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Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for ToozDee, Juneteenth, 2012.  Happy Juneteenth to Our Juneteenthian friends, who are, naturally, from the country of Juneteenthia, which is a very small fishing nation wedged between Belize and Chad.  Belize and Chad, you will recall from yesterday’s e-pissode, don’t have much in common, but once they start passing them poppers back and forth, it’s Katie-bar-the-door.

We used to wonder what that saying meant, but now it just makes Us think of Katie Holmes, who We suspect has to do precious little door-barring, if you know what We mean, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.

We have only a moment to check in with YouPeople, in between waiting to hear from Our new WorldWideInterWebNetzian girlfriend Allison and making Ourself beautiful in anticipation of the arrival of the first semen donor to answer Our ad. (Notice how We’ve suddenly gone all serialized on your asses.  Like, if you haven’t read the last two e-pissodes, you have no idea what the fuck We’re talking about.  It’s just like Dave and Penny on Search for Another World Meets The Young And The Rest Of Us.))  So, to keep you all amused, We went rooting through the Way-Back Machine and came up with this thoroughly-apropos-modern-Milli-Vanilli  excerpt from Katie Holmes’s diary.  This is all the way from 2005, people, prior to her marriage to Mister Cruise, so it is really, really OLD.  In fact, it is so old that it may have been first posted on MySpace:


April 28, 2005

Dear Diary,

Finally I can reveal the secret I’ve been keeping, even from YOU, Dear Diary:  Tommy C. and I are an ITEM!!!  My people have been seeing his people for about a month now, and his publicist finally decided the time was right to announce that we are a couple!!!  I didn’t even dare write about it in here, Dear Diary, for fear that someone would steal YOU the way they stole all those phone numbers from that slut Paris H’s cell phone.

Tommy is SOOO refreshing, especially after dating Chris K for all that time.  I mean, Chris is cute and all, but who can even name a movie he’s been in?  I mean, like AMERICAN PIE…what-EVER.  And Tommy is, like, THE Major Hollywood Movie Star.  This is gonna be SOOO great for my career. I mean, look what he did for Nicole, and my boobies are WAAAY bigger than hers.  And it’ll be good for him, too.  I mean, it’s about time he started dating an American girl, instead of all these foreigners and Australians and stuff.

Plus, Dear Diary, just between you and me, when it comes to, you know, S-E-X…well, Chris had this REEAALLY big winkie, which could hardly fit in my hoo-hoo, and he wanted to put it there like ALL the time, and leave it there for like HOURS, and I’d wind up all sweaty, with my hair all messed up, and I’d have to re-do my makeup.  But Tommy hardly EVER puts his winkie in my hoo-hoo, and, when he does, it’s just the right size, because I don’t even notice that it’s there, and plus he only puts it there for like a minute, so my hair and makeup looks exactly the same when it’s over, and really, it’s not how you feel, it’s how you look.

So anyway, now that we are officially dating, and can be seen in public, Tommy is gonna take me to meet some of his friends at his church.  I’m not sure what church it is…the name sounded like “gynecology”, but I know that can’t be it, because that’s a hoo-hoo doctor.  I just know it’s not anything I’ve heard of before, like Presbyterian or Episcopalian.  I’m sure it’s something really special, just like Tommy.  I just hope it’s not that Kielbasa thing that Madonna and Demi M. are into, because somebody told me that’s kind of Jewish, and I don’t think my fans would like it if it turned out that I killed Jesus.


May 2, 2005

Dear Diary,

Tommy took me to his church yesterday.  It’s the Church of Scienceology, not gynecology.  (I get words like that mixed up sometimes.  So does Tommy, because he’s dyspeptic.)

We flew there in a helicopter, and I had to wear a blindfold, because I’m not a member of the church yet, so I’m not allowed to know where it is.  It felt just like we were in one of Tommy’s MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE movies.  (Note to self:  No more hoo-hoo for Tommy till he agrees to put me in the next MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE movie.)  Then we had to circle for a long time, because the church people had planted a bunch of flowers for our arrival, but they didn’t match my dress, so Tommy had them rip all the flowers up and plant new ones before we got there.  How kewl is THAT?

Anyway, it wasn’t like a church at all, more like a big resort in the middle of the desert.  And there was no service, which was good, because I get SOOO bored when other people talk for too long.  AND I got to meet some fat old guy who used to be John Travolta, and that fat lady who was on CHEERS when she was thin, but now has a show about being a fat lady, which I think is really stupid, but she was REEEAALLLY nice to me, so it was okay.  And when Tommy and the John Travolta guy went off to get massages, we showed each other our hoo-hoos, but I got really scared ‘cause her thighs kind of moved ALL ON THEIR OWN, so I made her stop.  Did I mention she was REEEALLY fat?

