Aries (March 21-April 19)
A lunchroom dispute with a co-worker over a pack of Splenda ends in your humiliation in a USA Today news story. Your intoxication at a keg party from the ’80s comes back to haunt you in the form of a man claiming to be your son and demanding cash for a motorboat. You don’t have sexual relations with Mariska Hargitay anytime this month.

Taurus (April 20-May 20)
A video of you hiccupping on YouTube encourages various African widows and politicians to send you e-mails offering you millions of dollars. You inherit a ferret farm in British Columbia, causing complications and an unforeseen mind-fuck. A block of Hickory Farms Chavarti cheese comes in mighty handy with a critical bathroom repair.

Gemini (May 21-June 21)
The song you write about searching for dry roasted peanuts becomes a huge international comeback hit for Boy George. You invent a moist towelette that never dries out, but the idea is stolen and sold to Nabisco for nefarious purposes. Your cat starts talking but can only say, “You’re a douchebag.”

Cancer (June 22-July 22)
Your decision to have a string quartet play Ramones songs at your wedding causes consternation amongst future in-laws. Barry Bonds’ 764th home run hits you in the face, sending your wig ricocheting to a Republican sitting nearby. Photographing your penis with a camera phone isn’t a good idea this month.

Leo (July 23-August 22)
A strand of Giant Eagle string cheese hanging from your mouth as your deliver a eulogy diminishes the moment. Aliens start to probe you in the ass, but get distracted after hearing something interesting on sports talk radio. On Entertainment Tonight, Britney Spears names you as the cause of her recent problems at a photo shoot, calling you “a dildo Jewish architect.”

Virgo (August 23-September 22)
Your horseback riding accident while wearing stiletto heels and Hello Kitty underpants results in much mirth at the ER. Sweeping changes at your office finds you in charge of corkboard distribution. You find a twenty-dollar bill in a bag of Tostitos, but won’t spend it due to your strange religious beliefs.

Libra (September 23-October 23)
A Google search of the word “slalom skiing” ends in your marriage to a wealthy cross dresser. Your crappy imitation of Borat at a barbecue causes tears, rage and a fistfight with a police officer. Dental concerns voiced endlessly bore the hell out friends and acquaintances alike.

Scorpio (October 24-November 21)
Leaving a Zagnut instead of a Baby Ruth in a neighbor’s pool doesn’t have the desired effect. A series of unexpected events lead to your being named “The Cheesecake Killer.” Pouting about a bar mitzvah gift of bargain underpants is highly discouraged at this juncture.

Sagittarius (November 22-December 21)
Dancing to Doobie Brothers music at an office party results in lengthy suspensions for both you and your partner. Your velvety voice gets you the job as the official radio spokesperson for a baby insurance outfit. Your child Vince gets into a dustup at his preschool with another child named Vince.

Capricorn (December 22-January 19)
A refrigerator-shopping excursion ends with an unexpected booty call. A credible source names you as the real “Deep Throat,” leaving even Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein bewildered. Your obnoxious claim that you wrote the songs “Help Me Rhonda” and “Brown Sugar” wins you no friends.

Aquarius (January 20-February 18)
You discover your female guinea pig “Lassie” is actually a male, and renaming it becomes a source of considerable anxiety for your family. That tattoo of Ashley Judd on your bicep morphs embarrasingly into Kirstie Alley. Your white, racist iPod will not play music by any of the African-American artists that you downloaded on it, except for Kid Creole and the Coconuts.

Pisces (February 19-March 20)
Your oft-repeated, supposedly comic wail “I don’t even know who I am anymore!” becomes more than a little tiresome. Trying to turn the tables on a telemarketer, you ask him his phone number so you can call him back, and he gives it to you. You’re not sure, but you could swear your friend’s pet cat called you a “douchebag.”

“My whine is about my mailman. He always carries the mail against his stomach, and last week it was so hot his belly-button sweat soaked my Reader’s Digest. Can’t the post office tell their workers not to hold our mail against their belly buttons? What a fiasco!” — Strongsville

“I wish people would mind their dogs better. I was walking down my street and a dog smelled my pants. I’m on a fixed income and I don’t need the aggravation.” — Parma

“The last couple of weeks it was so crowded downtown. What gives? Where were the cops, anyway? And the noise … Give me a break!” — Cleveland

“Why do young men wear their pants so low and baggy today? Back in my day, young men put their packages on full display for all to see. What you saw was what you got. Now I don’t know what I’m looking at.” — Rocky River

“The ending of The Sopranos was ridiculous. Couldn’t they have at least bumped off A.J.? Here I am looking forward to a bloodbath and all I see is some twat parking her car. If I wanted to watch that, I’d go to the mall!” — Eastlake

“News bulletin for Nabisco, Keebler and others (you know who you are): saltines are supposed to have lots of salt on them. That’s why they’re called saltines. Hello!” — Northfield

“To those drivers honking and giving me the bird on 271 last week: I was going 35, which last time I looked, was perfectly legal. Where’s the fire? Let me know, so you can all go to blazes!” — Broadview Heights

