Don’t tell me not to live just sit and putter; I’m gonna eat another Nutter Butter™.

                                        

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Thursday, March 31, 2011.  And thus endeth The First And Most Wretched Quarter Of The Year Of Our Lard 2011.  Not with a bang (big surprise there) but in a wimple.  Like Sister Sticky Fingers, the Kleptomaniac Nun.  Ave Maria, gee, it’s good to see ya, getting’ ecstatic and sorta dramatic and doing the Vatican rag…

What the hell are We talking about?

It is entirely possible that the threat of tomorrow’s snowstorm has caused Us to lose what is left of what passes for Our mind.  Himself is still under the covers, where he had, earlier, a long involved dream about shoveling snow.  (Of course he also had a dream about playing cards with cards made out of cheese, so it’s not exactly like he’s the poster child for sanity his own self.)

Meanwhile, if you have waited to make your reservations to see Himself and his little friends perform at the Wine Room tomorrow, you are too late; the show is sold out.  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.

Not, mind you, that Himself is in any mood to rehearse for said show, which is, of course, the sum total of this evening’s agenda.  Sigh.  At least he’ll be out of Our hair for a while.  Perhaps We shall tat a doily.

We noticed that YouPeople were not exactly brimming over with recommendations for illustrators for Our forthcoming children’s book, Little Miss Prisspot. So don’t imagine We’ll be doling out jobs on Our Crossdressing Kleptomaniac Nun sitcom any time soon.  Ingrates.

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (And, apparently, again, and again, and again. ((And again and again and again some more.(We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.)):

And so, without Gerard Depardieu:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

Try to get others to see how awesome they are today (Clearly, Everybody’s Favorite Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) has muddled her pronouns again…what she MEANS is, “try to get others to see how awesome WE are today”.  Asshat.)

— you can do yourself a lot of good by doing good for your people.  (People…people who eat people…are the lunchiest people…in the world.  (Soylent Green is people.))

(In case it is in some way unclear to you, We have no idea what the fu(k We’re talking about today, and are finding Ourselves incapable of focusing on this horoscope for more than a sentence at a time.  We would refund your money, but…oh, wait.  Never mind.)

It’s a great time to improve the lot of whatever group you find yourself part of.  (Crossdressing Kleptomaniac Nuns Anonymous?  Now THERE’S twelve steps ya don’t see every day.)

When a surge of energy enters you today, (That had goddamn well better be a euphemism.)

use it to help others. (The Lard helps those who help theyselves.)

Instead of diving into a fun project (Yeah…god forbid We have any FUN.)

or a favorite hobby (Or a favorite hobby horse.  Or a favorite Holly Hobby horse.  Or a favorite holly jolly Christmas hobby horse is a horse of course of course.  Whatever.  As long as it’s no fun.)

 or hitting the mall, (Who DOES that?)

find out who needs some help around the house. (Oh, sure.  Just stick a broom up Our ass and We’ll sweep the floor while We’re at it.  Unless, of course, you stick the broom up there the wrong way.  Which lends a whole new meaning to your earlier statement about “diving into a fun project”.  To say nothing of riding a hobby horse.  Oh, the places We’ll go!)

An older family member will be very appreciative of the extra pair of hands. (Unless said extra pair of hands grows out of his or her nipples.  Because that?  Would just be annoying.)

And you’ll feel good because you’ll know that you have the right priorities. (Also because We have a broom up Our ass.)

There are times to take action and times to just stand still. (To everything, turd, turd, turd, there is a season, turd, turd, turd…)

Right now, you need to stay where you are. (Which is ever so much simpler than staying where you aren’t.  (Seriously…try it with Us.  Stay where you are.  Okay, now, stay where you aren’t.  Couldn’t do it, couldja?  Amateurs.))

Focus your energy inside and give yourself space to let your mind wander a bit. (Oh, please.  Our mind gnawed through its leash and wandered off years ago.  For all We know, it’s in a whole ‘nother country by now.)

