Hello, Ducks!
Starzina
Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for ToozDee, May 8,
2012. We don’t know about you, but We
are still prostrate on Our fainting couch, clutching Our smelling salts to Our
pneumatic bosom, as We attempt to recover from yesterday’s Vagina Monologues
e-pissode. What the hell happened in
here, anyway? Sure, We got Our str8 boi
readers all hot and bothered, but did any of ‘em show up on Our doorstep,
loaded blunderbuss in hand, asking which way to the skeet shoot?
(We
have no earthly idea what We’re talking about, but the answer to the preceding
question is “No”.)
(“Skeet
shoot”???)
(Meanwhile,
how many str8 boi readers (does it take to screw (heh) in a light bulb? No.)…how many str8 boi readers are now
wondering if a pneumatic bosom works like a pneumatic drill?)
Alrighty,
then. We can apparently cross “Victorian
novelist” off of Our list of potential sources of pecuniary remuneration. And, as We are busily procrastinating, and
yet, not the least bit interested in sharing what We’re procrastinating about,
it’s time for a whole new feature here on The Mouseketeer Club…er, Erix Daily
Horoscope: Anything Can Happen To
Celebrities Day!!!
(Speaking
of The Mouseketeer Club, to ensure that Our str8 boi readers continue to love
Us, albeit from afar (did We just say “albeit”?
Perhaps We should reconsider that Victorian novelist gig…), Annette
Funicello’s pneumatic bosom. You’re welcome.)
(Never
you mind that Annette Funicello will be seventy this year. That’s only thirty-five per bosom. Perverts.)
This
first bit has nothing whatever to do with celebrities, but We just saw it on
the WorldWideInterWebNetz and it tickled Us, and We make the rules around
here: Clown
shoes are very big, and clown cars are very small- get it together, clowns!
On a celebrity-related note, We may or may not
have mentioned We have joined The Twitter.
Because We’re hep to the jive like that.
We have no idea why regular people would be on The Twitter, but it
apparently gives celebrities a chance to prove that they are just as idiotic as
everyone else. Just this morning, Cher
(surely it comes as no surprise to you that We follow Cher on The
Twitter?) made some sort of liberal
Democrat observation . Apparently, there
was some Republitard out there who was SO stupid (how stupid was he?) that he
did not realize that Cher (whom he also was following on The Twitter) was a
liberal Democrat, and he felt compelled to call her out on her “stupidity” (which he, naturally, being a Republitard,
referred to as “Communism”).
Unfortunately, Cher engaged this douchebag, and the whole thing quickly degenerated,
to the point where the Republitard was mocking Cher for misspelling a word,
saying, and We quote, “botox has gone 2 ur brain”. Whereupon Cher put an end to the entire
discussion thusly: “I’m dyslexic,
asshole! Just think! If I could spell, I
could have been successful!”
Meanwhile, We are lifting the following
anecdote verbatim, as the clock is ticking here at OurHouseWhereWeLive (and
presumably at YourHouseWhereYouLive, also, but since when is it all about
YOU?):
Apparently, Rufus
Wainwright has told this story for years, but this is the first time
I've heard it and it's never too late to hear one of the reasons for whyBea
Arthur will forever be our Patron Saint of Bitchiness. During a time
in Rufus' life when he was trapped in a black cloud of loneliness, the only
thing that gave him life was watching episodes of The Golden Girls. Just
like every good gay, Rufus considers Rue, Estelle, Bea and Betty his four
apostles. So many years later, Rufus saw Bea at a party and had to thank her
for being a friend. Sometimes when you meet one of your idols, you walk away
with the taste of disappointment in your mouth, but that didn't happen to
Rufus. Rufus walked away with the feeling of knowing what it's like to be
slapped down by a GOD! This is how Rufus' moment with Bea went:
Rufus: "I'm sorry to bother you, and I'm
sure you hear this all the time, but I was going through a rough patch and Golden
Girls brought me so much entertainment and comfort. It really helped me get
through the bad spell.You're so wonderful. You made me feel like you're my
grandmother."
Bea: *gently leans into
his ear* "I'm not your fucking grandmother." *throws scarf over
shoulder, arches back and exits stage left*
Getting
bitched out by Bea Arthur is like Jesus himself putting his hand on your
forehead to rebuke the evil spirits out of you. How Rufus survived that is
beyond me. If Bea Arthur put the word "motherfucker" in my
ear, I would've called the tombstone store and told them to etch "Bitch
Died Happy" into my peen-shaped headstone before falling on the
floor to die. You've unlocked every achievement and won the game of life when
Bea Arthur curses you out.
And
thus endeth Anything Can Happen To Celebrities Day!
On
another subject, here is a link to Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope:
Taurus: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlqQw4TppqY
which you can use to share
it with your very own personal friends who are currently birthdaying. Not, of course, that anyone has ever actually
done this, but We live in hope.
And
here, because its brilliance cannot be overstated, is Our new motto:
Uranus is Our Rosebud.
And
now, the HorrorScope:
You
may step on someone’s toes — not that that is your intention! (Of course not! We were trying to step on his balls, but he
wouldn’t hold still.)
It
just happens sometimes, (Usually to Us.)
and
it’s hard to say who’s to blame. (That’s
why you must always select the scapegoat FIRST.)
Just
apologize and get on with life. (Firstly,
shouldn’t that be “RuPaulogize”™ Willam Belli”? And
Seconal™, being Us means you never have to say you’re sorry. Mainly because you
ain’t.)
(Clearly,
all pretensions of Victorian novelisthod have been defenestrated.)
Try
not to confuse your opinions with truth. (Also, don’t cloud the issue with
facts.)
Not
everyone agrees with your ideas right now, (Stupidassmuthafuckahs.)
(What,
you were expecting a witty riposte?
Shirley you digest.)
and
if you assume that they do, you could run the risk of really ticking a few
people off. (Which is probably for the best, as who likes people with ticks on
them?)
So
be sure to double check with everyone before moving forward on any group
activities. (Confucius say, is difficult to have orgy by oneself.)
(Confucius
probably didn’t actually ever say that.
But he might have, because who the hell understands Chinese?)
Hasty
action on your part will probably leave some brittle egos feeling left out —
and cause a few sabotage plans to be hatched. (Oh, good lord…next thing ya know, the CIA’ll
be putting an IUD in Our DVR.)
(What? We’re just so proud that We stopped Ourself
from saying “VCR”.)
A
little extra consideration will help you stay popular. (Sod off, AssHat.)
(Howzzat?)
You’d
rather take action than mince words. (Today on Frenching The Chef, julienned paragraphs.)
(Should
We or any of Our EDH Force be caught or killed, The Secretary will disavow any
knowledge of Our actions.)
Today
you may have a chance to do something important instead of merely talking about
it. (That is ever so doubtful.)
Follow
your gut instincts (EEEuuuwww!!!)
and
move forward without looking back. (Or move backward without looking for…?)
Show
them you mean business. (See, as We’ve
always said, it’s “show business” not “show art”. Because how little sense would that sentence
make if that sentence could make sense?
Or, if it read, “Business them you mean show”.)
(We’re
outtie.)
(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.
No comments:
Post a Comment