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Monday, March 5, 2012

Livin’ la Vida Loca

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for JustAPrayingMantisMonday, March 5, 2012.  Happy birthday to Rene, who turns twenty-four today.  Also, happy birthday to Steve, who also turns twenty-four today. Also also, happy birthday to Tom, who also also turns twenty-four today.  Goodness, that’s a lot of twenty-fours.  If We figgered that all out in dog years, We would probably have to lie down.

Meanwhile, it has come to Our attention that, due to the various and sundry modes of WorldWideInterWebNetz information consumption, some of you are not being made aware of Our Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope  companion video pieces. If, beneath today’s Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus Leave The Driving To Us you do NOT see a still from Our video, in which We are on the very verge of looking down Miss Justin Bieber’s pants to see his penis (the question before Us is where’s his clitoris), you may be one of the afflicted.  Please proceed directly to Our YouTube channel, where a whole new world awaits you:

The rest of you, meanwhile, will be ecstatic to learn that the man who fell into the upholstery machine is completely recovered.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that poor Justin’s birthday is now Last Week’s News, won’t you please share his latest video with your friends?  Seriously.  The poor thing is still upset that We’re the only One who’s seen his penis.

In other news,  please get your tickets now for The Real HouseWives of South Philly March Into Madness!, playing one night only, Tuesday, March 13 at 8PM at Helium Comedy Club:

Thank you.
Now, We know what you’re thinking. (Oh, yes, We do; We’re psychic.)  You are thinking how amazing We are that We did an homage to Dr. Seuss in Friday’s e-pissode, when We didn’t even realize that it was his birthday.  And you are quite right:  We ARE amazing!  Here’s a little instant replay, for those who may have missed it the first time, or for those who want to savor it again, much like a cow chewing its cud:

(This poem was occasioned by this observation: “Are We the only One who finds it peculiar that, in certain instances, “scoop” and “poop” mean exactly the same thing?”)

We shall not poop

Into your soup

Nor scoop Our poop

Onto your stoop


We shall not poop

While Hula-Hoop-

-Ing on a sloop

With Betty Boop


We promise not to scoop Our poop

Into your mother’s chicken coop,

Onto your brother’s Boy Scout troop,

Or on your Aunt Jane’s last Froot Loop™.


No pooped-in soup,

No scooped-on stoop,

No Hula-Hoop poop,

Or Betty Boop scoop.


This poem’s become an endless loop,

So We might cut off your head and shit down your neck.


And now, Charlene Tilton jumps out of Justin Bieber’s leftover birthday cake.  Everyone concerned is too embarrassed to comment.  Alternatively, the HorrorScope:


You’re heating up everywhere you go today — it’s like your personality is a bright light! (More like We are a one-woman hot flash, but whatevs.)


Just keep up the good work and enjoy the warm social relations that are sure to develop as you move.  (Surely “warm social relations” is a euphemism for something?)


An excess of masculine energy will play a major part in your day, (From your lips to God’s executive assistant’s voicemail.)


so you might want to devise a plan for dealing with testosterone-fueled confrontation, (What?  There’s a flaw in Our “grab it by the balls” plan?)


whether that plan involves stepping up to or stepping back from the contest.  (That sounds like a whole lotta stepping with no fetchit.)


A domineering male may try to intimidate a group into doing what he wants.  (So wait…are We on a reality television show, or what?)


Poking a few holes in his bluster may prove to be irresistible — and the results will be hilarious. (That would seem to depend entirely on how One defines “bluster”.)


Sometimes, the people who look the strongest physically are the weakest mentally.  (Plus, if they’re on steroids, they have really tiny balls.)


You’re online profile is about as interesting as a book of Latin grammar.  (We are now pixturing Ricky Martin conjugating verbs.  Somehow, that works for Us.)


Try a different approach: create a mini-memoir.  (Birth. Poop. Death.  (Howzzat?))


(Micro$oft Weird™ would like Us to consider revising Our mini-memoir, as “Birth.” and “Death.” are sentence fragments.  (“Poop.” is, of course, not a sentence fragment, as it is a verb (albeit NOT one We were pixturing Ricky Martin conjugating), and it is possible to have a complete sentence consisting only of a verb in which the subject is understood.  Of course, in most instances, such sentences are employing the verb as a command, which is a tad peculiar in the case of “Poop.”, but still.))


(Here endeth today’s grammar lesson, Spanx™ be to Dog.)


Provide date seekers with a glimpse of your real passions. (But don’t show fig seekers your raisins.)




Talk about where you’ve been, (We’ve been to Paradise, but We’ve never been to We.)


what you collect, (Dust.)


and what you’ve accomplished.  (Does using “poop” as a command count?)


Dig deeper. (We’re gonna need a bigger shovel.)




 (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.