Don’t try to focus on any one thing (Well, We’ve obviously got THAT concept down pat.  (Pat Paulsen, Pat Nixon, Pat Boone.  Who are three Pats you wouldn’t want to get it down, Alex?))

— just see where your subconscious takes you. (Well, DUH.  We’ve been doing THAT ever since “Hello, Ducks!”)

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

(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.

The animals, the animals, let’s talk dirty to the animals! Fu(k you, Mister Bunny!

                                        

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Wednesday, March 30, 2011.  Happy birthday to Aileen, who turns twenty-four today, and also to Mark, who also also turns twenty-four today.  Funny how that works.  It occurs to Us that We know ALMOST enough twenty-four –year-olds, including Us Our Own Self Personally, to take over the world.  But, having seen the world recently, We are smart enough not to bovver.

You may have noticed that We did not publish an installment of Erix Daily Horoscope yesterday.  (More likely, you skipped blithely through your day without giving Us a second thought, but We are giving you the petit four of the gout, you blithe day skipper you.)  We started to, We had picked a pixture (and also a peck of pickled peckers) but then We decided We couldn’t be arsed. A fit of ennui overcame Us, as fits of ennui are wont to do. (Lawdy, it sho’ am poetical in here this mawnin’.  We feel JUST like Emily Dickinson.  (Well, We feel like SOMEBODY’S dick in SOMEBODY’S son, but that’s neither here nor Barbara McNair.))

But today We’re back, from outer space, We just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face.  Oh, you ALWAYS look like that?  How sad for YOU.  And, lest We forget, Happy Hump Day!  May your humps be Mary and bright, and may all your humptresses be white.  (Now that We see it in black and white, as it (subjunctively) were, that song is a little bit racist, no?)

Wow, now We’re REALLY clutching at straws.  (Actually, We’re clutching Our pearls and clutching Our clutch purse, but clutching at straws is so much more litter-airy.  Especially when there’s a big ol’ line of cocaine at the end of the straw.  (Ooops…was that the outside voice?))

Is “clutching Our clutch purse” redundant?  And how odd does “clutch” look when you see it over and over again?

Don’t forget to make your reservations to laugh at Himself and his little friends on April Fool’s Day:  http://thewineroom.com/wineroom.cfm?t=main&p=main  .  We hear there’s All The Wine You Can Drink.  And trust Us, We’ve SEEN YouPeople drink.  Also, We hear that, in the spirit of April Fool’s Day, The Universe is planning to throw a big snowstorm in Our honor.  So there’s that.  Fu(king Universe.

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (And, apparently, again, and again, and again. (We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.)):

And so, without Maya Angelou:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

(Before Our Favorite Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) begins ass(tromalogically) ho(roscopulating) (did that sound dirty to you?  Because it sounded dirty to Us, and We even knew what We were talking about),  We would like to point out that at no point during today’s ass(tromalogical) ho(roscopulations) does herself point out that later today, We will be entering Mercury Retrograde.  Nor does she ever reveal what  Mercury Retrograde would translate to in Fahrenheit.  Ass hat.)

Today is a reflection of the past, (Misty water-colored memories of the way We were…(Please understand that you were supposed to hear that, not as performed by Barbra Streisand, but as performed by Gilda Radner as Lisa Loopner.  It will, consequently, be so funny you forget to laugh.))

but that doesn’t mean you’re trapped in a loop. (How can you tell it’s an endless loop…endless loop…endless loop….endless loopner…?)

If you don’t like where you are, (What’s not to like?  We’re in OurHovelWhereWeLive, wearing Our housecoat and Our bunny slippers, banging this keyboard like an old screen door while We sip coffee and eat bonbons.  Himself is snoring away in his bed while visions of sugarplums dance in his head, and who taught all those sugarplums to dance like that anyway?  It’s like the finale of fu(king A Chorus Line , but with sugarplums.  Jeebus.)

perform acts of kindness to improve your karmic balance. (If you’re REALLY kind to Us, later on We’ll show you Our karmic chameleon.)

Things should pick up soon!  (That’s right, Kelli!  Because, as soon as you put an exclamation point after a statement, it automatically makes it true! Instantly, emphatically true! And so, as god is Our witness, it must follow as the night the day, you!  Are! An Asshat!)

