on the spot just now. But if you think your illusions are shattered, how do you think We feel, as Micro$oft Weird™ has just informed Us that “pipeful” is not a word.))


(In other news, We believe We have mentioned in this forum that, following a discussion on another messageboard (oh, get with the program, Micro$oft Weird™!) to which We belong, We have been keeping a log of all the change We pick up in the street. (There’s just no way to say that that doesn’t sound filthy, is there?) Our year of recordkeeping ended at the end of March, and Our grand total was seven dollars and forty-four cents, plus fifty yen. That’s one dollar bill, six quarters, twenty-four dimes, thirteen nickels, one hundred eighty-nine pennies, and a fifty yen piece. Just think how fat We’d be if We hadn’t bent over all those times.))


(We will pause here, to allow Patrick to enjoy viZZZualizing Us bending over. Patrick, it seems, is fond of solar eclipses.)


(Also, We seem to recall asking all y’all how to turn Our fifty yen piece into real money. No one answered Us. Sigh.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


If you're not attached, (We are detached like a retina, Bay-Bee.)


cancel your appointments, (In the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t it be better if One could cancel One’s DISappointments? (Are We deep, or what? (Who said, “Or what.”?)))


get dressed and get out there. (Get dressed? What, you don’t find this ratty old bathrobe alluring? Not fetching enough, is it? Not your basic “come hither” bathrobe? Bugger off!)


(If you did not read the preceding bit with a Cockney accent, We will pause here while you go back and do.)


Your public -- specifically, one particular person -- is anxiously awaiting your debut appearance. (All things considered, We’re pretty sure One isn’t really famous if One’s “public” consists of one person. Just sayin’.)


If you're attached, (We’ve already covered this. Move on.)


don't let them out of your sight for a second. (Kiss Us quick, We’re Helen Keller. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!)


Whether you're asking or accepting, (Acquiescing or acceding, allemanding or assraping, aggravating or airplanegluesniffing…(Sorry.))


it's time to nod your head and reach out to shake -- or tenderly grasp -- someone's hand. (Alternatively, crush their fingers into a bloody pulp and laugh maniacally. They’ll never see that coming.)


Be confident. (What is this, a Depends™ commercial? (And what’s so confidence-inspiring about Depends™ anyway? Okay, so you can p1ss yourself in public and none leaks out. Big fu(kin’ deal…you’re still gonna sit there and smell like p1ss.))


It's all good. (Not really. It’s a big squishy diaper filled with p1ss. You will probably end up with a rash. How exactly is any of this inspiring confidence?)


Make your list, pretend Santa is on duty and read it -- along with an honorary mention of everything you've done right. (Honey, We done told you…it’s Spring. The mythological creatures of the moment are Jeebus and the Easter Bunny. Santa is way back there someplace.)


Then leave out some cookies. (Yeah. Just wait till you see the Christmas presents you get once Santa munches on some cookies that you’ve left out for NINE MONTHS. That big squishy diaper filled with p1ss will be the least of your problems.)


Hey, it can't hurt. (That’s what They always say, right before the pain starts.)


You've been treated unfairly, (Sing it, Sistah! We’re mad as h3ll, and We’re not gonna take it any more. We are Norma Rae’s little sister, Norma Desmond Rae. We are ready for Our close-up, Max.)


(What just happened?)


and you've had it. (Correct Us if We’re wrong (and We thought We were wrong once, but We were mistaken), but isn’t Our major problem that We haven’t had it?)


You're ready to rock on outta there -- after a few choice words to the responsible parties. (Can We say those few choice words to the responsible parties while wearing Our irresponsible panties?)


(You’re waiting for Us to bend over again, aren’t you?)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


just wait till We get Our cowgrass on you)

I got a Basketball Jones, oh baby, oo-oo-oo

Greetings, Ectomorph Refuses Intravenous Creatinine---


Here is your horoscope for Friday, March 19, 2010 (Happy birthday to absolutely no one, as far as We know. And Happy March Madness to absolutely everyone. Hence today’s March Madness pixture, which is subtitled “My, what big feet you have, and yet such a tiny package”. March Madness, indeed. Two days without soap operas, and no Suhvivah. It’s a good thing the weather is glorious. As Our ex-non-son-in-law IceyPop was heard to ejaculate (heh) on SitOnMyFaceBook yesterday, “It’s so nice out, I have almost ZERO desire to set fire to a homeless person.”)


