Hello, Ducks!
Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Whiskey, August 4, 2011. Happy birthday to Monica, who turns twenty-four today. And We do hope and pray that Our absence yesterday did not cause any of you to fail to celebrate National Grab Some Nuts Day, which was yesterday, and We wish you a Happy Belated One, and hope all your nuts were well and truly grabbed. (We just report ‘em, folks, We don’t make ‘em up. (If you don’t believe Us, Google “National Grab Some Nuts Day” on Wikipedia and see.)) And, though it pales by comparison, Happy Hump Day, or, perhaps, this week, Happy Grab Some MORE Nuts Day.
(Speaking of senility, which We actually do later, but We just came back here because it was the most convenient spot and We can time travel like that, because We have a time machine, which is in the credenza, which, as luck would have it, is in the time machine, it just occurred to Us that it is not Whiskey at all but Thirsty, and thus, Our Hump Day wishes are belated as well, and National Grab Some Nuts Day and Hump Day were actually the same day. However, We refuse to let rectumtude interfere with the brilliance that was the preceding paragraph, so We’re letting it stand.)
Suddenly, We cannot remember the word for “fear of heights”. Senility is not for pussies. We know that “agoraphobia” is fear of going outside, and “angoraphobia” is fear of going outside wearing a sweater, and “claustrophobia” is fear of clusterfucks. We know that “phobophobia” is fear of Franklin Delano Roosevelt and fear itself, and “aibohphobia” is fear of palindromes, and We just made up “onomatopoeiaphobia”, which is fear of spelling bees, But damned if We can remember what fear of heights is. But, whatever it is, We haz it, and would very much like to stop having dreams in which We are trapped on the tops of very tall buildings and forced to crawl along gutters and ledges. KThxBye.
(Apropos of nothing, We also just made up “onomatopoeiacideophobia”, which is fear of killer spelling bees. Or spelling killer bees. Or killing Tori Spelling. One of those.)
So. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, and Tori Spelling. Not only in the same horoscope, but now in the same sentence. Well, sentence fragment. But still. Never let it be said that We do not have catholic tastes. Why, We tasted many a Catholic back in the day. We were an altar boy, after all. (It was a Shakespearean cross dressing sort of thing. Plus We couldn’t resist the joke. (We are striving for a second joke, involving Wishbone™ Cross Dressing, but We fear failure is imminent. Despite the thought of throwing Paul Newman into the mix, which just occurred to Us.))
Next year’s Fringe, We’re gonna bag all this rehearsing crap and just take people on an hour-long tour of Our mind.
Speaking of the Fringe, have you got your tickets for the hottest show in this year’s Fringe Festival yet? Here at Casa de Clambake, We are working Our fingers to the very boner (ahem) on this show. Why, tomorrow morning, We are dragging Himself’s ass out of bed at 8AM to meet with the costume designer. Which is mostly a moot point, because nobody makes Spanx™ that big. But whatevs. In case We have been unclear on this subject, Himself will be bringing back his marriage equality one-man show, The Wedding Consultant, from September 2-18, at the Walnut Street Theatre Independence Studio on 3. Needless to say (and yet promptly saying it), you are all expected to attend. Especially those who didn’t so much show up last time. And yes, We have kept records. Drop by on SitOnMyFaceBook here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=187844157946759
Watch this video, or tomorrow, We’ll post pictures of Himself in his foundation garments:
And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: Tori Spelling’s reinterpretation of the “Day That Will Live In Infamy” speech. Accompanied by Paul Newman on the onomatopoeia, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt on the wheelchair. Or, the HorrorScope:
Today is perfect for pouring on the charm (Always after me fuckin’ charm…it’s massively suspicious.)
and seeing if you can get your way through friendly means. (What about getting Our means through weaselly friends? Or getting Our friends through menial ways? Why, the possibilities are limitless.)
It’s all too easy to bluster your way to success, (Sez YOU.)
but why waste the energy if you don’t have to? (Oddly enough, that’s exactly what it says on the front of Our panties.)
If a friend or loved one has been acting out of character, today is a good day to try to find out what’s on their mind. (Do We have to pretend to care?)
Be very careful not to push them too hard on it — just let them know you’re ready to listen if they’re ready to talk. (Wait…there’s a time when WE’RE not the one talking?!?)
They’ll appreciate the fact that you care and the fact that you respect them enough to listen. (And just think of how much more they’ll appreciate the fact that We bother to expend the energy to PRETEND to care, and PRETEND to listen. Why, We may end up being crowned queen.)
But don’t take it personally if they choose not to confide in you. (Hey, as long as there are snacks. Will there be snacks?)
It might be too soon, or it might be something they need to figure out on their own. (Well, bugger off then.)
You’re feeling stuck somehow (Actually, not so much.)
— don’t hesitate to talk it out. (Um…okay.)
(Heh. See what We did there?)
Someone unattached, even an acquaintance is a great option. (So, basically, We’re one step away from hiring a hooker.)
Stick with the facts (Ma’am.)
and stay out of the emotion. (On the other hand, c’mon, baby, do the locomotion.)
(Everybody’s doin’ a brand new dance now…oh, sorry; is that stuck in your head now? Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.)
You’ll articulate your feelings more clearly without the mental muck. (Aaaand right away We have the protagonist of Our next children’s book, Dental Duck. (Having rejected Rental Truck as too boring, Lentil Luck as too Chinese, and Gentle Fuck as a whole different genre of litty-choor.))
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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.
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