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Thursday, June 21, 2012

He’s a very nice Prince



Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Thursday, June 21, 2012.  It is not, of course, so much the heat as it is the stupidity.  Specifically, all the stupid people talking about the heat.  We Our Own Self Personally will gladly take the heat over the alternative, because, whatever bad things you want to say about it, you never have to shovel the heat.  Now where’s a hot boi in a loincloth to bring Us a mint julep and fan Us with a palm frond on the verandah?

Damn those crickets.

In a desperate attempt to be more glass-half-full, We shall attempt to imagine that the loincloth-clad hot boi is waiting for Us, with a mint julep in one hand and his palm frond at the ready (heh) on the verandah.  Unfortunately for Us, We have no fucking clue where the hell the verandah is. (While still bleak, this is much better than the alternative, in which We not only do not have a verandah, but there is no mint julep, no palm frond, no hot boi, and no loincloth.  Baby steps, people, baby steps.)

Lest you think that We are alone in Our delusions, We should like to inform you that, if you Google “loincloth” and “palm frond” on Wikipedia, you get 238,000 hits.  Here is an excerpt from one of the first hits, which appears to be a novel entitled Tease:

          She could feel warm breezes flowing over her, and when she found the energy to focus her eyes, she saw that they were man-made.  There was a male giant looming above her with a palm-frond fan. His privates were covered with a loincloth made of some gauzy material.  Other than that, he was naked, sun-bronzed from head to toe, and gorgeously put together.

     Tess continued to gaze up at him, fascinated.  But her focus kept straying to the loincloth, and she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what he might have stashed under there…

Hey, you get through the heatwave your way, We’ll get through it Ours.

We have precious little else to report, as We have been holed up in the AC (Air Conditioning, not Atlantic City) except for brief forays to the Ack-A-Me for supplies.  We bypassed yesterday’s farmers’ market because, seriously?  Unairconditioned Amish in a heat wave?  No thanks.

Meanwhile, in an Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopular) vein, We have slipped surreptitiously into Cancer, so you will notice a different video above.  Or, ya know, not.

In still other news, The Match Game : playing it We shall be on Friday, July 13 and Saturday, July 14, at 7:30, at L’Etage.  The SitOnMyFaceBook event is here:  http://www.facebook.com/events/234467316672300/ and tickets can be gotten here:  http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/255809 .  Be there, or be BLANK.)

Here’s the HorrorScope:

Okay, while We certainly have no intention of complaining about the heat, We are here to tell you that it is way too hot to be Prince William’s birthday.  If he thinks We’re putting on an evening gown for his royal ass, he’s got another think coming.  He can meet Us at the pool in his Speedo™ just like anybody else.  (Hey, We’ll bet HE can rustle up some hot bois in loincloths to bring Us mint juleps and fan Us with palm fronds…things are looking up!)

You need to find an emotional outlet.  (Indeed.  So We can plug in Our emotional curling iron.)

It could be a therapist, a trainer or an old friend, but you’ve got to clear out some old baggage that just doesn’t seem to move on its own. (So We don’t so much need an emotional outlet as We need an emotional laxative?)

You can do this!  (We’re not quite sure what “this” is, but, if it involves pooping, We are indeed a champ.)

Do you have a full load to carry today? (That’s an awfully personal question.  Also, it sounds suspiciously like a fat joke.)

Have no fear!  (Underdog is here, he’s queer, and he knows how to accessorize. (It’s two, two, two jokes in one. (It would be better if one or the other of them were (subjunctively) funny, but ya can’t have everything.)))

The best way to get a lot done today is by asking other people for help.  (Yeah.  ‘Cause other people do everything We ask them to.  Or, ya know, return Our phone calls.)

Sure, it seems like an obvious idea, (We just sat here for a full five minutes trying to think of an actual example of an obvious idea.  Other than an eraser on the end of a pencil, We got nothin’.)

but reaching out for a helping hand is not exactly something you enjoy doing. (Especially at a leper colony.)

(Can there ever be too many leper jokes?  We think not.)

You’re a bit too proud sometimes, aren’t you? (Now go back and read that in Prince William’s accent.  And picture him in his Speedo™.  Wearing a bathing cap to hide how bald he’s going, poor thing.)

The trouble is, there’s no point in having pride when you have far too much to do! (We have no idea what that means.  Do you have any idea what that means?  Could you explain it to Us?  Use small words.)

Find out who is willing to be your assistant for the day. (There go the crickets again.)

You will be surprised (SURPRISE!!!)

at how well your request is received.  (We can hear Prince William’s dulcet tones now.  “Hot bois in loincloths, you say?  What exactly is a mint julep?  Could they bring me a Pimms cup, d’you think?  And a carrot for my horse?  Oh, never mind; that’s my Aunt Anne.”)

(You thought “carrot for my horse” was going to be a vulgar euphemism, but We fooled you.  Hah!)

Leave ’em wanting more!  (They always say that, as though it’s so critical.  But, in reality, if you leave ‘em wanting less, they can always give some away.)

A quick conversation with some interesting implications is so much better than getting into specifics or heavy stuff now.  (Oh, sure.  Just let them ONCE catch you having a conversation with the implications, and just SEE how fast they ship you off to the funny farm.)

Let ’em know you like ’em, then let ’em come to you.  (Given several current complexities in this wild, madcap, zany pageant We call Our life, this last bit is just an invitation to Trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Prince William Peeing In The Pool.)
 





(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.