Hottywood’s HORRORscopes: Week of June 17-23, 2012

Below are Hottywood’s cookie fortunes as revealed by the moon and the sun, and the itch on the bottom of his foot. 

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Capricorn

December 22 – January 19

For a chili dog you live. For a chili dog you’ll die.

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Aquarius

January 20 – February 18

It will be revealed that you are about as romantic as a snowman.

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Pisces

February 19 – March 20

If you can’t be smart, be careful.

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Aries

March 21 – April 19

The person that’s so busy telling you what you need to do needs to pray that you don’t feel a need to punch him in the nose.

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Taurus

April 20 – May 20

Anyone that can afford to buy ten lottery tickets a day has no business trying to borrow money for a pack of cigarettes.

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Gemini

May 21 – June 20

It doesn’t take a huge spotlight to draw attention to sweat stain under your arms.

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Cancer

June 21 – July 22

You may be outfoxed by a rat.

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Leo

July 23 – August 22

Sometimes you have to open a liquor bottle to see the beauty in things your eyes refuse to look at.

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Virgo

August 23 – September 22

The heart is not a treasure for anyone whose heart is made of stone.

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Libra

September 23 – October 22

If someone tells you, “You have the voice of running water,” make sure they aren’t referring to sewer water.

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Scorpio

October 23 – November 21

Pooping in your pants reminds you of the child you used to be. It reminds everyone else to stay the hell away from you until you wash your butt. 

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Sagittarius

November 22 – December 21

The chance of you being attacked by a wild ostrich is…

Chance3 (x+2) + Chance3 (x-4) = 3

Chance3 (x+2) (x-4) = 3

33 = (x+2) (x-4)

27 = x2 – 4x + 2x – 8

x2 – 2x – 35 = 0

(x-7) (x+5) = 0

 x = 7  x = -5

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Quote of the week:    “Expect nothing, hope for everything, and be grateful for anything that you get in between.”

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A Brief History of Father’s Day: Daddy’s 24 Hour Pass to Tell His Family to Get Off His Back

“To what do we owe the honor of Father’s Day?” is not the question but rather to whom. Fathers, grandfathers, godfathers, surrogate fathers, and all men that serve in a fatherly capacity owe many thanks to a little girl who protested as a one man parade from church to church in a small state known to some as Washington to commemorate her father in a celebration rivaled to Mother’s Day.

Some time back in 1910, Sonora Smart Dodd, one of six children raised by a widower, saw fit to honor the father that her siblings and mother no doubt killed during all the stress he acquired from baby diapers, heavy eye bags, and the four jobs he had to take on to support his family up until the day he finally croaked. After hiking from one small hillside church to another, she finally convinced one pastor to support her idea on a given Sunday.  Sadly it was on a Sunday that pastor had already set aside to preach about the importance of giving money to the church. This pastor, who shall remain nameless, was arguably the first pastor noted to swindle his congregation out of money to fill his own pockets however those deep pockets did not affect his beating heart. The Rev. No Name agreed to honor the fathers of his congregation on a third Sunday in June, marking Spokane, Washington to be the first state to celebrate Father’s Day. The pastor was a father as well as a reverend, “Why not double his benefits of a celebration?” he thought.

The day of recognition did not catch on right away. Men in general weren’t tickled pink about having their masculinity teased with flowers and candy, but their egos grew with the thought of having one day devoted to them where they would have both a chance and a right to tell their wives and children “Hell no!” without regret and consequence, as well as an opportunity to be lazy and trifling with no adolescent backtalk or wives to withhold sex for any reason.

When a fatherly chorus of a 24-hour “Hell no!” buzzed across the nation, not surprisingly the perks of Father’s Day caught on like flies to a dead muskrat to some but still not all. Churches up and down dirt roads across state lines used the inspiration of the third Sunday in June (thanks to that little girl and her Washington church house) to ceremonialize baby’s daddies. For the pastors of those churches, their collection plates swelled large enough to buy two chicken coops, enough to serve scrambled eggs for three turns of a season.

Time pressed on. About fourteen years later, then president, Calvin Coolidge caught wind of the effort and urged governments to observe Father’s Day, though the thought was still not completely welcomed with a wide reception. Though some men were smart enough to use the day to their advantage, there were still many who saw it as an opportunity for their wives and children to buy them emasculating gifts with the pay the men earned from their hard jobs. “The nerve of anyone who wishes to celebrate me with gifts using the money that I earn,” they scoffed. They mocked even more the thought of commercial gimmicks to sell more products, again paid for by the man who was being glorified.

