Horrorscope - This one's for Mal


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Horrorscope - This one's for Mal
07.31.06 (2:18 pm)   [edit]
The following horror-scope is based on the alignment of spots of dried toothpaste on my bathroom sink prior to cleaning. I take no responsibility if you read these statements, find deep meaning and make life-altering decisions which lead you to utter ruin. Otherwise, give me the credit, Gorram it!!
Find your emotional tag among the following headings:

The Miserati
Ever Optimus
Prego My Eggo
Feelus Bloatus
Die Motherf**ker, Die!
My Boyfriend's Back
You Are Male

The Miserati
Just shut the fark up and stop whining! No one at work gives a shiat that your 18 year-old pet rock died. It had a good life, especially since you spoiled it rotten (e.g. painting its "toenails" with Sally Hansen's Cool Ice). Wait at least 3 months before getting a new puppy-rock. Oh, and that guy that hasn't called you back and you think it's because he's really busy at work/school and has family obligations, he's just not that into you. Mmm kay?


Ever Optimus
Grow some balls! No, seriously. Stop acting like everything is hunky-dory when life takes a T-Rex-sized dump on your head. No, you can't build a sandcastle with T-Rex doodoo. This time, there is no lemonade to be made with the proverbial lemon. Now is the time to kick ass and take numbers. Your normally passive significant other will be excited by your new attitude. Great sex is in your future, if you stop acting like Happy Pammy.


Prego My Eggo
I think it's time you retired the "I want to have a baby" opening line for first dates. I'm afraid you may come off a tad bit keen. Try postponing the baby shower a few more months, like after you're actually pregnant. In the mean time, babysit for some friends that just had twins. They could really use the break, and you could really use the reality check. Don't kid yourself. Baby poopoo stinks like grown up doodoo.


Feelus Bloatus
Yeah, so you're late and it's not because you're pregnant. Instead, it's because your cycle is a lazy-assed bitch that just loves to torment you and remind you who is the boss of your emotions (your hormones, in case you were wondering). Green tea, chocolate, slapping some random guy for opening the door for you - the usual fixes aren't working. No sweat. It's time to go on the internet and look for naked photos of Christian Bale. He's no Ewan MacGregor, but he'll do.


Die Motherf**ker, Die!
Nobody had better even look at you sideways. You're in a planet-sized funk and somebody's gonna die. Well guess what? Welcome to the f**king club. You're not so special. So why don't you join me while I throw darts at Tom Cruise's crotch, posted in the staff lounge? I'll give you three free tries, after that it's $20 per dart. Expensive, you say? Just try it. It's better than the crack you did last night.


My Boyfriend's Back
So now that Joe Schmoe's back in town, your real friends don't exist anymore? Can't go shopping because he needs you to clean his bathroom? Oh, sorry. Can't eat that cake because he's got you on a thousand calories a day? Oh, sorry. Pass me the fork and your plate. What's that you say? Your boyfriend thinks I'm an unhealthy friend and an enabler? Well, that's it, Missy! Call me when you've come to your senses.


You Are Male
You've forgotten my name, number, email address and username on MySpace.com. Other than that, you have no f**king excuse for the neglect. No GORRAM excuse!! Oh, and if you don't know what GORRAM means, we are clearly not in the same universe. Oh, wait, um, you're Mom died? Oh, sorry. Gee, um, ignore that ... um, those, 12 messages I left on your answering machine and the 40 emails at gmail. Yeah, I hit the send button repeatedly by mistake. I'm not needy, I swear. I knit. I clean bathroom's for sport. Really.
 


posted by: aesav23 (reply)
post date: 07.31.06 (9:28 am)

There are several that apply, here. ::sigh::
~ae



posted by: dustyjumpwings (reply)
post date: 07.31.06 (11:43 am)

Dayum. I'm both Feelus Bloatus and Die Motherf**ker, Die!.

I wouldn't slap some random guy for opening the door for me though, I'd probably just start crying hysterically!

I thought Tom Cruise was "The Man Without A Crotch"! Lets throw darts nonetheless. We'll listen to the axe-murder-the-cheating-boyfriend Metallica song while we do it.

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