Jeff Lynne:“Read my electric light horoscopes only in the Blogicle!!!”
Oscar Wilde:“Lay down thou pretty eyes upon my most salicious and lugubrious ramblings, only in the Blogicle!”
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on Monday, June 29th, 2009 and is filed under MUSICLE.
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Hi I’m Jeff Lynne and I’m from Bir’min’em. I also used be in the right groovy band what were called Electric Light Orchestra – aka ELO – if your feeling lazy.
I knocked out dozens of classic tunes over the decades but you young’ins will probably be most familiar with me cheeky little ditty what was called Mr Blue Sky. Was right chuffed with that one – have a gander there below…
Anyway when I’m not writing or producing hit tunes, I like to sit in me back garden here in Bir’min’em and stare up at the lovely stars. Suppose over the years I kind ‘ave become a tad handy with the astrology and that kinda lark.
So here be me horoscopes for the week ahead. Peace and love!
Ever wondered what it would be like to fall head-first under the double-decker 25A bus to Lucan, Co. Dublin? Well wonder no more ( @ 4.23pm this coming Saturday – btw)!
Unusual cloud formations in your ascending Pluto will no doubt give mouth ulcers before that ‘big date’ with Henry from accounts. Be Careful.
A strong north wind will blow across Jupiter this Friday lunchtime – causing panic across world stock markets but having little or no effect on your property portfolio. The lunatic hiding in your basement will, however, cause untold damage to your inner bowels.
On Saturday you will attend an artist friends’ debut exhibition in a loft space in south-east London. You will tell him you like his paintings very much and will then get very drunk. During the time when you are drunk you will vomit on his 124 square metre master-work ‘MASTERWORK FOR FOOLS VERSION ONE’. Luckily no-one will notice and the evening passes without further incident.
On Wednesday afternoon you will be largely devoured by sharks.
Your love affair with President Obama will continue to interfere with household chores. As Mercury is brighter in the south sky; it may be prudent to allow President Obama back into your pantry to grab those ‘dirty undies’ he concealed when your husband came home early last week.
Your lucky number today is 12131284798479834798708284798174827498274.
A vast slice of your weekend will be dominated by the smell of burnt toast. You will have trouble finding the source of the burnt toast but will eventually deduce that it came from the ‘toaster’. Your embarressed laughter, however, will be cut short by a freak rickshaw accident in the living room. Dozens will die.
To hide his shame about his past, Max works obsessively as a hotel night porter where his aim is to please his guests, especially the Countess—a confidante who requires his services to get her young men as sexual partners. Many of the other guests are war criminals, who hold secret meetings in the hotel to uncover any evidence connecting them with their war crimes. Max prepares with these former Nazis a strategy for his upcoming War Trial at the hands of the Allies, as they conduct mock trials to learn about records in the archives they should destroy and witnesses to be tampered with or eliminated. Into this hotel culture, which reeks of nostalgia for the Führer, comes the only live witness who can testify against him—the young Viennese camp inmate who is now married to an American opera conductor. She is someone he sexually abused in the camp and Max can’t stop obsessing over their past torturous relationship. They are drawn uncontrollably to each other despite the dark past both of them share and the apparent danger from Max’s unchanged fanatical and bloodthirsty Nazi comrades, Klaus and Hans.
Eh…actually that was the synopsis for 1974 film ‘The Night Porter.’ Sorry about that, mate.
Your current love affair will end at the beginning of next week. Standard and Poors will then downgrade your ’sexy rating’ from a STRONG TRIPLE A to a PATHETIC TRIPLE Z. It will take years to recapitalise your mojo.
As a world renowned film critic; you are especially pleased with yourself when you publish a damning seven word review of ‘He’s Just Not That Into You.’ Your review will simply read:
‘I was just not that into it.’
Your decision to wear an Arab keffiyeh headscarf around your neck so as to appear ‘politically aware and kinda cute’ ends in tragedy when an Israeli F-15 fighter plane drops a 1000 pound cluster bomb on your face.
******************************
And that’s all me astrological musings for now. So until next time - try not to have any CONFUSION in your life - like what I am singing below.
Right chuffed with this tune I was…
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