Some time between the 1920s and 1930s a movement sparked to scrap both Mother’s Day and Father’s Day altogether, putting in its place a single Parent’s Day. Mothers weren’t having that! Even though the daddies went out into the world to bleed their fingers to bring home laughable pay, the real work took place at home. Women cooked and cleaned, and took care of their screaming babies and spread their legs at night to keep their husbands from beating the crap out of them out of sheer frustration. They felt they were owed a single day of thanks and relaxation for all that they did single-handedly. Fathers felt the same damn way and joined voices in song to say, “Fuck that! We deserve the same rights!”

Retailers and advertisers flipped over backwards to jumpstart sky rocketing prices on neckties, hats, socks, pipes and tobacco, golf clubs and other sporting goods, and greeting cards as the war between Mother’s Day and Father’s Day persisted. By the time of World World II, merchants figured out a way to make Father’s Day stick like an envelope stamp by arguing that celebrating Father’s Day was a way to honor American troops and support the war effort.  After all, nothing is more manly than guns and violence. By the end of the war, Father’s Day was not accepted as a recognizable federal holiday, but it was recognized as a national institution.

And to think, all this came about because one little girl felt the weight of her helping hand to drive her father into an early grave. Sonora Smart Dodd, on behalf of your dead father and all the men around the world, “Thank you.”

This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,  

I met the most beautiful girl last week using an online dating service. In the last few days we have really connected – and not just sexually. She spent the night at my house one evening and we just laid in bed (naked) and talked, even though I did try to bump uglies. Since then though, she’s asked me to give her a photograph of myself to show to her mother. She also popped up at my house unannounced [while I was sleep]. When I didn’t answer the door, she fondled with the [door] lock and windows until she found my patio door unlocked. When I woke up from my sleep she was standing next to my bed. Should I be worried or flattered by her persistence?  

~Tied Down by a Ball and Chain 

Dear Tied Down by a Ball and Chain, 

Far be it from me to tell anyone how to conduct their social life. Anyone that knows me knows that I don’t meddle in anyone’s personal affairs, unless of course I’m invited to do so. Your inquiry is my formal invitation. But because I know how delicate the heart is I won’t scare you off. It sounds like you have a woman in your life that is quite capable of scaring the crap out of you with no help needed. 

It goes without saying that meeting anyone on the internet is risky, although there is no one sure way to find guaranteed true love. If I do nothing else I wish you the best of luck in love. I also wish that you’d go somewhere to get your head examined because it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this whole scenario sounds like a trip to the emergency room (or coroner’s office) waiting to happen.  

If I were you I’d begin by investing a little time to investigate this chick. If only after a few days she’s ready and willing to introduce you to her mama, you should probably put on a pair of specs and see the red flag waving before your eyes. You have no reason to meet her family until you’ve stuck around long enough to know that she’s the one for you. You being the one for her is one thing, but before you can shackle your hip to hers, you need to look out for yourself first. If she’s ready to bring you home to her family after approximately 168 days, that’s a clear sign that her elevator may not reach the roof and there are no brakes to keep it from crashing to the bottom floor. Presumably that’s not enough of a warning sign for you. Otherwise you would have saved the ink in your pen from penning this question, so let’s delve a little deeper. 

Her showing up at your house unannounced is a number one rule breaker for anyone who demands respect for privacy. Her entering your house without your knowledge is illegal, not to mention bold, dangerous and crazy. That act alone questions her respect for your privacy. What if you were in the house boning some other chick? You probably wouldn’t have any balls to bone anyone else today because there would be a strong possibility that she’d own them and have them stored in a jar on a top shelf in a closet in a shed hidden in the woods. 

My word of advice to you is to: 

A)    Leave this crazy bitch alone. She has two strikes against her in one week. The third strike may not leave you so lucky.

B)     Investigate her background before you go any further. …while you still can. These four words should motivate you: Kathy Bates in “Misery.”

C)    Be honest with her and tell her that her psychotic actions are scaring the shit out of you. Then duck and cover or run for your life because no one likes to be called crazy, especially a crazy person!

D)    Tell her not to pull any more stunts like this unless she’s expecting a cap in her ass, then buy yourself a shotgun, a crossbow or a canon. 

In case I’ve given you too much to chew on for your simple question, you should not be flattered by the actions of this woman. If she found you attractive, I’m sure some other woman will, too. Perhaps one that will not break into your house and hover over your bed while watching you silently as you sleep. You should, my friend, be worried. In fact I’m worried for you. If you need a place to crash and hide while she’s out hunting you like Elmer Fudd hunts Bugs Bunny, don’t call me. That’s not to say I don’t have your back because I do. I just have it from afar. Way, way afar!

Hottywood

This Week on, “Ask Hottywood!”