 Paying attention (We are too poor to pay attention.)

 to your most intriguing inner visions is crucial right now. (“Crucial” is for old fuddy-duddies. Us modern types say “clutch”.)

(Fuddy-Duddy was a bear.

Fuddy-Duddy had no hair.

‘Cause Fuddy-Duddy used some Nair™,

‘Specially on his derrière.)

(We feel another children’s book coming on.)

(Speaking of children’s books, in all seriousness, We would very much like to find an illustrator and self-publish Little Miss Prisspot.  Anybody?  Beuller?)

You have dreams, goals and ideas that deserve to be pulled into the real world — (We could really do without the giving birth metaphor…We don’t need your grabby hands up Our cooter, ThankYouVeryMuch.)

 people should know about what you are seeing when you close your eyes. (Eyelids, mostly.  What’s your point?)

Draw, paint, sketch, write down or even just describe what it is that you want. (See, We’re pretty sure that, if you draw your own winning PowerBall™ ticket, it doesn’t actually win.  Also, you get arrested.  For, ya know, fraud.  And for being poetic without a poetic license. And stuff like that there.)

Someone you talk to today can help you make it a reality (Oh, sure.  But can they help Us make it a reality TELEVISION SHOW?)

— and help you enter a new phase.  (See, now you’re sitting there thinking about Our moon.  And We feel very, very sorry for you.)

Sometimes the best thing to do is nothing at all. (In that case, you might as well just crown Us queen right this very minute.)

Today you’re feeling frustrated (It is, after all, a day ending in Y.)

and possibly unable to get anything accomplished. (Alternatively, the period could go after “anything” and the sentiment would be the same.)

Don’t fight it (“It” being, of course, “da funk”.)

(Get. Down…Boogie-Oogie-Oogie.)

— just make it a lazy day and let yourself just chill. (Chillin’ like Bob Dylan, yo.)

(We have no idea.  Just move on.)

Tonight, make a date with a favorite movie and some ice cream. (Ah, the old ménage a trois with Ben and Jerry.  And their new flavor, Hershey Highway.)

(Didn’t see THAT coming, didja?)

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

(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.

Woo- hoo witchy woman see how high she flies

                                        

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Monday, March 28, 2011.  March has apparently chosen to go in like a linebacker and out like a lapdancer.  A crappy lapdancer, however, with incontinence issues and no Depends™. Now THERE’S a bachelor party you might want to give a miss.  Meanwhile, Micro$oft Weird™ professes not to have any idea what a “lapdancer” is, while smiling beatifically upon “linebacker”.  We, on the other hand, are well acquainted with the “lapdancer” concept, while having only a vague notion as to what the hell is a linebacker.  However, We are always willing to learn, so, if any of you happen to have a spare linebacker linebacking around, please send him over to give Us a lapdance.  If he happens to be a Laplander, so much the better. (There’d be a limerick in all this, if only any of it rhymed.)

We know that many of you were waiting with masterfully bated breath (heh) to hear how Our Satan-worshipping went over the weekend, and we are here to tell you that the entire thing was a smashing (also smashed) success, so you may look for a sudden outbreak of withered limbs, lizard whims, and various suspicious ailments amongst Our detractors any day now.  (Micro$oft Weird™ would like Us to know that the preceding is a long sentence.  And to Micro$oft Weird™ We say: “Jeff Stryker’s penis”.)  Also, even members of The Coven themselves may not be aware that, due to perfect attendance and Very Special Guest Stars, there were actually THIRTEEN of Us. And yet, We still managed not to win PowerBall™ the next day.  Sigh.

