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Thursday, May 24, 2012

The hip-hooray and bally-hoo, the lullaby of Broadway

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for  ThurzDee, May 24, 2012.  Happy birthday to Bill, who turns twenty-four today in NooJork, NooJork.  (Does anyone actually think of anything OTHER THAN NooJork, NooJork when they think of NooJork? We know that, if you say “NooJork” to Us, We automatically pixture NooJork, NooJork.  The rumble of a subway train, the rattle of a taxi, the daffodils who entertain at Angelo’s and Maxie’s.  But is there someone out there who hears “NooJork” and automatically thinks, “Ah, Schenectady” or “Ooooh, Poughkeepsie”?  And, more to the point, if there IS such a person, how do We ensure that We never, ever meet them?) Also, happy birthday to Jose, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.

We trust you have all recovered from your Joan Collins Birthday Celebrations yesterday.  How many games of Pin-The-Tail-On-Linda-Evans did We play last night, anyway?

Obviously, We have precious little to report, poised though We are on the brink of the kickoff weekend of Summer 2012, when all of Fluffya and Bob’s Your Uncle will be headed Dinah Shore.  (“Dinah Shore” is, of course, “downa shore” for lesbians.)

We, naturally, will be honing Our madd clairvoyance skillz, as 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 hat, 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:  Find more info on Our SitOnMyFaceBook event here:  Be there or be square.

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

Here’s  the HorrorScope:

Whatever else you do today, make sure you avoid bottling up your emotions.   (Bottle, hell!  This mess is gonna need a keg!)

It doesn’t take long for them to explode, (Just call Us A Bombic Tom.)

(What?  You think this is easy?  YOU try it.)

and you’d rather be in control of them than a horrified onlooker!  (Or, worse yet, a glorified lawn hooker.  (Whaddaya mean, “what’s a lawn hooker”?  Picture a lawn jockey, but in bootie shorts.  THERE ya go!))

Going backwards isn’t always a bad thing. (Hell to da no, Hunty…it all Depends™ on who’s back there.)

If you’ve been contemplating moving back to your hometown, (Not unless that Dairy Queen has finally opened up in Hell.)

calling up an ex, (No, indeed…We might’ve accidentally left his cellphone on his body.)

or going back to school, (We already know everything We need to know, ThankYouVeryMuch, and if We had to cram in more stuff, We’d have to start forgetting things.)

the stars say you should investigate the idea further. (Well, maybe NEXT week’s Hollywood Squares will have different stars on it.)

List the pros (Lawn hookers)

and cons, (Lawn pimps.)

and you should be able to make a solid decision by the end of the day. (Well, good.  Because them gaseous decisions are stinking up the place.)

Once you decide, it’s important to move forward on your plan. (Once again, this Depends™ on who’s behind you.)

Call up a realtor, send that ‘just to say hi’ email to your ex, or request some course catalogs.  (Or have a tasteful cocktail till the entire notion passes.)

When you lack direction, you lack purpose. (Miss Mary Lack, Lack, Lack all dressed in black, black, black, with silver buttons, buttons, buttons all down her crack, crack, crack…)

(Didn’t see THAT coming, didja?)

So what exactly is going on in your life right now? (Is that a trick question?)

Without any definable goals, you’re just drifting. (So unless We can land Ourself a goalie, We should head Dinah Shore?)

(See how everything kind of came full circle?)

Steady, steady — now’s a great time to redefine what you’re looking for in a mate.  (A penis, a pulse, and a Platinum™ card.)

(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.