“If you spelled LeBron’s name backwards, it’s Norbel, but nobody talks about that.” — Cleveland

“To the motorist whose car horn play The Godfather theme music: Are you proud that your car celebrates a gang of vicious criminals? Fine example you’re setting for our young people. My car horn plays ‘My Favorite Things.’ If your car can’t set a wholesome example for our young people, you should get a horse.” — Wickliffe

“My beef is with the Viagra people. Why do they print the instructions so small? By the time I find my spectacles I’ve forgotten what I’ve taken it for. Thanks for nothing!” — Elyria

“I’d like to know why all our local newscasts talk about liver-and-oatmeal 24/7. Aren’t there more important issues to talk about? No wonder people make fun of our city.” — Lyndhurst

“Memo to Heinz ketchup: ‘Stay Clean Cap’? In whose world? You should see my ceiling and walls! My husband’s crying in the garage. You’ll be getting my cleaning bills. You think you’d have this ketchup business down by now!” — Cleveland

“We have Bactine and laxatives, but there’s no peace in the world. What’s that about?” — Cleveland

“I’d like to know why my city’s service department don’t clean up all the dead squirrels and other road pizza on our streets. Entrails splattered all over the road, insects crawling in and out of gaping mouths, crows pecking and pulling at guts and eyeballs … I enjoy it, but it upsets my grandson.” — Brooklyn

“How much longer are we going to have to put up with ‘Detroit Road’ in Cleveland, Ohio? You think they have a ‘Cleveland Avenue’ in Detroit? In your dreams!” — Lakewood

“To all you turkeys gabbing non-stop on your cell phones: hang up and smell the coffee. It’s a fad!” — Brunswick

“A bird stole my toupee right off my head on Clague Road, and how much help were the police? You guessed it. I bet they’d blow it out of the air if it took off with one of their chimichangas.” — North Olmsted

“Why can’t these road crew workers stand closer to their trucks? I’ve hit three of them with my car already. It’s a joke!” — Solon

With this new web log, I am going to revolutionize the world of … um … bloggery. Each and every day I will read the entire Internet to cull the wheat from the chaff, and supply you with fascinating links, as well as my own profound thoughts, in a way that will go down like buttah. Throw out all the other blogs you currently read; just toss all those worthless bookmarks into the garbage. This sucker will be all you need.
Here’s how I envision the Indoors blog will read as I keep adding posts.

An Idol Fantasy
American Idol fans seem to idolize (ha!) Simon, but I find him to be far too mild-mannered and nice. If only I could replace Simon at the judges’ table during auditions …

Randy Jackson: What you got for us, dawg?
Contestant: I’m going to sing Whitney’s “I’ll Always Love You.”
Indoors (wincing): Oh GOD.
Contestant screeches the song as Randy and Paula look on politely, and I cover my ears with my hands.
Randy: Dawg, it was a little pitchy … can’t do it, sorry, man.
Paula: Uh … I don’t know … ummmm … the song is … very emotional …
Indoors (turning to Paula): So very eloquent as per usual, Paula. Are you pleasuring yourself under the table? Is that why you can’t get the words out? What you mean to say to the singer is this: DIE. Go. To. Hell. Get out of our sight this instant. Release the hounds!
Randy: Aw, don’t do him like that, dawg.
Indoors: Silence, you contemptible worm.

Comments
Dog, don’t be hatin’ on Randy, he’s the best thing on Idle. — Randyfan07
Is the contestent a boy or a gurl? — Tina
Awesome! ROFLMAO! — Beezer265

More on David Caruso
This youtube video montage of David Caruso removing his sunglasses and murmuring like an imbecile is making the rounds, and once again, I have to say: David Caruso thinks mighty highly of himself as one sexy beast for no discernable reason.

Comments
Dog, don’t be hatin’ on David Caruso, he’s the best thing on CSI. —HoratioFan07
Yeh, and what about Wm. Peterson? He sux too. I’d do Margie Heglenburger and Emily Procter tho — Gino
Perhaps you should put yourself out there on the line as other courageous, talented people do every day, and see what a deeply gifted actor must go through before casting aspersions. — DavidC

The face of our Acorn-American friends
Our squirrel pals are particularly active this time of year, and I’ve put together a mug book of squirrels from different parts of the country. I think you’ll find the variety fascinating …

Comments
Very nice … I’ve drawn targets over each and every one. BLAM-O! Heh heh — StreetRatKiller
What the hell is the matter with you, anyway? — Phil83

The Food and Drug Administration’s March 13 press release/warning on the potential risks and side effects of prescription sleeping pills was, you should pardon the expression, a real wake-up call for me.

The prescription sleep aide that I take is among the 13 drugs in the F.D.A.’s list of medications that may cause bizarre activities while asleep, including driving or preparing and gorging on food. This certainly explains a lot of the uncharacteristic behavior I’ve displayed while on my sleep meds.