In other news, We finished watching the most recent season of Weeds this weekend, and We trust that Johnny Depp will not be TOO overcome with jealousy to learn that We want to bear Hunter Parrish’s children.  Speaking of celebrities, We did a recent once-over of Our celebrity labels off there to the right, and discovered that the lovely and talented Willam Belli had fallen into third place, behind Deaf Dumb Blind Dead Lady Famous For Reading Waffle Irons.  (WAAAAAAAAAHHHH is for WAAAAAAAAAffle.)  So, by referencing his name but not hers, We have now put him in a tie for second, and Our next reference will put him ahead.  Fourth place belongs to Cher, whom  We frequently reference because she rhymes with stuff, and first place, by a virtually unshatterable margin, belongs to Our Future Ex-Husband, Johnny Depp, who rhymes with “Fu(k Us up against a rock until We scream”.

Our life is so interesting, don’t you find?

Meanwhile, We mistakenly typed “celebritites” in the paragraph before last.  Unfortunately, We’re not sure if they’re the ones who grow down from the ceiling or up from the floor.

That was a little nerd humor for Our nerd readers. Who are now all hot and bothered because We’ve singled them out.  Their little nipples are all hard and poking into their pocket protectors…excuse Us, We need to lie down for a moment.

Don’t forgot to make your reservations to laugh at Himself and his little friends on April Fool’s Day:  http://thewineroom.com/wineroom.cfm?t=main&p=main  .

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (And, apparently, again, and again, and again. (We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.)):

And so, without a new Fu Manchu:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

Your ability to see the big picture comes in handy today, (We have always failed to understand why seeing a big picture is such an accomplishment.  Wouldn’t it be much more difficult to see a teeny tiny picture, say about the size of a postage stamp?  Especially if you were deaf, dumb, and blind, and your waffle iron didn’t tell you about it.  Although you would probably sure play a mean pinball.)

(The preceding is what is known in the business by the technical term “mixed pinafore”, another example of which would be, “you can heal your sores at Wawa, but you can’t marry Pink.”  We hope that clears it all up for you.)

(Please don’t make Us have to resort to Edamame Fart jokes again.)

as you and your people are in a good position to take care of some long-range planning.  (Said position being, of course, the Downward Missionary Dog Spiral of Fortuna.)

Help the group to see what’s likely to come. (Christmas comes but once a year.  So, unfortunately, do We.)

If you have been searching for a missing element, (Selenium?)

hidden idea or final piece of some vexing puzzle, today you will find it in the words or actions of a long-time acquaintance. (Is it just Us, or does “long-time acquaintance” sound like a euphemism for someone We don’t like who simply won’t go away?)

Listen to what they say, (Sorry…what?)

(Heh.  SWWDT?)

even if they don’t know how to say it tactfully. (Oh, great.  We shall be addressed with sentences ending in “FatAss”.  We can’t wait.)

They will help you wrap up your ideas (Which will no doubt promptly smother from lack of oxygen.  Why We picked “selenium” as Our element before, We haven’t got any idea.)

and their perspective will not only complete your picture, (So it’s a big MC Escher picture.  Who the hell could miss THAT?  (Please, Escher, don’t hurt ‘em.))

it will improve upon it. (But They say you can’t improve upon perspection.  Which is stupid, because “perspection” isn’t a word.)

With their help, you will be able to give your attention to things that really matter. (Like bearing Hunter Parrish’s children.  Or at least trying to.)

 Watch out for like-minded people: (In what alternate universe do you imagine We would actually run across someone else with a mind like Ours?)

Take that salsa dancing class you’ve been meaning to take (Is it just Us, or does salsa dancing sound really messy?  Not as messy as mud wrestling, perhaps, but still…if you get that shit in your eye, it BURNZZZ.  (That’s what she said.))

(We are pretty sure that it was Urban Dictionary that informed Us this weekend that the “she” in “that’s what she said” refers to your mom.)

or start up a fresh new book club. (You know what would be fresh?  A baby seal clubbing club.  When’s the last time somebody started one of those?)

Even if that romantic prospect isn’t immediately obvious, new connections should lead to new opportunities. (Blah-blah-blah, shut-up cakes.)

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

(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.

I tidied up my point of view, I got a new atty-tood.