(“Ejaculate”, in case you have been skimming, is Our new favorite word. We think it’s high time “ejaculate” made a comeback.)


(We’re pretty sure We just tickled Ourself.)


(Meanwhile from the Eric’s Daily Horoscope Random Thought Of The Day Department, We are thinking that, if you are on a WorldWideInterWebNetzian dating site, and your user name is “FlamingPoniesOfMadness”, perhaps getting a date might not need to be your tip-top priority.)


(And from the Early-Onset Alzheimers Department, can We still say We “did” a load of laundry yesterday if We totally forgot to put any detergent in it?)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


A tendency to overestimate your own abilities is a side effect of the tremendous amount of physical energy you've been temporarily endowed with. (“Temporarily endowed” is, of course, what happens when Poster Boy for March Madness up there realizes he has an eeny-weeny teeny peenie and stuffs his gym socks down his hot pants. (We Our Own Selves Personally can’t remember that far back, but apparently they used to play this “basketball” nonsense in hot pants. Dunno ‘bout you, but such attire would certainly perk up Our interest in bracketology.))


Promising more than you're sure you can deliver is the worst of it. (We do not “deliver”. Chinamen on bicycles “deliver”. Jeebus. Don’t make Us go set fire to a homeless person.)


The best of it is your willingness to die trying. (First of all, have We met? And twoth, in what universe would that be considered a positive attribute?)


If you're at all irritated with a dear one, (Us? Irritated? However would THAT happen?)


this would be a positively terrific time for a night off. (Cool. Maybe the guys’ll come over, and We can shoot some hoops.)


(“Who SAID that?” he ejaculated.)


Believe it or not, you really aren't ten feet tall and bulletproof. (We are, however, ten feet wide and bullshitfilled.)


(We just thought We’d ejaculate that before you did. Ejaculate it, that is. (Didja hear about the guy who got to the Premature Ejaculators Anonymous meeting and found the door locked? He came too soon.))


(You knew We were gonna tell that joke sooner or later, didn’t’cha?)


However, you are extremely powerful right now, (Mmm-hmm. We had Mexican for dinner last night.)


both physically and mentally. (To say nothing of gastrointestinally. (When We say “We had Mexican”, We mean, of course, that We had Mexican FOOD, not that We had A Mexican. (“Ai-Yi-Yi-Yi, I’d rather get laid than be eaten…” (Whatever happened to the Frito™ Bandito?))))


(We just Googled the Frito™ Bandito on Wikipedia. We didn’t learn anything particularly interesting, although he was referred to as a “spokestoon”, which is a neologism (heh…he ejaculated “gism”) We had not known before.)


Although you're absolutely sure you can be all things to all clients, (Wait…We have clients? What are We, The Happy H00ker? (Speaking of WhateverHappenedTos, whatever happened to her? (We just Googled Xaviera Hollander. Apparently nothing whatsoever has happened to her. (On the other hand, who knew that We had been wasting a perfectly good brain cell remembering her name all this time?))))


you're really only human. (Actually, We are not human. But We play one on TV.)


Let the dice fall where they will. (Isn’t the expression “Let the CHIPS fall where they MAY”? (Or, in this case, “Let the FRITOS ejaculate “Bean dip!”))


(Thank you all for coming. (Heh.) Don’t forget to tip your waitress.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


"Muncha buncha, muncha buncha, muncha buncha, muncha buncha, Cowgrass goes with lunch")

Your sweat mixed in my glitter

Greetings, Ectoplasm Reaches Invisible Chamberpot---


(Every so often, We like to just throw out a greeting that makes all y’all go “Hmmm…”. Today’s, for example, We could easily imagine as a line in some supernatural Victorian bodiceripper. Or from an old Dark Shadows episode. (And no, Micro$oft Weird™, no matter how much you b1tch, moan, and complain, We are not going to stop slapping together compound nouns of Our Own choosing. If a bodiceripper is a single entity, then it can be a single word. Much like the “bedsheet” and “nailfile” from The Ides Of March entry (which see: http://ericsdailyhoroscope.blogspot.com/2010/03/buy-me-some-p3nis-and-crackerjack.html ). So nanny-nanny-poo-poo, Micro$oft Weird™. (We went off on this little tirade because of “bodiceripper”, but We just noticed that Micro$oft Weird™ also did not accept “chamberpot”. The h3ll?)))


