Hello, Ducks!
Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for ThankGawdIt’sFriedEggsBecauseWhenIt’sFriedEggsYouKnowHowManyYou’reGettingAsOpposedToScrambledEggsWhereTheyCanCheatYou, January 6, 2012. Happy belated birthday to Ken, who turned twenty-four yesterday in San Francisco, where Tony Bennett left his heart. Which seems to Us a wanton disregard for vital organs, which is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things. Also, happy Feast of the Epiphany, which, prior to the Electronic Information Age was just the Plain Old Piphany, but We already had this discussion the other day as regards “epistle”, so We’re not having it again.
Apparently, Our stream of consciousness has turned into a tsunami. William Faulkner must be rolling in Tennessee Williams’s grave. (People always say that as though it were (subjunctively) a bad thing, but We are pretty sure that, if We were (again, subjunctively) dead, rolling in Our grave would make a nice change. Because what exactly else would We have to do?)
Our apologies to anyone out there who knows dead people. Meanwhile, We have just this minute minted a brand spanking (ooooohhh!!!) new expression, “bowling in his (or her) grave”. As in, “Did you see the new production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof with Harvey Fierstein as Maggie? Tennessee Williams must be bowling in his grave.” We know it is brand spanking new because when you Google “bowling in his grave” on Wikipedia, you only get five hits. (Now you will get six, because one of them will be this e-pistle to the Fierstinians. Isn’t that exciting? We have changed the course of linguistic history quite cunningly.) When you Google “bowling in HER grave” on Wikipedia, you don’t get ANY hits. Which seems to Us quite sexist, and is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things With Vaginas.
No, We have no idea what We’re talking about, but thank you for asking.
In still other news, We would tell you where We were yesterday morning that prevented Us from e-pistling on you, but We don’t like to jinx such things, so you’ll just have to wait. (The phrase “just have to wait in Kuwait” just leapt unbidden into Our mind, much like Aretha Franklin springing forth from Zeus’s forehead. Which is quite a pixture, especially if you imagine her in the hat she wore to President Obama’s inauguration.)
Vacation time shares are still available in Our mind for both January and February. The skiing is lovely this time of year, except for the fact that it’s all uphill.
Speaking of Aretha Franklin’s hat, go watch this:
And share it with your friends:
Once again, Charlene Tilton finds herself in extremely lofty company. Alternatively, The HorrorScope:
You’re feeling pretty chilled today (It is JANUARY. Fucking DUH.)
— and your life should be pretty easy, (Also breezy and beautiful. Because We are a Covered Girl. Much like a Covered Wagon, only several orders of magnitude larger.)
so it’s the perfect time to kick back (We can only kick back if someone kicks Us in the first place. (We shall leave the location of said place up to Your Fertile Imagination. Which you will find next to your Fertile Crescent Rolls.)
and dream up new ideas. (What have We been doing all damn morning?)
If you like, you may find that socializing is quite fruitful. (So you’ve met Our friends, then?)
A tantalizing but succinct announcement will leave you desperate for more information. (“Tantalizing but succinct”? Look what bitch done got a-hold of a Roget’s Thesaurus.)
So what should you do about this rousing mystery? (We’re voting for “call the Hardy Boys and have a threesome”.)
(Didn’t see THAT coming, didja?)
Absolutely nothing. (“Absolutely nothing” is not a sentence. But Absolutely Fabulous is a television show.)
Just sit tight and wait for things to develop on their own schedule — which could be quite leisurely. (If One sits tight long enough, One will eventually poop diamonds. Which are a girl’s best friend.)
But in the meantime, feel free to have some fun imagining the possible effects on your future. (Pooping diamonds on Uranus. (We would like to point out at this juncture that this is Our brain NOT on drugs. Any questions?))
Today, don’t worry about having unrealistic expectations. (But We’re not expecting….was that a fat joke?)
Just let yourself dream big! (It WAS! It WAS a fat joke!)
If you feel like the last kid picked for the kickball team, you’re right on track. (Make up your mind.)
(That there? Was a little sports joke. Very little.)
Don’t take it personally, though. (Oh, okay.)
It isn’t about ability or popularity, it’s more about availability. (And popability. Do you pop out at parties? Are you unpoopular?)
If you’re not putting yourself front and center, it’s no wonder you’re light on invitations. (But We have all these diamonds…)
(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: http://agskylab.blogspot.com/. 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!)
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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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