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Thursday, January 26, 2012

No day but today




Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for ThirdsDay, January 26, 2012.  Happy birthday to Petr, who turns twenty-four today.  In Sandy Eggo™. (Is anyone besides Us now experiencing the sensation of sand on their teeth?  Even though there isn’t actually any sand on their teeth?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then. (At least that has saved Us from another dissertation on geography.  There is only so much tedium one soothsayer can spew. (How many roads must a man walk down, before you can call him Joanne?)))

Speaking of Joanne, We will hereby make Our first mention of the WaitStaff’s next public display of affectation, which will be on Tuesday, March 13 at 8PM at Helium Comedy Club in a show entitled The Real Housewives of South Philly Sell Seashells by the Seashore.  (Okay, it may not actually be called that. We may have been out of the room at last night’s meeting when the name was decided upon.  We’re pretty sure, however, that they voted against naming it “Throckmorton-Smythe”.  We’ll have to get back to you with actual details.)

Meanwhile, Our trusty WorldWideInterWebNetz inform Us that today is the sixteenth anniversary of the first performance of Rent. Also, it is Ellen DeGeneres’s birthday.  What those two things have to do with each other, We haven’t got any idea.

Speaking of Oscars™, share Our fillum with your friends:


(How was THAT for a goddamn segue?)


Lest Charlene Tilton think We’ve forgotten about her, here is Our gratuitous Charlene Tilton reference.  And here’s the HorrorScope:

You’ve got a serious problem to deal with today (Once again, The Heartbreak Of Psoriasis rears its ugly head.)

— so make sure that you’re focused on it like a laser! (We only focus when We’re paid for it, honey.  Hence that Connecticut debacle the other day.)

Distractions may come, (Sorry…what did you say?)

(Heh. SWWDT?)

but you don’t have to let them in. (If We don’t let them in, they are not distractions.  Words have meanings.  Asshat.)

In fact, let someone else guard your door!  (That’s a euphemism, right? (You’re viZZZualizing Our “door” now, aren’t you?  You nasty, nasty naked skimmer, you.))

Exploration is fine for some today, (And exploitation works for others.  Also, expectoration will do in a pinch.  But avoid exhortation.  And whatever you do, don’t even think of spelunking.)

(Of course, now that We’ve told you not to think of spelunking, it will be damn near impossible for you to think of anything else.  Like, for example, if We told you not to think of lemurs knocking at Our “door”, what’s the first thing you’d think of?  ExACTly.  (Pervert.))

but you aren’t going to be in the best frame of mind to go off discovering new hot spots, meeting new people or uncovering new rock bands. (“Uncovering” new rock bands makes it sound as though rock bands would be found under rocks.  Which is foolish.)

(Someone’s knocking at the door, someone’s ringing the bell…)

No today, (You missed a comma (comma (comma (comma (comma, chameleon.)))))

it will be all about the known, the familiar and the comfortable. (To say nothing of the Bold and the Beautiful, and the Young and the Rest Of Us.)

So don’t do anything new if you don’t feel like it…and you most probably will not. (Well.  There’s an ass(tromalogical) ho(roscopulation) that kinda makes you wanna go right back to bed.)

Friends might pressure you here or there, (Oh.  We thought that was the lemur at the “door”.)

but for the most part people will be happy knowing that you are happy.  (Yeah.  That’s what they live for.)

Cupid’s got some funny stuff up his sleeve, (If you think THAT stuff is funny, take a gander under his diaper.  Talk about your Cupid stunts.)

so expect some curveballs, (Well, balls, anyway.)

pratfalls (Caution: falling prats.)

and/or romantic dead ends. (Open the door to your mystery date…(Gentle Readers Of A Certain Age sang the preceding sentence in their heads.  The rest of you perverts pictured a lemur with a bouquet of flowers.))

What’s key is to be ready to dust yourself off, laugh it off and keep having fun regardless. (KEEP having fun?  When did We start having fun in the first place?)

(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:  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.