Some Ambien patients were arrested while driving in their sleep. I’ve managed to avoid this humiliation while sleep-driving, but it’s still very disturbing to wake up suddenly on the Ohio Turnpike, heading west toward Toledo, with Travis Tritt blaring on the car radio. I don’t even like country music.

I’ve woken up to find myself sitting in the parking lot of a local music venue, watching people file out of a Josh Groban concert, and in the middle of the Cold and Allergy aisle in an all-night CVS, gripping two bottles of Chloraseptic. One morning I awoke in an outdoor park, lying on top of a picnic table with a Frisbee on my chest.

It doesn’t end there with my sleeping pills’ side effects.

A friend told me that I had called in the middle of the night and sang much of the Doobie Brothers catalog over the phone to him. I’ve prepared and eaten Mexican and Thai dishes, cleaned up, ran the dishwasher and unloaded it, all asleep. I’ve made jambalaya and once, a Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings.

I arose recently to find that, overnight, I had written a dramatization, for puppets, of the inauguration, and death from pneumonia a month later, of President William Henry Harrison.

One night while asleep I had taken photographs of myself with my digital camera and uploaded them to my computer. The next morning I found these images scattered on my desktop, with me in various poses and positions, pouting and pointing at the camera, wearing the Christina Aguilera wig I had acquired earlier in one of my sleep-online-ordering episodes. To my horror I saw in my sent box that I had e-mailed these photos to the entertainment editors of 37 daily newspapers, as well as to Variety and Us Weekly.

I’ve done sleep-carpentry and crafts, making wooden crates, clay pots and tea cozies. I’ve started a number of small businesses, complete with financial backing arranged on-line.

It may be time to talk to my doctor to determine if my sleep medication is right for me.

Notes from the Laziness Journal

Did you hear about that Iowa woman, Emmalee Bauer, who was denied unemployment benefits for keeping a “laziness journal”? In it she wrote, in detail, how she avoided doing any work at her sales coordinator job. It was beautiful.
Bauer wrote a 300-page entry that included gems like this: “This typing thing seems to be doing the trick. It just looks like I am hard at work on something very important. … I am only here for the money and, lately, for the printer access. I haven’t really accomplished anything in a long while … and I’m still getting paid more than I ever have at a job before, with less to do than I have ever had before. It’s actually quite nice.”
She wrote about how she shops online, chats on message boards and plays computer games. Like everyone else.
I also kept a laziness journal at a job I had several years ago, appearing busy by feverishly typing anything into it but work.
I didn’t let my boss find it, though, as Bauer did, and get myself fired. Note to Emmalee: E-mail your laziness journal to yourself if you want to keep it for posterity, then TRASH it off your desktop! Duh.
A few entries from my laziness journal:

Every time Douchebag walks by, I stare intently at my screen, then glance at a pile of papers on my desk, and type in “Eric Eric Eric” real fast … lather, rinse, repeat. Looks like I’m doing something heavy, not reading these NFL mock drafts … god, are those idiots really going to take a QB number one? War’s won in the trenches, people! Offensive line, hello! You people are MORONS, CRETINS, JERKOFFS, ASSWIPES, NITWITS, DOPES, DORKS, FEEBS

Best Picture Oscar winners alphabetically: Annie Hall, Braveheart, Chariots of Fire, Deer Hunter, let’s see, an E … Life of Emile Zola? Good enough … what’s an F … Fish … Fight Club? … Free Willy? … okay, G is Gone with the Wind, Godfather, that’s EZ … How Green Was My Valley … It Happened One Night … J … Johnny Dangerously? Jerry Macguire? Damn … a K … King Kong? Karate Kid? Screw it … Okay, Lawrence of Arabia … Mary Poppins?

*Words Spelled Backwards*
Food = Doof … Live = Evil … Lived = Devil … Bird = Drib … Squirrel = Lerriuqs (French?) … Drunk = Knurd … Hamster = Retsmah … Eric = Cire
Hey, Cire. Sire!
“Sire, your minions await your command … … We will bring you the finest foodstuffs, meats and cheeses … Yes, sire, as you wish, oh magnificent one … sire, shall we engage in physical acts for your pleasure? Acrobatics, juggling, buffoonery, your throne festooned with balloons? … We bring you fair maidens from every corner of your vast kingdom … We will indulge your every whim, we live to please you, may I fluff your pillow, yes, sire, you are the king, sire, let us fetch you any cheese you desire”

More Names for The Boss
Douche M. Bagg
Clueless McAssknuckle
Z. Rowe Brainpower
Crappon Yerhead
Dullard McSlackjaw
Shatter D. Mirror
Dum N. Dummer

Work Haiku
The copier waits
My ass is prepared, oh yes
To sit on it now

The Winking Lizard
Has my name on a barstool
Twenty-two ounces

One more meeting like
The one this Monday morning
Bleeding out my ears

My boss is a knob
My crank he should be biting
Chimp can do my job

E-mail: erictbroder@yahoo.com; website: ericbroder.com