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Thursday, December 1, 2011

Have you met my good friend Maria?

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Thursday, December 1th, 2011.  Yes, We said “oneth” which rhymes with “month”, much like “slurple” rhymes with purple, and “David Boreanaz” rhymes with “orange”, and cross Our palm with silver.  If you followed that, congratulations; you are in worse shape than Starzina Starfish-Browne, and that is no mean feat.  Also, no lean meat.  Which goes without saying (despite Our just having said it), if you’ve seen the size of Our ass lately.  (We are straining to give birth to a Queen Latifah joke here, but Our water won’t break.)

In other random neuronal firings, We are fairly certain that We’ve never heard anyone say “David Boreanaz” out loud.

Happy birthday, meanwhile, to Dan, who turns twenty-four today.  And Happy Uranus to the rest of you, because it’s been a long damn time since We told a Uranus joke.

Speaking of Uranus, how ‘bout you all pull your heads out of yours and go watch this:

Then share it with your friends:

While your moon is in your halfway house, and Jupiter is behind bars, go buy tickets to what promises to be The Very Best Christmas Sketch Comedy Show EVAH (seriously, We are writing Our very faces off…Jesus and Mary are making an appearance, Santa and his friends will be there, and, of course, the Duchess, Marie, and Bev), Tuesday, December 20 at 8PM at Helium Comedy Club: The Real Housewives Of South Philly Occupy Christmas):  

I just met a girl named Uranus
And suddenly that name
Will never be the same
For me…

Life is just a fucking musical comedy, innit?  Yesterday, for example (this is a segue, in case you care…We’re not gonna sing any more “Uranus” for you), We finally decided to do something about the fact that We needed a belt.  So We marched Our hind parts (along with all of Our other parts) down to the Burlington Coat Factory on Oregon Avenue, because they had been kind enough to send Us a ten dollar coupon in celebration of their opening.  Now, We know what you’re thinking.  (Oh, yes, We do; We’re psychic.)  You’re thinking (A.) why did the silly sod go to a coat factory for a belt and (Number 2. (Heh…she said “Number 2.)) “in celebration of their opening” sounds like another Uranus joke.  Meanwhile, speaking of coats and non sequiturs, since Fall fell, We have not once been able to appropriately match the weight of Our coat to the outdoor temperature, and, consequently, on yesterday’s trek, We damn near froze Our ass off.  We felt just like a chorus member in Les Miz.

“Froze Our ass off” is, of course, just a saying.  If Our ass actually fell off, there would be an earthquake that would measure eleven point twelve on the Rectum Scale.

Why is it that people are always calling things “non sequiturs”, but nobody ever points out anything that IS a sequitur?

And now, the HorrorScope:

Try your very best not to sign anything today (Well, so much for that long talk We were gonna have with Helen Keller.  (WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!))

— it is sure to come back to haunt you!  (Somehow, “boo” in ASL just isn’t as scary.)

Your energy (Our what?)

is better spent on keeping track of your past than planning for your future, at least for now.  (And here We’ve been keeping track of Our pasta. (Hint: it’s on Our ass.))

Things are starting to free up a bit in your life. (And We do like free.)

You’re getting a little bit more ‘play’ time, so what are you planning on doing with it? (We did a play once.  No one saw it.)

Put together a short list of a few things you’re curious about (Yellow.)

or places you’d like to explore.  (Johnny Depp’s underwear.)

Take the steps necessary to make a commitment to getting to know more about them.  (Apparently, SitOnMyFaceBook has reduced the Six Degrees Of Kevin Bacon to something closer to four. So it would seem that one of you fuckers knows a fucker who knows a fucker who knows a fucker who knows Johnny Depp.  And you are for some reason keeping this information from Us.  Sigh.)

(That “knows a fucker” sentence just cries out to be set to music, dunnit?)

Just because it’s ‘play’ time (Why does she keep putting that in quotes?  Asshat.)

doesn’t mean that it doesn’t need structure once in a while.  (“Needs structure once in a while” is an oxymoron, ya moron.)

Some insignificant matter of the heart could turn into a big pain in the you-know-what.  (And if Our heart winds up in Our you-know-what, Number One We’re gonna need a bigger wheelbarrow, and (B.) We’re gonna have a serious problem.  That Queen Latifah joke might NEVER come out.)

Your best bet is to put any eager suitors off — gently. (Alright, all you eager suitors…hey.  Where’d everybody go?)

 Now’s not the time to commit to anything, no matter how small. (So much for that mental institution plan.)

 (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.