I’m too sexy for my shirt

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Wednesday, February 23, 2011.  Sorry to get everyone in such a lather so early in the morning with such a HAWT Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Faberge Egg FooYung Guyz Wang Hung Lo Mein Street Stain Stays Mainly On De Plane Boss De Plane Who’s On Top Tonight Tattoo, but it is, after all, Hump Day, and We do, as ever, wish you all the happiest of humps. 

Speaking of pixtures, it occurred to Us that, while We reported yesterday on the subject of Justin Bieber’s barber’s butchery, We did not provide any corroboratorial pixturographic evidence.  So here:  http://www.csmonitor.com/The-Culture/Music/2011/0222/Justin-Bieber-cuts-his-hair-sending-legions-of-boys-to-the-barber .

The preceding paragraph is precedent-setting here at Erix Daily Horoscope for two reasons.  Number One: it is most assuredly the first-ever citing of The Christian Science Monitor as a reference in these particular epistles, and (B.) it employs the words “Justin Bieber” and “butch” in the very same sentence.

Oh, We know, We know; We can hear you all now, bleating, “Get off of Justin Bieber  already!”  And to both of you, We say, “Get off of him?  Why?  To give somebody else a chance? It IS Hump Day, after all.” (Now, no doubt, you’ll begin bleating about the underage thing.  Please.  The boy is turning seventeen on March 1^st.  Starzina says, if there’s grass on the field, play ball.  (We have no idea what that MEANS, but We surmise that it’s some sort of American sports metaphor.  From that game of yours, We’re pretty sure, that resembles cricket.)  Perhaps you are unaware of the upcoming remake of The Graduate, set to star none other than the aforementioned Mister Bieber and yours truly, Starzina Starfish-Browne.  “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Starfish-Browne?” (Zombie Anne Bancroft just clawed her way out of her grave, a fact which was only cosmically balanced out by the fact that Dustin Hoffman just dropped dead.)

Meanwhile, We trust that one or another of Our Gentle Readers will prod Us (heh) to remember to send Mister Bieber birthday wishes along with an installment of Erix Daily Horoscope on March 1^st.  KThxBye.

In other show business news, We had the opportunity to attend a recent WaitStaff rehearsal for their show this Sunday at World Café Live.  Now, while We have never found Himself the least bit funny, We are always amused by the antics of the WaitStaff, particularly the Real Housewives of South Philly (who will naturally be making an appearance).  However, on this occasion, We also had the opportunity to watch the performances of the WaitStaff’s Very Special Guests for the occasion, Mister Dave Terruso of the sketch comedy group Animosity Pierre, and Miss Jaylene Dulap, a singer-songwriter, and We are here to tell you, this is going to be one funny evening.  So go get your tickets NOW; We’ll wait right here:  http://tickets.worldcafelive.com/eventperformances.asp?evt=1616 .

And now, the horoscope you’ve all been humping for.  Er, WAITING for.  Yeah, that’s it, waiting.

(Micro$oft Weird™ would like Us to know that We have misspelled “Er”.  Thanks, Micro$oft Weird™.  Have a cookie.  And share one with the Bieber.)

An uncomfortable situation this morning — maybe a face-off  (We would imagine that One’s face coming off would be, at the very least, uncomfortable.)

— could escalate if you let it, but you are far better off just walking away. (Renee.)

It’s one of those days that rewards discretion and prudence.  (To say nothing of dyspepsia and prune juice.  You cannot IMAGINE how it rewards THEM.)

(Since We have been waxing poetic in a number of recent installments of Erix Daily Horoscope, We feel compelled to point out that Dyspepsia and Prune Juice is a lesser-known, unpublished sonnet by Percy Bysshe Shelley.  (Please note that We said “waxing poetic”, not “waxing poets”.  Elsewise, you shall spend the rest of the day pixturing Us behaving improperly with Langston Hughes’s boner.))

(Now, of course, no matter how many times We say, “try not to think about Langston Hughes’s boner”, you will be able to think about nothing else for the rest of the day.  SorryBoutEt.)

 It’s a common misconception (Well, what’s the good of that?  If it’s a COMMON misconception, that means that ANYONE could have it.  We shall be striving for an IMMACULATE misconception.)

 that in order to really know what’s going on, (We?  Haven’t had any idea what’s going on since 1986.)

 you have to be right in the middle of the action. (Mm-hmm.  One wonders if they will get Simon and Garfunkel to write the score for Our fillum.  “Now here’s to you, Mrs. Starfish-Browne, Jesus loves you more than you will know…whoa-whoa-whoa…”)

What really gives you accurate insight is an outsider’s perspective; (Conversely, then, it should follow, as the night the day, that what really gives you accurate outsight is an insider’s perspective.  Although what the fu(k is “outsight”, We haven’t got any idea. (Converse™ sneakers, the most important thing is, how does it look from MC Escher’s perspective?))

(Meanwhile, We just have to share with you this definition for “outsight” that We found when We Googled it on Wikipedia:

outsight, n: A statement believed by the person who utters it to be an important or profound insight, but which is in fact regarded by its audience as so obvious or elementary that it reveals the speaker as hopelessly ignorant or slow-witted, at least relative to the relevant group.

…is that the story of Our very life, or what?)

only then can you see things from all angles and understand the motivations behind everyone’s actions. (Well, clearly the only response to that is: Langston Hughes’s boner.)

So today, don’t push to be a part of the action. (Push, push, in the bush. (Aw, dammit, WHO just said “if there’s grass on Bieber’s field, play with his balls”?  Now We’re gonna have to mental floss…))

 Just ride things out  (STOP IT!)

and observe.

Next time you’ll be the only one who will really know how to handle things (G0D DAMMIT!!!)

— and you’ll be invaluable.

(Langston Hughes’s boner, Langston Hughes’s boner, Langston Hughes’s boner.  (Oh, shit…We sure hope that doesn’t work like “Beetlejuice”…))

(O hai, Langston Hughes’s boner….)

If you’ve got any romantic business  (Wait a minute…are We paying the Bieber, or is he paying Us?  (Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?  Joe-de-Joe has left and gone away…hey-hey-hey…hey-hey-hey…))

— especially communication tasks (Squirrelly synergistic zimblapp.)

— take care of it as early as you can today. (Hey, We’re getting this out before noon.  Cut Us some slack.  Or cut Us some slacks.  Whatevs.)

Later tonight, there’s some weird, somewhat uncomfortable energy on the move.  (Well, sure.  Zombie Anne Bancroft just tripped over Langston Hughes’s boner.)

*****************************************************************************    

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com )

Starzina Starfish-Browne was born in the wagon of a traveling show…well, okay, not really.  She was actually born in Lowake, Texas, the daughter of a beautician and either a garage mechanic or the town mailman.  At sixteen, she escaped her humble beginnings by running off with Doctor Browne’s Traveling Medicine Show and, more to the point, Doctor Browne. Following the dissolution of this unfortunate entanglement (Doctor Browne was a Virgo and Starzina is, of course, an Aries), which produced a daughter, Starzina entered a contest in Soap Opera Digest and won a scholarship to Oxford (yes, in ENGLAND), where she earned her doctorate in the newly-created dual major of Astrology and Human Sexuality.  There is absolutely NO TRUTH to the rumor that Starzina’s second daughter has Royal blood, despite tabloid photographs allegedly depicting her cavorting on the Italian Riviera with Princes William and Harry, clad only in Prussian helmets and armbands of questionable taste.  Starzina currently resides with her daughters in Philadelphia, the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, where she enjoys Double Coupon Day at the local SuperCruise and “encouraging” the coxswain of the Penn rowing team.