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Thursday, December 15, 2011

Police towed my car

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for ThirtySomething, December 15, 2011.  Happy birthday to Chris, who turns twenty-four today.  Also, happy birthday to Max, who does not.

So it’s ten days till Christmas.  Or it’s nine days till Christmas Eve.  Or, to be technically correct,  it’s Christmas Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve. Eve was weak, and We can see your dirty pillows. (Goodness gracious, she ejaculated, it’s only the first paragraph, and already We’ve had Christopher Walken and Piper Laurie. What’s next, Jonathan Frid?  (We racked what passes for Our brain to come up with a third celebrity to put there, and the best We could do was Jonathan Frid. Because Charlie Sheen is overexposed, and Charlene Tilton would just be gratuitous at this point. (Meanwhile, how many of you counted the “Eve”s earlier in the paragraph to make sure We didn’t make a mistake?    You MIGHT want to tell Santa to bring you a life for Christmas.)))

Does anyone else have trouble remembering how many Ps there are in Ryan Phillippe, or is it just Us?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.

You are no doubt wondering where We have been.  Because naturally you spend your every waking moment preoccupied with Us and Our life.  Well, let’S see.   On Toozdee, We had an early morning eye appointment, which was, for those of you familiar with the geography of the City That Loves You (On Your) Back, at approximately 20th and Spring Garden.  We SEPTAd Our way there, sat through the entire boring affair (including almost an entire episode of The View in the waiting area…people actually WATCH this?!?), and then walked into town to do some Christmas shopping.  We then started walking the bus route back to Casa de Crackwhore, but no bus ever came, so essentially We walked from 20th and Spring Garden to OurHouseWhereWeLive.  How We remain the same size as OurHouseWhereWeLive, We’ll never know.

On Humpdee, Himself and his little friends The WaitStaff had to trek to the McMansionLand that is North Jersey to entertain at a corporate holiday party (which was held, for those who truly follow along, here: ) . Imagine fifty or sixty drunken Republicans with entirely too much money, to whom entertainers are clearly eighteenth-class citizens, and who have never seen a HO-ma-seck-shool up close before.  Yeah, that kind of show.  Add on that, with travel time included, the day went from 10AM to 7PM. Fortunately, a check is forthcoming.

Speaking of the WaitStaff, they continue to rehearse their dingles to the berry to give YouPeople The Perfect Christmas Sketch Comedy Show, and they hope to See You Next Tuesday, December 20th, at 8PM at Helium Comedy Club for The Real Housewives of South Philly Occupy Xmas.  Tickets can be obtained here: and make an excellent early Christmas gift for those difficult-to-buy-for people on your Christmas list .

In the meantime, to whet your appetite, you could go watch this.  If you haven’t already.  And you haven’t. We know, because We see you when you’re sleeping.  And you drool.  And not in a cute way.

You could also share it with your friends.  It’s the least you could do.  No, really, the very least.  Considering all We do for you:

And now, Christopher Walken, Piper Laurie, Jonathan Frid, and Charlene Tilton in a remake of I Love Lucy.  Or the HorrorScope:

You need to indulge your competitive side today — even more so than usual — and that could mean that you’re eyed with suspicion by those nearby.  (Those nearby today will include Our dentist and the WaitStaff.  Is there a competition of which We are unaware?)

Things start to get weird later, (So things are perfectly normal now?  Good to know.)

 but for now, you’re all good.  (We hate that almost as much as We hate “it is what it is.”)

Things are really starting to simmer in your life — are you ready for the heat? (If you can’t stand the heat, regrout in your kitchen.  (What does that even MEAN?))

Because as what you want moves closer to you, it’s moving away from someone else.  (Wow.  That is so very Zen.  Snatch this pebble from my snatch, Glasshoppah.)

This person could make things a bit sticky for you for a little while, (Wait…are you saying that’s a BAD thing?)

but you don’t need to worry too much about that. (Sticky is GOOD.  Sticky is also a character in Our version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.)

It is much wiser to simply embrace all your newly found and richly deserved adventures.  (And We are nothing if not wise.)

Just concentrate on having a good time.  (Didn’t We already say “dentist”?  Pay attention.  Bee-yotch.)

If love makes the world go ‘round, you’re at the very hub of that wheel.  (Was that a fat joke?)

Keep it spinning wildly by acting on impulse, creating a hubbub or carrying out a daring feat in the realm of romance. (Hub, hubbub…see what she did there?  Neither do We.)

 (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.