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Friday, April 15, 2011

All the single ladies, all the single ladies



Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Friday, April 15, 2011.  We almost didn’t write an installment today, as yesterday’s episode ended with Justin Bieber’s vagina, and how do you top that?  (Pun intended.)  But then We stumbled upon the above religious image, and decided that, in honor of Hairy Palm Sunday, We would make it Our Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Pope Pius’s Papayas In Pontius Pilate’s Pilates Class.

Now, being the Inquiring Mind And French Stickler For Details that We are, we naturally just went to research some of the preceding.  Turns out, there were twelve different Pope Piuses, some of whom may have been Pisceses, but none with a predilection for papayas that We could determine.  There was, as far as We can ascertain, only one Pontius Pilate, and the likelihood of his ever having been to a Pilates class is slim to none.  However, if We choose to pixture Pontius Pilate and the Twelve Pope Piuses (which is, of course, the name of Our new garage band) juggling papayas and doing Pilates to the tune of Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies”, that’s just how We roll.

Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh…if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on it…

You’re picturing that now, aren’t you?  Who wouldn’t go to church to see THAT?  Somebody get the Pope on the phone….tell him to ditch that stupid “Pope Soap On A Rope” idea, and fire up his YouTube…

(Is anybody else picturing a PopePhone that lights up like the BatPhone?  Just Us?  Alrighty then.)

In other news, it will come as no surprise to those of you who have actually met Us that, when it comes to The Wonderful World Of Home Repair And Improvement, other than knowing the number for 1-800-LEZ-BIAN, We are pretty much All Thumbs, most of which are up Our ass at any given moment.  So when We accidentally manage to MacGyver something out of a state of dysfunctionality, We are generally pretty pleased with Ourselves. Yesterday was such a day.  Yay, Us! (Naturally, this crowing will only serve to ensure that the roof of OurHovelWhereWeLive collapses upon Our swelled head at the first opportunity, it being, as They say, the calm before the stormtroopers.)

So much for the dazzling them with brilliance/baffling them with bullshit portion of Our program; lettuce proceed to the HorrorScope:

(We were momentarily taken aback (which, now that We ponder the phrase, (“taken aback”, that is) sounds like it should mean something else entirely) that Micro$oft Weird™ didn’t recognize “bullshit” (how is THAT possible?) until We realized that We had mistyped it as “bullshirt”.  We will give Erix Daily Horoscope Extra Credit Points for the best definition of “bullshirt”.)

This is the perfect day (Well, no.  Johnny Depp didn’t wake Us with breakfast in bed, Our ass still eclipses the sun, and the Publishers Clearinghouse people are not at Our door with a ginormous check.)

to take care of mundane responsibilities (We are pretty sure that Mundane Responsibilities was the president of Our high school chess club.)

— cleaning, bills, even taxes. (Honey, if your taxes aren’t done yet, you better skip cleaning the bills, mmm-kay?)

Your energy is focused (Sorry…what?)

but not pushing you too hard, so you can get quite a bit done.  (Oh, We are done, aight.  Also froo.)

You’ve done a good job lately. Yes you have. Haven’t you? Be honest: You have!  (What the hell wuzzat?)

So stop pushing. (But how the hell will We get this baby out of here?)

You’ve gathered a whole heck of a lot of momentum and you can darned well let yourself coast. (Hmm.  “Heck”. And “darned”. Both. In the same sentence.  Stupid fu(king twat.)

Not only can you, but you should. (Really?  You couldn’t spare ONE verb so We’d know what the hell you were talking about?)

So put your feet up (They have been behind Our ears since We mentioned Johnny Depp.  Hey, a girl can dream, can’t she?)

and take a long, drawn-out, well-deserved breath. (One of the major problems with the world today is that there are, in fact, people so stupid they need to be reminded to breathe.)

Give those tired doggies a rest!  (What exactly is the origin of referring to One’s feet as dogs?  (Just to prove that there is no original question in this Age of the WorldWideInterWebNetz, We give you: )

Take it easy — a little rest and relaxation — and maybe some deeper reflection instead of instant romantic action — is the way for you right now.  (Ram a couple more words beginning with R into that sentence, whydon’t’cha?  Retard.)

Just wait; tomorrow is a better day to take the initiative. (So you’re saying We should procrastinate taking the initiative?  Lovely.)

(Your YOUR-O-Scopes: )
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.