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Monday, September 24, 2012


Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for JustAnotherManginaMonday, September 24, 2012.

We are not going to mince words.  (Because if you think We want to clean the food processor after this, you should have your thinker examined.)  Here at Casa de Craphole, We are Sick Like Dog.  Mercifully, it waited to arrive until Our show had closed.  (Did you know Our show had closed?  Did you see Our show?  No?   Shame on you.)  Although Jesus H. Christ did sneeze once during last night’s proceedings.  Oddly, no one said “god bless you”.

Our Sistah Ovella, who (sometimes) played Charles Nelson Reilly in Our show (did you miss that?  Shame on you.), had this very disease last week.  She said it spent days arriving, when you knew you were going to be sick, but you weren’t sick yet.  Sharon (hi, Sharon!), who (most of the time) played Brett Somers in Our show (did you miss that?  Shame on you.), was also afflicted.  Mary Tyler Moore would tell you (if she were (subjunctively) speaking to you; she is apparently not speaking to Us) that a cold is three days coming, three days with you, and three days leaving.  (Mary Tyler Moore was not in Our show.  Because she’s, ya know, Mary Tyler Moore.  Which you would know, if you had seen Our show. (Well, you would know she was Mary Tyler Moore whether you had seen Our show or not.  Don’t get nitpicky with Us…We’re sick.))

On the plus side (We said, in Our optimistic, glass-half-full voice which would make Us want to kill Us if We were not (subjunctively) Us), We don’t have nits.


So, according to Mary Tyler Moore’s theory, We are only on The Second Day Of Coming.  (Which is different from The Day Of The Second Coming.  Which, with apologies to Our religious readers, always sounded dirty to Us.)  Unless there were stealth days of coming of which We were unaware.  Which We certainly hope is the case, because then this mess would be gone by the weekend, and We have a whole list of Things We Intended To Do After Our Show Closed which We suspect is now being postponed.


To compensate for all this Woe Which Is Us and Misery Which Loves Three’s Company, today’s Erix Daily Horoscope Pixture Du Jour Au Jus (Gesundheit (Thank you)) is a picture of Prince Harry holding a porcupine.  You’re welcome.

On the plus side (We must have a fever which is making Us delirious), thanks to all of those who DID see Our show, most recently Our American Cousins, Deb and Liz.  We apologize if We have sent you back to MaryLand with The Germs Of Our Affliction.  (Is it just Us, or does that sound like the title of an old radio serial drama? (Not that We remember old radio serial dramas, but We’re just sayin’.))

How cute is Prince Harry holding a porcupine?

In still other news, as of yesterday, We have moved into Libra, and, consequently, Our latest video effort is above.  We Our Own Self Personally are not sure We are entirely enamored of Our new ADD-ADHD Short Attention Span format, so We are including last year’s Libra video here for comparison:

We would love to hear your thoughts.  Assuming, that is, that you have thoughts.  During Virgo, We didn’t hear so much as a cricket chirping.

Do virgin crickets chirp?  Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?  What does Prince Harry DO with the porcupine after the photo op?

We are now imagining the position of Royal Porcupine Wrangler.  Excuse Us while We spruce up Our resumé. 

It is difficult to believe that it was only three short weeks ago that HimSelf was named Groovy Reader of the Month over at Deep Dish:

You say “non sequitur”, We say “vichyssoise”; let’s call the whole thing offal.

Speaking of vichyssoise, here’s a little essay We came across on the subject of marriage equality:

"Viewed from the pews, weddings are theater produced by straight amateurs using their own money. The resulting spectacle is what a dog show would be like if it were organized by the dogs. When gays remake weddings, the lighting will be the first thing to improve. Secondly, no one’s going to think that a fatless steak fryer is a suitable pres­ent, and the flowers won’t look ordered for a clown’s funeral. The music will also be classier; you won’t have to walk down the aisle to Meatloaf singing, 'I would do anything for love / But I won’t do that.'

"The history of queer culture shows us that gay men are the trailblazers. Where they go, heterosexual women follow, dragging reluctant straight men behind them, who in turn bring Texans. That’s how civilization and musical theater evolve. Not to mention catering. The cake has got to go. The original wedding cake was a biscuit broken over the bride’s head to represent what was about to happen to her hymen. But that’s vulgar. Today the happy couple jointly hold a very phallic knife and together force it through the virginal white icing into the soft, moist sweetness, and in America, for those who are slow at symbolism, they then push cake into each other’s face as a sort of cakealingus." - 
A.A. Gill, in aVanity Fair piece titled Can Weddings Be Saved? 

Here’s the HorrorScope:

It’s Jim Henson’s birthday.  So, in honor of the Muppets, today, let’s all stick Our fist up someone’s butt and make them say the alphabet.

(Didn’t see THAT coming, didja?)

You can lead the way to something really positive today, (Notice how she tries to make “something positive” sound like something really positive.  Which it is, unless you’re being tested for STDs.)

but only if you can find a good way to spread your ideas. (We always say, “Spread your legs, and ideas will follow”.  (Actually, this is the first time We’ve EVER said that.  But odds are, it won’t be the last.))

 You may just want to lead by example, (Engrish is a funny language.  Why, for example, is an “example” not someone who used to be an ample?)

but you can find a way that works for you.  (If only We had somebody…ANYBODY…who works for Us.  Even a Royal Porcupine Wrangler.  (Surely that can’t be a full time job, so We could have them do other things.))

Your ambitions have not all come to fruition, (But several of them are very close to vegetablition.)

(We?  Are a cunning linguist.)

but that doesn’t mean that you have failed in any way. (Nor, of course, does it mean that We have SUCCEEDED in any way.  Bitch.)

There is a time and place for everything, (Turd, turd, turd.)

(Micro$oft Weird™ doesn’t seem to think that “turd” is a wurd.)

so don’t get distracted if that big brass ring has escaped your grasp, yet again. (Okay, how hard does she really expect Us to work for a damn ring made out of brass?  Hello, cheap jewelry, green fingers?)

This is not the end of your options, (On the other hand, We’re all out of love, We’re so lost without you.)

(Much like the Spanish Inquisition, no one expects random Air Supply lyrics.)

so do not beat yourself up about it. (The good thing about beating yourself up is, you don’t have to go to fight call.)

(That was a little theatre joke.  For Our thespian readers.  You’re welcome.)

Instead, focus your energy on attaining some other new goal. (How about a new goalie? (How about Prince Harry puts down the porcupine and plays rugby?  We do so love being an athletic supporter.))

While you’re busy climbing that mountain, (Who the hell’s fording the stream?)

forces will be working to give you another opportunity to try this one again.  (Or that.)

If you’ve got your sights set on somebody super special, today might be the day you pull the ‘stunner of charm’ trigger. (From The Department Of Wannabe Sayings That Are Never Going To Become Actual Sayings…”stunner of charm trigger”?  Seriously?)


(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.