Here is your horoscope for Thursday, March 18, 2010 (We would like to wish A Very Happy Birthday to Scott, who is turning twenty-four today. We would like to, that is, except We suspect he no longer follows the bouncing ballz here at Eric’s Daily Horoscope. Something about Our feng shui not aligning with his chakras. (We’re not exactly sure what that means, but We suspect it’s his polite way of pointing out that Our drapes don’t match Our carpet. (Parenthetically (hence the parentheses), it may interest some of you to note that Micro$oft Weird™ acknowledges “chakras”, but neither “feng” nor “shui”. Or it may not.)) At any rate, We shall attempt to lure Scott Back To Bloggonia today, with an Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixture Of The Day that reminded Us of him. (As did the site where We found it, but that’s neither here nor Cher.) We should also like to point out that, when We found said pixture, its glitter was actually animated; this is, of course, another reason why it reminded Us of him. How often We have heard someone say, “I saw Scott last night. His glitter was actually animated.” So Happy Birthday, Scott.):


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Gracious (She ejaculated, clutching her pearls.)


-- talk about riding high! (We are pretty sure that the SPCA and/or PETA would tell you that it’s only okay to ride high if you give the horse a coupla hits as well.)

You'll be absolutely on top of the world. (Oh, sure, today. Then tomorrow, it’s the world’s turn.)


(Apparently the Hilarity Du Jour is of the dry, understated variety. Try to keep up.)


Just be sure it's not tension that gets you there. (Attention? Apprehension? Bone of contention? We got nothin’.)


If you do happen to feel a bit edgy, hire a chaperone (Get on da telephone and hire you a chaperone to play you some saxophone and feed you a ice cream cone…(You are viZZZualizing Us as a rap star now, aren’t you? We are wearing a baseball cap sideways, and there are diamonds in Our teef, and We smell like Axe™. Our pants are sagging practically to Our knees, and as We turn around, Our giant @ssz eclipses the sun and ruins the entire illusion. The End.))


to ply you with hot chocolate and rub your feet. (Mmm-hmm. All We know is, if We payin’ dis person moneyz, dey bes’ be rubbin’ sumpin besides Our feets, if you know what We sayin’. And We fink you does.)


Your thoughts are directly connected to your heart now. (Well, thank CHR1ST! It’s about time We got that pesky brain out of the mix.)


Make sure there's Kleenex handy (Okay, you? Are a dirty, dirty birdie.)


before you even think about sitting down for that much-needed 'state of the relationship' meeting. (Will there be doughnuts? Because mmmmm….doughnuts.)


That feeling of rightness isn't just a fluke. (It’s a full-fledged tapeworm.)


It's the universe's way of letting you know that all is going as it should. Convey that feeling to the authorities. (Now, see, Kelli, this is why We lose Our more-evolved readers like Scott who operate on a higher plane. The Universe tells Us everything is going as it should, and you tell Us to call the cops. What the h3ll is that about, @sshat?)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


Miss Cowgrass has been authorized to issue you a Special Tarot Reading! It is vital that you call immediately! )

TooraLoora Bankhead

Greetings, Eringobragh Repetitions Impede Conversation---


Here is your horoscope for Wednesday, March 17, 2010 (Oh, my dears. Saint Patrick’s Day and Hump Day, all in the same twenty-four hours! (All y’all are just going to have to imagine this entire horoscope being spoken in a brogue, because We sure as the h3ll ain’t gonna try to type it phonetically.) In honor of such a bless-ed occasion, We give you not one, but two Eric’s Daily Horoscope Pixtures Du Jour Au Jus A La Mode Tout De Suite. (That last bit? Was a whole lotta French. Which, to the best of Our knowledge, has nothin’ to do with the Irish, but, if you play your cards right, We might just let you join in Our multilingual reindeer games. A word to the wise goin’ fishin’.))