                                         

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Friday, March 25, 2011.  Beware the Fridays of March, They say.  Although why They say that, We haven’t got any ides. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and We’re very glad it’s not the other way around, because there’s nothing We hate worse than shiny birds. (Actually, there are a lot of things We hate worse, but, for the purposes of the preceding sentence, We shall wave Our poetic license in your face and tell you to bite Us.) We have, however, just been informed that it is some Nuclear Winter temperature in between “cold as a witch’s tit in a brass brassiere” and “cold as a preacher’s prick in a dead altar boy”, so We are not as sanguine as We might previously have appeared.  We are also significantly less likely to sing “polly-wolly doodle” all day.  We are, however, still a cock-eyed optimist, so, if you’ve got a cock, We’re willing to keep an eye out for it.

(That, of course, is the punchline to an old joke about a hooker with a glass eye.  Our humor is so post-modern that Henny Youngman is spinning in Buddy Hackett’s grave.)

Micro$oft Weird™ doesn’t think “punchline” is a word.  Micro$oft Weird™ has no fu(king sense of humor.

Back in The Day (We have never understood that phrase…which exact day was “The Day”?), there was a newspaper column (remember newspapers?) entitled “Hints From Hell, Louise”.  We were about to launch into a dissertation on the fact that, as “The Day” was quite long ago, Louise must, in fact, be long since dead, although, presumably, not in Hell, as all she ever did in life was clean things. And who better to replace her pristine self than Yours Truly, who is, as some of you may know, somewhat of a Domestic Goddess in Her Own right.  However, upon investigation (which, oddly enough, at no point involved letting Our fingers do the walking through the Yellow Pages™ (remember Yellow Pages™?)), We discovered that “Hell, Louise” now has a registered trade mark symbol ( ® ) after it, and that the original Louise, whom We always imagined to be not unlike Barbara Billingsley in Leave It To Beaver, has been replaced by what We can only describe as The Ugliest White Woman In The Western World, Possibly The Universe.  If you look up “hag” in your dictionary (remember dictionaries?), this bitch’s picture is there, with a note that says, “See Also: battleaxe”.

Meanwhile, all of Our str8 boi readers and a number of Our naked skimmers (many of whom are one and the same) saw the entire preceding paragraph, and all they actually processed was “Barbara Billingsley’s beaver”.  Whereupon they all threw boners and immediately made appointments with their therapists.

All of which is a very long-winded way of informing you that, while We will not be replacing Hell Louise any time soon, We do today have a HINT From Hell, Louise to share with you, Our Gentle Readers.  The following is, naturally, based on Our very Own experience, possibly as recently as this morning:

If you have an automatic coffeemaker, you will make a much more delicious cup of coffee if you put both water AND coffee into said coffeemaker before turning it on.  Because, if you should omit one of the ingredients, say, the coffee, you will wind up with a steaming hot pot of boiling water.  And We are pretty sure there is no culture in the modern world in which people bound out of bed saying, “I could really go for a nice hot cup of boiling water!”

You’re welcome.

In still other news in the domestic vein, We subscribe, via Google Reader (have you tried it?  You should!  And subscribe to Us on it…), to a number of cooking blogs.  In one of them this morning, the writer was interested, for some reason which escapes Us, in making his own Tater-Tots™. (Please do not imagine that We are a food snob of any sort.  We enjoy Our processed American crap foods just as much as the next person.  And, while Tater-Tots™ are not one of Our personal favorites, We certainly don’t begrudge the next person (who IS this “next person” They’re always going on about?) his or her junk-food-junkie pursuits.  However, if We were suddenly and unaccountably overcome with a Tater-Tots™ jones, We are pretty sure the most likely and reasonable thing We could do would be, oh, I don’t know, GO BUY A FU(KING BAG OF TATER TOTS™!)

At any rate.

Our adventurous food reporter wasn’t about to let his quest be satisfied by his local Piggly-Wiggly.  Even though he already had actual Tater-Tots™ in his possession, he used them only as the standard to which his homemade versions aspired.  To that end, he began by dissecting said Tots and reducing them to their most basic components, which appeared to be mostly a bunch of shredded potato. (The only surprise there being that the actual vegetable was involved, as opposed to some factory-produced facsimile.)  Next, he obtained some potatoes of his very own, shredded them, and attempted to coax them to Tot-ness by various means.  Having failed at various attempts at this, he then opened his freezer yet again, took out a bag of frozen French fries, threw them in the Cuisinart™, and proceeded to create honest-to-goodness boner-fide genuine Tater-Tot™ replicants.