Dear Hottywood,

I was recently released from prison (on charges I wish not to discuss). Even though I spoke with members of my family to request help getting out of lock down, when I finally got released at 3:15 in the morning, none of my family/friends were at the precinct to greet my regained freedom or take me home. I ended up walking 45 minutes to the nearest train station and waiting an hour for metro rail to open. Do I have a right to be mad that no one was there for me in my time of need?    

~JailBird212 

Dear JailBird212, 

Because I know what it’s like to sit on the internal side of a jail cell (shh, that’s our little secret), I won’t give you a hard way to go. Also because you opt not to discuss your incarceration charges, the first thing that comes to my mind is murder, and I rather enjoy the land of the living so I’m going to watch what I say in hopes that you don’t track me down and kill me. 

Let the truth be told, you have no reason to be mad at anyone for not showing up at the time of your release. Reasons being: 

  1. Assumingly, they were not with you when you did whatever you did to get locked up.
  2. Assumingly, they were not with you when you got caught.
  3. Anyone that knows anything about suspect processing [of any kind] knows that the entire process takes a minimum of 9 hours, if you’re lucky. Who the hell would wait a day sitting in uncomfortable seats, surrounded by men with guns to find out if and/or when you are going to be released from jail for a crime you shouldn’t have committed in the first place? 

Honestly, you need to shift the focus of your priorities and drop this “I/Me” crap. After being released from the big house, everyone around you is going to look at you differently – like a crook. You should be more concerned about what you need to do to A) keep your ass out of trouble and B) paint a more positive image of yourself to those people around you, specifically and especially your family. 

The bottom line is that you can’t be mad at anyone else for not making your problems their own. You don’t get mad at anyone else when you miss the toilet seat do you? Or when you fall in? Or when your deodorant fails? This case is no different, especially in the sense that a cellblock smells as shitty as funky underarms and exactly the same as a pissy toilet – you know, with that one toilet bowl inside the holding cell that’s shared with the number of criminals that were picked up around or at the same time as you. 

My advice to you is to get over yourself and get your issues in order. And I mean that out of love and fear – fear that you’ll come looking for my ass because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear, which I might add, you should be used to by now. Because I know you heard a lot of stuff you didn’t want to hear while you were in the pen. In fact, you probably heard everything except Jesus saying, “I told you so.” 

Good luck and play it safe!  

~Hottywood

Hottywood’s HORRORscopes: Week of June 10-16, 2012

Below are Hottywood’s cookie fortunes as revealed by the moon and the sun, and the itch on the bottom of his foot. 

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Capricorn

December 22 – January 19

When someone stops telling you, “You are too smart for your own good,” they are being nice enough not to call you flat out stupid.

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Aquarius

January 20 – February 18

“Playing someone at their own game,” is French for “stooping to their level.”

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Pisces

February 19 – March 20

If you knew what you were doing you wouldn’t have done what you just did.

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Aries

March 21 – April 19

Look at it this way: It’s not as simple as people say it is to get over yourself when your head is so high in the clouds.

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Taurus

April 20 – May 20

“All that’s done in the dark will soon come to light,” doesn’t apply to a blind man.

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Gemini

May 21 – June 20

If Americans are claimed to be one of the most obese people in the world, reducing cake consumption is technically un-American, right?

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Cancer

June 21 – July 22

A fool by definition is anyone that mistakes an enima bottle for an economy sized bottle of eye drops.

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Leo

July 23 – August 22

Shoes are overcoats for socks with holes in them, but you won’t notice until one falls and the other drops.

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Virgo

August 23 – September 22

Road rage is codename for driving with passion. 

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Libra

September 23 – October 22

Bait you a hook for a fish you can fry.

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Scorpio

October 23 – November 21

Anyone that says they wouldn’t do it to you if you were the last person on Earth is technically correct, because if you were the last person on Earth you’d be alone.

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Sagittarius

November 22 – December 21

A double fudge chocolate chip bacon ranch cheeseburger could either change your life or end it.

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Quote of the week:    “It’s not normal for your eyebrows to feel bloated.”

Fake Eyelashes are a Woman’s Equivalence to Men’s Skinny Jeans

“Excuse me ma’am, there’s a spider crawling on your face. Oh wait, those are  your eyelashes.”  

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It isn’t uncommon for women to hear this kind of phrase from the majority of the population of men on the planet. Okay, maybe not the entire planet.  More so in cities saturated with pop culture phenomenon.

Overly long – or as I like to call them – FAKE eyelashes are a woman’s version of men’s skinny jeans. And just like skinny jeans and the men that wear them, over animated eyelashes should be set on fire, particularly while still attached to the woman who is wearing them, unless of course it’s Kim Kardashian. She may be a money hog and unable to keep a man for whatever reason but the girl is undeniably beautiful. Even with her faux lashes she can do wrong, except maybe marry a moron for 72 days and expect the general public to believe she didn’t expect a backlash. But hey, I didn’t say she was the brightest apple in the bunch…just the prettiest. Anyway we aren’t here to discuss Kimmy Kakes. Instead we are here to throw stones at women that wish they could gussy up like Mrs. Ms. Mizz Kardashian, sadly and unfortunately to no avail. 