So, later, the four of us and a bunch of Tommy’s other church friends got together and they talked about a bunch of stuff I didn’t understand, like N-grams and futons and E-meters.  I made a joke about E! True Hollywood Story, but nobody laughed, so I didn’t make any more jokes. Tommy said I didn’t understand because I wasn’t clear, but I didn’t think THEY were being very clear, but I didn’t say so.  It was kinda like that time James v-d-B took me to that party with all his weird guy friends in the funny leather costumes, and all anybody talked about was Special K and circuit parties.  *I* didn’t think it sounded like much of a party if all they served was cereal, but I didn’t want to say so, because James was always so sensitive about his friends. And the fact that he was going bald.

Anyway, Tommy says if I want to, I can join his church, because they have a “special process for celebrities”.  Well, DUH.  I mean, it’s not like we’re just ordinary people or something.


Actually, We have gone all soap-opera-serialized on your asses because, while We know you are out there (We can hear you breathing), and We occasionally even hear from one or the other of you, We have just recently had actual evidence that the very same person has been reading for two days in a row!  We love that!  So tune in tomorrow, because you never know what will happen next…

Here’s the HorrorScope (Well, you prolly kinda saw THAT coming…):

Okay, if you’ve been sensing all morning that something is just a leetle off in The Universe today, your crack Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) is here to tell you what it is:  it is Paula Abdul’s fiftieth birthday.  Jump out of THAT cake and smell the frosting flowers.  (Is that a saying?  Because if it’s not, it should be.)

 Conflict is in the air today (And Paula Abdul’s AARP card is in the mail.)

(We have no idea why We’re taking such joy in busting on Paula Abdul.  It’s not like she’s ever done anything to Us.  And We certainly don’t watch her annoying television show.  That said, We suspect We’re not gonna stop busting on her any time soon.)

— and you can come out ahead if you’re willing to get deep into the argumentative weeds.  (Sigh. Weeds. We love that show.)

You may draw on old tricks (Like Paula Abdul?)

(Heh.  These jokes tell themselves.)

to confuse your opponents, but all is fair today.  (It may be fair, but it’s certainly not good.)

The journey you have been on has been quite a challenging one, (Indeed.  We almost stopped believing at one point…Journey would have been pissed.)

(That was a little rock-and-roll joke.  Because We’re hep to the jive like that.  Also, We watch Glee.)

so you’ll breathe a sigh of relief (Sigh.)

today when you come across a person (Heh.)

who offers you a chance to rest your weary feet for a while. (The first person who guesses what We’re picturing right now wins an autographed pair of Paula Abdul’s granny panties.)

The pace of your life has been far too fast for far too long, (Apparently, Our pacemaker is on the fritz.  (Who the fuck is Fritz?))

and they have an invitation you should not pass up. (Put it next to the offer We can’t refuse.  Then Shut. Up. Kelli.)

You’ll be much happier when you can see things while you’re standing still — not when they’re whizzing by as you run at a million miles an hour.  (Heh.  She said “whizzing”.)

You have your eye on someone, but why make it too easy? (You keep trying and trying to make Us tell the joke about the hooker with the glass eye, but We are just Not. Going. To. Do. It.)

It’s not called the dating game for nothing, you know. (Well, of course it isn’t.  The Dating Game For Nothing would be a totally stupid name for a show.  (Unless, of course, it were (subjunctively) an existential show about masturbation.  In which case, it would still be better if it were (subjunctively) called The Sound Of One Hand Clapping.)  It is called The Match Game , (see how We segued there, like the sly, suBtle, segue-er that We are), and playing it We shall be on Friday, July 13 and Saturday, July 14, at 7:30, at L’Etage.  The SitOnMyFaceBook event is here: and tickets can be gotten here: .  Be there, or be at The Dating Game For Nothing, like a big loser.)

If someone wants your digits, let them do a little work. (See, We know that the kidz use “digits” to mean phone number, but when We hear the phrase “give someone your digits”, We think of fingerbanging.  Is that wrong?)

(Why do We suddenly feel an overwhelming desire to discuss the position of Uranus?)

They’ll appreciate you all the more afterward. (Heh.  Won’t they though?  Won’t they just?)

(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.