We are not making that up.

God, We are really going on this morning.  Eventually, there will be no time left for the actual horoscope.  At any rate, We have a cousin who has matriculated (is it just Us, or does that word always sound as though it means something completely different from what it actually means? Something, in fact, Not Quite Nice.) at college this year.  Her SitOnMyFaceBook status this morning was “Really not in the mood for Death and Dying class.”  Really?  Imagine that.  Are there other students, bounding jubilantly across campus, exclaiming, “I can’t WAIT to get to Death and Dying class!”  If so, is some sort of intervention being planned?  That really does belong on the list of unanswerable statuses (stati?).  What, in fact, can one say? “You think YOU’VE got it bad…I’ve got “Terminal Illness” and “Perpetual Ennui” back to back right after lunch.” Meanwhile, naturally, the question on everyone’s mind is, is the prerequisite course entitled “Life and Living?”

Don’t forgot to make your reservations to laugh at Himself and his little friends on April Fool’s Day:  http://thewineroom.com/wineroom.cfm?t=main&p=main  .

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (And, apparently, again, and again, and again. (We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.)):

And so, without Spiro AgNEW:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

Art, music, drama and other cultural affairs hold your interest today, (Which of those things is related to grocery shopping at the Ack-A-Me and cleaning Casa de CumStain?  Because some folks are coming here tomorrow, expecting to worship Satan, and they won’t wanna do it in a dirty hovel on empty stomachs.)

(Have you accepted Judith Krantz as your personal savior?)

and you may want to branch out and explore some new territory. (That is such an obvious euphemism that We don’t even feel compelled to point it out.  However, We fail to see where in Our plans We’re going to encounter this “new territory”, unless it’s the boy that the Ack-A-Me has hired as its new Produce Fondler.)

At least one of your people can serve as your guide if you ask politely.  (We have people?  We’re pretty sure We don’t.  If We did, why the hell would We be cleaning Our Own hovel?)

As the old saying goes, you need to make hay while the sun shines. (What does that even mean?  We have absolutely no use for any hay whatsoever.  And, if hay does, for some reason, need to be made, you just got done telling Us that We have “people” to make it. Asshat.)

Today you’re going to have the attitude (Oh, We have atty-tood, a-ight.)

and energy to finally tackle an unpleasant task you’ve been putting off … so do what you need to do to make that task your number-one goal. (If We make it Number Two, will We try harder? (Heh…We said “Number Two”.))

If you have to rearrange your schedule or back out of a social date, do it. (What is this “date” of which you speak?)

You need to do what you feel like doing, (Oh, We don’t think so.  We’re pretty sure that will result in neither a clean hovel nor shopped groceries.  Although it MIGHT get someone’s produce fondled….)

especially if it’s something that has needed your attention for a while.  (That? Would be having OUR produce fondled.)

 Let go of your ‘whatever’ attitude. (And embrace your ‘warthog’ attitude.  Or your ‘washcloth’ attitude.  Or your ‘wiffleball’ attitude.  Whatever.)

Now more than ever, (We just spent five minutes attempting to find an old advertising slogan that included the phrase “now more than ever”.  Not only did We fail, but time continues to tick away, and a young man’s produce remains unfondled.)

you can come up with a great plan on your own (Zucchini, melons, peaches…ooops, was that the outside voice?)

 — and it’s sure to be stellar. (Whatever.)

Pick the restaurant or suggest a great movie for the two of you to take in. (The Grapes of Wrath?  Fried Green Tomatoes?  The Pineapple Express?)

(Heh.  See what We did there?)

(Oh, shut up.)

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

(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.