(Speaking of reindeer games, We decided to tiptoe through the tulips of Our archives to bring you a few Memories From Saint Patrick’s Days Past. And here they are now:)


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(Faith and begorrah, and a Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to one and all, all and sundry, Hall and Oates, and Kukla, Fran, and Ollie. (The egregious Irish brogue in which We just said all of that inside Our very own head put Us, for some reason, in mind of Chief O’Hara from the old Batman series. No wonder crime ran rampant in Gotham City…the Chief of Police was constantly standing around the Commissioner’s office, in his UNIFORM, fercrissakes, with his thumb up his @ss, waiting for men in leotards to show up. Of course, if that were (subjunctively) a modern series with any serial aspect whatsoever, We would eventually get a story arc in which Chief O’Hara finally snapped and went on a one-man crime spree of his own. But preferably NOT in leotards.)):

(This is one of those mornings when all y’all are extra-special glad that you ain’t Us, innit? (Not, of course, as extra-special glad as you are not to be stuck with a mental image of Chief O’Hara in leotards, but still…pretty d@mn glad.))

(What’s that you say? You ARE stuck with a mental image of Chief O’Hara in leotards? Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad. Just be thankful he’s not wrestling King Tut in a Speedo™.)

(YouPeople are so easy.)

(Holy horoscope, Batman!)

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(Hampy Paint Satricks Gay! And Happy Canberra Day, to all of my Australian readers! (What the h3ll is Canberra Day, I hear you ask. And to both of you I say, who gives a sh1t? I my ownself personally don’t give a good g0dd@mn about any readers I may have Down Under, unless they happen to be Down Under My Desk. If you know what I mean. And I think you do. P3rverts.) Also, welcome back to Greg, who has been out of the loop due to an email snafu. (You know, if you anagram the phrase “email snafu”, it spells…well, pretty much nothing. There was an emu joke in there somewhere, but buggered if I can find it. (AND Micro$oft Word™ is now trying to tell me that “emu” isn’t a word. Mmm-hmm. I’ll bet it thinks “emo” isn’t either. @sshats.)))



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(Happy Saint Patrick’s Day to one and all, especially my Irish friends. Especially especially my WEE Irish friends. Which, if you believe popular myth, would be all of ‘em (well, the men, anyway). On the other hand, I my ownself personally have had said popular myth debunked in my very presence on numerous occasions, so now, ever a fan of a good debunking, I’m here to debunk it for you. So consider it debunked, and go fu(k yourself an Irish guy. H3ll, it’s Saint Patrick’s Day; go fu(k a couple of ‘em.)


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(Begorrah, wasn’t that fun, boyzzz and gurrrlllzzz? Notice how, in the ancient Dead Sea scrolls of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, The Royal We was not employed, even though The Royal We were employed. (That there was a little grammatical humor, to brighten up the Saint Patrick’s Hump Day morning for Our grammatophile readers. Because We? Are a cunning linguist.))


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Ordinary activities will be a bit trickier than usual, (Well, DUH. It’s 11 o’clcok in the morning, and everybody’s drunk already. (Well, not Us. We have school this evening. Why the h3ll We waited to be unemployed to take night classes is beyond Us, but there it is.))


leaving you with only one choice: (Hmmm…if it’s Tasters’ Choice™, but choosy mothers choose Jif™, what must Tasters’ Choice™ taste like? (You just WISH you could spend a weekend in Our mind, don’t you?))


improvise. (Improv SUCKS. (Sorry…that was a little WaitStaff chant there. (You are all watching this space for upcoming info on purchasing your tickets to The Mother Of All Sketch Comedy Shows in May, aren’t you?)))


Stop obsessing about what seems to be a lack of options. (And start obsessing about what seems to be a lapse of auctions. Or, more importantly, what seems to be a lhasa apso. Because, really, if it only seems to be a lhasa apso, what is it REALLY? (There is a special rate if you vacation in Our mind from Saturday to Saturday. But don’t look in the basement.))


Focus on the most bizarre, outrageous solution possible (Ah, clearly We’ve met before.)


-- it could very well end up being the right one. (Don’t you mean The Right Stuff? (Or, possibly, The Right Stuffing?))


(Oh, well, whatevs. Faith and Begorrah, Erin Go Bragh, Deutschland Uber Alles.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


cowgrass…and we hailped. )