Google+ Followers

Saturday, May 26, 2012

Here we are, face to face, a couple of silver spoons






Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for  SayerDee,  May 26, 2012.  Happy birthday to Dave who turns twenty-four today.  Also, happy birthday to Frank, who also turns twenty-four today.  We would not, of course, ordinarily be e-pisstlitizing in here on a SayerDee (or, if We were, We’d be intro-ing one of Our Very Special Video Retrospective E-pissodes), but something monumentally cataclysmic has transpired, and We felt compelled to come and Cher.

There is a pimple on Our buttock.

Not just ANY pimple, mind you.  (Not just ANY buttock, either…Our LEFT buttock.)  This is a pimple of such staggering proportions as to leave all other pretender-to-the-game-of-thrones pimples in the dust by comparison.  This pimple on Our left buttock is so monumentally ginormous that it could actually be an auxiliary buttock all its own.  Which would, it would seem, give Us three buttocks, causing Us, no doubt, to list to one side, and making Us, essentially, Fred MacMurray in My Three Buttocks,  with William Demarest as Uncle Charlie, and what was up with all those old TV shows where random men just lived together without a woman anywhere to be found, and how sad is it that We knew William Demarest’s name without having to look it up?

But back to Our pimple, which makes even the preceding paragraph look small by comparison.  If Our left buttock were (subjunctively) Mount Rushmore, this pimple would be Chester A. Arthur.  Who is not, of course, actually ON Mount Rushmore, but We’re fairly sure he was the really fat President, unless that was William Howard Taft, but We can’t be bothered to look it up.  (We did, however, just look up William Demarest, and We learned that, if he were (subjunctively) still alive, he would be a hundred and twenty years old.  THERE’S a brain cell We’ll never get back.)  Our point being that they would need the fattest President they could find to represent this pimple if Our left buttock were (subjunctively) Mount Rushmore.

All this talk of Our left buttock is, as you would assume, making Us think of the Daniel Day-Lewis fillum, My Left Foot, in which Mister Day-Lewis portrays some real-life character with a crippling disease so very crippling that he can only control his left foot, so he takes up painting.  Instead of, you know, something useful, like feeding himself, or wiping his ass, or having a wank.  This, of course, makes him famous, and his life gets made into a movie with Daniel Day-Lewis in it.  Daniel Day-Lewis wins an Oscar™, presumably to the sound of crippled painter guy’s one foot clapping.

Now, We are not suggesting that Our left buttock could hold a candle to Daniel Day-Lewis’s left foot.  (Actually, We’re fairly certain that Our left buttock couldn’t hold a candle at all, whereas Daniel Day-Lewis’s left foot no doubt could.  (It also strikes Us, just now, parenthetically, that Mister Day-Lewis’s character in that fillum must have been really bad at the Hokey-Pokey.))  We ARE, however, saying that, if you hold a canvas back there when this pimple finally pops, We will SHOW you a painting.

All together now:  eeeeuuuuwwwww!!!!!

Radically changing the subject, completely sans segue:

By popular demand, the WaitStaff will be playing The Match Game again on Thursday, June 7 and Friday, June 8, at 7:30 at L’Etage at 6th & Bainbridge.  Did We mention that, the first time We played, a number of people came back for more than one performance?  Well, We did now.  Reservations are strongly suggested, and can be obtained here:  http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/250950  Find more info on Our SitOnMyFaceBook event here:  http://www.facebook.com/events/429387893745900/  Be there or be square.

In still other other news, We have moved into Gemini.  Here is a fillum for you to resoundingly ignore:  http://youtu.be/YBwdacfn2Vk , much the way you resoundingly ignore these horoscopes, and Us Our Own Self Personally.

Meanwhile, all this pimple drama, AND it’s Helena Bonham Carter’s birthday? Who could ask for anything more?


Here’s  the HorrorScope:

Your sense of adventure is fully engaged (So they liked it, and they must’ve put a ring on it.)

(Because We’re attuned to pop culture like that.)

— so run with it! (We done tole you an’ tole you, We only run if someone is chasing Us with a knife.)

All that energy has to be good for something, (Well, We certainly can’t sit still, what with only one unencumbered buttock and all.)

so make sure that you’ve got plans that will take you to crazy new places.  (Speaking of crazy places, Mount Rushmore is in some Dakota, no?  North?  South?  Fanning?  And who thought up Mount Rushmore, anyway?  (We just Googled Mount Rushmore on Wikipedia.  It is both more and less interesting than you would imagine.))

Some people are simply more creative than others, (Aren’t We though?)

so don’t feel bad if you come up with the best ideas and input today. (Do they give out Pulitzers in Bloggonia?  Because anybody that nakedly skimmed today truly missed out.  We’re just sayin’.)

Be proud of the fact that you are contributing fresh suggestions and clever innovations that no one else could come up with!  (Well, no one else who doesn’t have a mountainous pimple on their left buttock.)

If you let peer pressure or your insecurities prevent you from expressing your ideas, (Have you met Us?)

you’ll be missing out on some acclaim that you richly deserve. (Never mind acclaim, where’s a damn dollar?)

Your creativity is a skill that can open doors, so use it!  (Why is a skillet not a small skill?  And where does skillset fit in?  Inquiring minds want to know.)

If you find yourself crying through a cereal commercial or laughing during ‘The Champ,’ you’re right on track. (WTF is ‘The Champ’?  (Hmmm…and here, We thought We had seen the entire Ricky Schroder oeuvre.  SO sorry to have given THAT a miss.))

Nothing, least of all your emotions, makes sense today. (Don’t HOLLER at Us!  We have a pimple on Our buttock!)

So if you’re heading to the movies, bring someone along who gets you.  (Okay, so who wants to go see the new Ricky Schroder fillum?  Oh, wait…)



(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!)
                            
*****************************************************************************
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.