Hanging out on Second Avenue eating chicken vindaloo

 Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Wednesday, March 23, 2011.  Happy Hump Day One And All, Monte Hall, Lauren Bacall. We are being quite easily distracted by bright, shiny InterNetz this morning, as We, for some reason, arose at the crack of ass to begin frutting and stretting Our hour upon the stage.  Unlike yesterday, when We had actual things We needed to accomplish, and somehow managed to stay fast abed until 11AM.  Why, even Himself was up before We were!  Today, when all We need to do is help Himself learn his  lines for gay sensitivity tomorrow (and We just counted them…he has  twenty-eight.  If only We were (subjunctively) paid per utterance HERE what HE is paid THERE, We would be supporting Ourself in the manner to which We wish to become accustomed. (We are apparently SO easily distracted that We’ve become distracted in the middle of explaining how easily distracted We are…oh, look; a balloon!)),  We have already gone off on a vindaloo-seeking tangent and beaten Our previous record at sudoku.

Does “gone off on a vindaloo-seeking tangent and beaten Our previous record at Sudoku” sound dirty to you?  Because (A.) it’s not, and (2.) you’re a filthy perverted bum-licker.

Micro$oft Weird™, for some reason, insists on capitalizing “sudoku”.  (Does “capitalizing sudoku” sound dirty to you?  Are you looking at porn in another window while you read this horoscope?  Show Us on the doll where you touched yourself…)

Yesterday, meanwhile, was the birthday of both Stephen Sondheim and Andrew Lloyd Weber.  We?  Did not get so much as a morsel of cake.

Speaking of gay sensitivity (We just LOVE saying that…as We all know, Himself is ten of the most sensitive gays We know.  Why, he’s just like that princess, in the fairy tale The Princess and the Pee. (We know, We know…you’re going to tell Us it’s actually The Princess and the Pea.   Well, The Princess and the Pee is the lesser-known original Grimm (also, grim) fairy tale, in which Her High-ness is kept awake by chronic bedwetting.  Because, seriously, what would give YOU more trouble sleeping?  A random legume, or urine-soaked sheets?  Thought so. (“Random Legume” is, of course, either a minor character in Guys and Dolls, or one of the answers on the Magic 8-Ball™. (You thought We were going to say it was Our nickname in high school, didn’t you?  We scoff at your expectations of predictability.  (Also, what kind of stupid nickname would “Random Legume” be? (It occurs to Us at this very second that it is possible that “Random Legume” was Orson Bean’s real name.  But then who the hell would CHOOSE to be called “Orson Bean”?))))))…you thought We had lost the thread, didn’t you?  Oh, no, Vincent van Gogh.  Speaking of gay sensitivity, there will be no episode of Erix Daily Horoscope tomorrow, as Himself has to be up at the crack of ass to transport his gay sensitive ass (as well as the rest of him(self)) to the provinces to do gay sensitivity training.  And somehow, We find that We just can’t write when Himself’s not in his bed, snoring away.  Sigh. Cain’t help lubbin’ dat man of mine…

We are thinking that “gay sensitive ass” really DOES sound dirty.  Also, that some ointment might be in order. Also also, that it was, quite possibly, Himself’s nickname in high school.

Apropos of nothing, sometimes brilliancies occur to Us and We have nowhere apt to display them. To wit:  “Let he who is without chin cast Franchot Tone”.

Don’t forgot to make your reservations to laugh at Himself and his little friends on April Fool’s Day:  http://thewineroom.com/wineroom.cfm?t=main&p=main  .

Meanwhile, We enjoyed this so much the other day, We thought We’d do it again.  (We figger We might as well amuse Our Own Self.):

And so, without pork vindaloo:

Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
Bop sh-bop, you'll never stop the terror.
Little ‘Scope, little ‘Scope of Horrors.
No, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no, oh, oh, no!

You need to deal with some people you don’t know well (We’d know them a whole lot better medium rare.  Just sayin’.)

— but you’ve got just the right kind of energy to build bridges.  (We do not, however, have the energy to Beau Bridges.  Although We might be persuaded to attempt to muster some for Jeff Bridges.  Lloyd Bridges, as We are sure We have pointed out before, is dead, and, consequently, requires virtually no energy whatsoever.)