What is it about long eyelashes that push boundaries? It’s not the lashes itself but rather the women that wear them incorrectly (over excessively) and in the most inappropriate places (i.e., work, church, school, laundromat). 

One shouldn’t be surprised to see the lash craze on models, actresses, female musical entertainers or drag queens. If I had to give an opinion I’d say they were perfect for stage play at long distance range. But if one just so happens to not attend a theatre, concert or skim through the pages of a glamour magazine, but instead make a midnight run to a local McDonalds or 24 hour CVS, the shock of eye ropes hanging from the counter clerks’ face could stop the heart like a baby locomotive hitting a deer on a railroad track.  

Today’s modern woman turns the spotlight on her – aiming that spotlight on the spectacle of her eyes. Ladies, especially in the urban community, dive head first overboard when attempting to vamp up the glam. They are seemingly more rich in eye makeup than they are in bank account dividends. Aside from the mascara caked up on the ridiculously long eye strands, women have the audacity to pair the lashes with wigs and weaves. As if having a pair of tarantulas hovering over the eyeballs isn’t enough, the nerve it must take to go the extra mile to throw a shiny tail of zebra on top of the crown. 

I have but one word for you fashion faux pas victims – “STOP!” Leave the lashes to the Kardashians, “please,” and “thank you.” 

Despite what you may think, unless you are posing for Tyra Banks’ America’s Next Top Model or somebody’s Esquire Magazine, just be happy with the natural eye visors God gave you. Men don’t like the extra amenities anyway. In fact we won’t even notice or often times care what you look like until the lights go out. So while you think you’re getting dolled up Barbie style, we’re looking at you more in the likeness of Garbage Pail Kids.  The only exception to this rule is if you have attempted to turn your stove top flame up to a maximum level like the chefs at every corner Chinese carry out and incidentally burned off your eyebrows and lashes. Otherwise you will only continue to look as if your face is being possessed by an alien race of arachnids. And believe me when I tell you it doesn’t take super Spiderman senses to sense something wrong with that look.

Microphone Check 1-2, 1-2

The words, “You’re killing me!” come to mind when confronted face to face, or rather voice to ear, with a self proclaimed singer or not so up and coming wannabe rapper. In retrospect the words, “I wish you’d kill me,” lingers not too far behind. These are the thoughts that most people think when less than talented musicians [for lack of a better word] advertise their B-side vocal skills. 

Some time last year we discussed the “get out of hell free” card when a vocalist slays a song in the church house. Whatever the denomination, an avid church goer is usually more obligated than compelled to go against the teachings of their religion to blatantly lie through their teeth when comparing a singer’s voice to that of an angel, purposely omitting the rest of their empty compliment – “…an angel of death.” But what happens when the vocals shatter through the sanctuary’s stained glass windows and spills over into the secular streets?

What happens is there is no holy book to protect the tone deaf lyricist from hearing the ugly truth about his/her even uglier vociferation. 

Anyone that isn’t bound by a bible Monday through Saturday will easily tell a dying songbird to put a lid on it or stick a sock in it, and that’s putting it mildly assuming those people have enough couth to respect the feelings of the chanteuse’s confidence in his own talent. 

Anyone with no manners or remorse, on the other hand, will tell that same chanteuse to shut the eff up or bind their lips together with super glue, scotch tape or quick drying cement. Rappers, even with all of their street cred are not exempt to the same sticky truth of their low budget emceeing, even if they carry a gun – water or bb. To them, a listening spectator begs to keep whatever they’re rapping about wrapped up tightly and hidden in the back of a closet…or under a closet, which ever is the furthest from public earshot. No matter how you spin it though music is a form of expression, even if that expression is frightfully louder more than permanently deafening.

Today most singers and rappers, whether amateur or “professional,” should stick to singing in the shower where they stand a better chance of drowning or completely flooding their vocal cords. Either that or continue performing in church where they can be lied to without judgment, that is until judgment day of course. Alas, those of us that are wise enough to stand on the external side of a recording studio sound booth aren’t that lucky. We are forced to listen to the fashionably damaged stylings of MC Boom Boom from up the block and around da way, Lady ShouldNever, the coworker on the third floor who swears her first single is going to drop at the end of the month, and of course Aaron Neville.  

To all of those wannabes that will probably never be, I think I can speak on behalf of everyone that is not looking forward to your selling any copies of the catastrophes that come out of your mouth when I say, “Don’t quit your day job,” advised in my best Simon Cowell voice.