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Friday, January 20, 2012

Grind your behind till you’re banned

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for FrightNight, January 20, 2012.  Happy birthday to Shirley, who turns twenty-four today. In Kansas.   Where, presumably, they never say, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”  Except possibly ironically.  Also happy birthday to Marcus, who also turns twenty-four today.  But not in Kansas.  Where they may say, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore”, but, truth be told, We have no idea where exactly Marcus is turning twenty-four.   Also also, happy birthday to Shane, who also also turns twenty-four today, right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.  Where We are DEFINITELY not in Kansas anymore, and haven’t been for…well, quite some time.

You will have to forgive Us (oh, yes, you will) if We’re a little scatty this morning.  We’ve been up since the veritable Crack Of Ass.  You may already be aware of this, but just in case you aren’t, We are here to tell you that the Crack Of Ass?  Is DARK.

Micro$oft Weird™ is apparently also a little scatty this morning, as it doesn’t seem to recognize that “scatty” is a word.  Which has nothing whatsoever to do with poo, or the flinging thereof, so get your minds out of the gutter.

We just changed Our Micro$oft Weird™ editing language from English-US to English-UK, and “scatty” is still being flagged.  As is “poo”. Micro$oft Weird™ is stupid.

But back to the matter at hand, Ducks: Us.  Specifically, how much you missed Us yesterday.  Now, before We regale you with tales of the adventures that prevented Us from e-pistling you (and Dixie) yesterday, We should like to point out that all day yesterday, We were having A Truly Phenomenal Hair Day. From the very moment We stepped forth from Our morning ablutions, We looked exactly as if Vidal Sassoon his very own self was following Us about to keep Our hairs looking perfectly coiffed all day long. This virtually never happens, which is why We are remarking upon it, especially when We are so far away from having had Our hair did, which We believe was prior to Thanksgiving.  Clearly, it is a sign of the Apocalypse.

(We just Googled Mister Sassoon on Wikipedia to make sure he was still among the living, and therefore capable of the aforementioned Following-Us-About.  It appears he just turned eighty-four this past Tuesday.  So happy birthday, Vidal Sassoon, and get your gnarly old hands out of Our hair!)

Now, as to where We went.  Instead of taking Our perfectly-coiffed self directly to Vogue for a photoshoot to commemorate the occasion, We took Ourself to the doctor, so she could look up Our ass and tell Us if Our hat was on straight.  (Yes, We said “she”.  God forbid some MAN with a high-paying job would have any interest in seeing Us naked. (Also, Our prior doctor had the nerve to retire or drop dead or some such without ever notifying Us.))

You will be hard-pressed to believe that Our new doctor is a pediatrician, but lettuce assure you that she is most definitely twelve.  Also perky, which is the last thing anybody wants when they haven’t had their morning coffee due to fasting.  Which she promptly assured Us We could have had, as long as We had it black.  Like Our heart.  As it was the first time We had met her, We allowed her to live to perk another day.

Following this very festive experience (“Would you be comfortable having me do a genital exam?”  What is this, 1950?  You’re the fucking doctor…if We’re not comfortable, We should have left already. (Of course, it’s not every day One shows One’s genitals to a twelve-year-old, but then it’s not every twelve-year-old that has an MD after her name.  (What’s the feminine equivalent of “Doogie”?  Get Neil Patrick Harris on the phone…We need a genital exam.))), We went off to be phlebotomized by a decidedly unperky old lady of indeterminate ethnicity who “god bress you”d Us repeatedly, despite Our not having sneezed.  We allowed her to live as well, mainly because We literally did not so much as feel her needle.  Clearly, A Truly Phenomenal Hair Day makes Us feel benevolent.

Needless to say needles in haystacks, after all these trials and tribulations, We spent the rest of the day shopping.  And not buying anything.  Which is not unlike watching an orgy on television, if you stop and think about it.  Which We just did.  (Stopped and thought about it, that is.  We didn’t watch an orgy on television. (That’s what the InterNetz are for.))

All of which is a long way from Morgan Freeman saying “titty sprinkles”.
Speaking of titty sprinkles, it’s the last day of Capricorn:

 Share it with your friends:

Meanwhile, Morgan Freeman aside, does anything say “titty sprinkles” like Charlene Tilton?

 And here’s The HorrorScope:

 You need to move today (Bite your damn tongue!)

— things are going pretty quickly, but you can move even faster.  (Whatevs.  We are thinking that “Titty Sprinkles” might be an excellent stripper name.  Unlike “Titty Jimmies”, which just sounds foolish.)

Try to make sure that your people are ready to go when you say go. (They are Our people.  That is their job. (We have decided to stop arguing with Kelli about Our having people. After all, she probably only has imaginary friends, so why not let her imagine Us some people?))

That could be any moment!  (Or it could be a random exclamation point!  Which We Brits would refer to as a “bang”!  Look, it’s a random bang!  On television!  Titty sprinkles!)

Going along with whatever the rest of the crowd thinks is what sheep do, not what you should do!  (Because that?  Would be baaaaaad.)

(Heh.  We kill Us.)

Stand your ground if and when you disagree with other people today. (So, wait…other people are going to talk, and We’re going to LISTEN?!?)

Who cares if you have an unpopular opinion (Apparently, no one.)

— it’s your opinion, and it’s valid for you to want people to hear it. (We don’t need your stinking validation, bee-yocth!)

Why on earth would you buckle to peer pressure at this stage of your life? (Because peers have all the good drugs?)

Be proud of your independent thoughts, because no one else thinks like you, and no one can contribute the thought-provoking ideas that you can.  (Okay, that right there?  Would be the Erix Daily Horoscope slogan…if it weren’t so damn long.)

Stop waiting for Cupid to notice you, and take matters into your own hands. (Masturbating again, are We?  Sigh…)

Take action now while you’re excited at the possibilities of a new romance. (Our mind fairly boggles. (Which is good.  Because, if you’re playing Boggle™ with your mind, you want it to be fair.))

Don’t second-guess your tactics. (Or third-guess your Tic-Tacs™.)

Just go for it! (TITTY SPRINKLES!!!!)

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

(Meanwhile, why We didn’t think of this sooner, We’ve got no idea, but better laid than necking, as they say (and how right they are!).  For real live actual ass(tromlaogical) ho(roscopular) advice, please visit Our good friend AstroGeek here:  Our Own epistular musings are of use to you only insofar as making you feel better by comparison, but he will give you actual pertinent advice for your very own lives, based on upon the positions and transitations of all manner of planets, planetoids, asteroids, Altoids™, hemorrhoids, and other heavenly flotsam, jetsam, and Jetsons.  Plus, he knows all about Uranus!)
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.