In fact, even language barriers aren’t all that problematic for you!  (Mais oui, zat eez becauze We speek in, how-you-say, zee tongues.  As in, “Zis tongue seats five.”)

Breathe easy (Hey, they won’t buy the balloon if they can get the air for free.)

(We’ve never understood that saying.  Even when there are cows in it.  Cows and milk are two quite different things, no?  You ever see a filet mignon made out of milk?  Or a leather jacket?  

(Sixteen vegans just spontaneously combusted.  That, in case you were wondering, is why it smells like edamame farts in here.  (Edamame Farts was, of course, the wacky next door neighbor on the failed 60s sitcom, I Love Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.)))

(That may be the best drug joke We’ve ever told in here.  It was certainly the most circuitous.)

— today you will get a lot closer to answering the questions you’ve been wrestling with. (If you’ve seen Our ass recently, it will come as no surprise to you that the wrestling in question is sumo wrestling.)

Before the day is through, you’ll be taken to the right place and given all the right tools (An adz, an awl, and a rusty Phillips head screwdriver.  Kiss Us quick, We’re MacGuyver.  Well, actually, Tranny MacGuyver.  (Everybody wave hi to the lovely and talented Willam Belli.  Hi, Willam!)  

Meanwhile, whoever Phillip was, he must have had an extremely peculiar head.)

to contemplate your situation and think through your options. (We love options.  They make it so much easier to do the wrong thing.)

There’s no such thing as bad answers (There is, however, such a thing as really stupid questions.)

— just right answers. (What about WRONG answers, twatnozzle?  Are you saying there’s no such thing as those?)

(We just this very minute made up “twatnozzle”.  You can tell, because Micro$oft Weird™ doesn’t think it’s a word.  But if you use it three times in a sentence, it’s yours.  Twatnozzle, twatnozzle, twatnozzle.  (Oh, look:  Michael Keaton!))

(We were going to throw you a curve and say “Buster Keaton”, but We found that the joke became too obscure.  Also, Diane Keaton got a restraining order, and Meredith Baxter Birney isn’t funny anymore.)

(Honk if you know why Meredith Baxter Birney was in that sentence.  (Clearly, We are going for Most Celebs Named In A Single Erix Daily Horoscope.  You would think there was a prize.  There isn’t.  Because, if there (subjunctively) were, We’d have to buy it, and wrap it, and present it to Ourself, and, really, why bovver? (Sorry…We can’t hear for all the honking.  It’s like somebody’s trying to squeeze the shit out of a whole flock of geese.)))

(Aaaaand in one swell foop, We’ve tied in today’s Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Albert Camus Maya Angelou Horton Hears A Who My Sweet Babboo. Because Our storylines are like the finely-tuned mechanism of a Swiss crotch.)

(We have just been trying to put all of today's celebs in the label field.  Everybody from Diane Keaton on didn't fit.  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.)

So don’t be afraid to dig deep into your subconscious and face some nagging fears. (Thank you Sigmund Freud.  Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.  Other times, it’s a really nasty butt plug.)

(Try not to dwell.  (Okay, if you’re dwelling, We will just mention that We’ve just given the Chantix™ people a brilliant commercial idea.  (See?  Next time, when We say “Don’t dwell”, DON’T.)))

This may be a time when you have to give something up to get something you need. (We have already given up sacrifice for Lent.)

(We were going to make a “sacrifice fly” joke there, but that would involve Our finding out what the hell a sacrifice fly is.  Plus, it’s been far too long since We’ve had anything to do with a fly that was not Our Own.  Sigh.  Not funny.)

Some seriously active energy is coming your way, (As opposed to what?  Seriously INactive energy?  Asshat.)

 but before you launch yourself into furious action, (Now THERE’S a picture.)

do your homework (The dog ate it.)

and find something new that involves new faces (Does it involve sitting on them?)

— your enthusiasm is sure to be a big hit! (Especially with an exclamation point after it! Oh, look: sparkles!)

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

(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.