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Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Science fiction double feature

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for WhinesDay, September 26, 2012.  Welcome to Pray For Death Day Three, otherwise known as James Caviezel’s birthday.  James Caviezel, for those who are unenlightened (much as We Our Own Self Personally were until just a moment ago), played Jesus H. Christ in Mel Gibson’s S&M flick, The Passion of the Christ. We Our Own Self Personally played Jesus H. Christ in The Real Housewives of South Philly Play The Match Game. James Caviezel no doubt made more money than We did, but We had more fun.

All around the mulberry bush, the monkey James Caviezel…

Oh, you know you were singing it too…

Speaking of death, Our InterNetz tell Us that Andy Williams just died.  We were pretty sure he was already dead.  We, meanwhile, are not actually Praying For Death as fervently as We might, because, despite the sweet release it would provide from this bubonic-plague-like ailment with which We are currently afflicted, We would be embarrassed to have Our body discovered in a house as filthy as Ours currently is.  So We suppose We shall have to live.


Meanwhile, if We have to be so deathly ill, is it too much to ask that we should lose Our appetite at the same time? Gawd forbid We should lose a pound or two for Our troubles.

In other news, having already been forced to miss Heather Locklear’s birthday festivities this week, today We shall be forced to give Olivia Newton-John’s shindig a miss.  Sigh.

(All of Our str8 boi readers are desperately trying to create a euphemism out of “Olivia Newton-John’s shindig”.  Let me hear your body talk, your body talk.)

Here is last year’s Libra video to compare with this year’s (see above).  All of your insights have been so helpful so far, much like Mitt Rmoney’s Open Window Policy for airplanes and submarines:

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

Here’s the HorrorScope:

You need to take control of a new situation, and make sure that everyone involved knows what’s expected of them. (Yeah, okay, that right there?  Way more energy than We have at Our disposal.  We’re gonna need to pencil that in for, say, early next week.  Mmmmkay?)

Your organizational skills might be rusty, (Possibly even gangrenous.)

but you can still get it done.  (Whence came “gangrenous”?  We’ve no idea.  (Although We were about to start a riff on “gangrenous” in Frawnch, i.e “gangre-nous”, but We thought better of it.  (You’re welcome.))  Perhaps, instead of quasi-coherent sentences, We should just begin making a list of all the words We know…)


(This is no fun.)

It’s the perfect time for you to organize a group outing (Fine.  The Boy Scouts?  Are gay.)

(Heh.  See what We did there?)

or party, (‘Cause tonight We’re gonna party like it’s nineteen twenty-nine.)

and you won’t need any excuse to get your people together. (Okay, do you even listen to yourself when you talk, you asshatted asshat who’s wearing her ass as a hat?  If We’ve organized a group outing or party, that IS Our excuse for getting “Our people” together.  Jeebus.)

Everyone’s feeling fine and in the mood to let loose with the laughter and have a good time. (Good.  Then they can all go to Olivia Newton-John’s shindig without Us.)

Why not figure out a way to get all your different social circles intertwined together?  (Because that sounds like absolute hell on earth?  Just a thought.)

Having all of your worlds collide (Said George Powell to his bride, “I’m gonna give you some terrible thrills.”)

doesn’t have to be stressful at all. (Not for you, maybe.  It’s OUR  worlds you’ve got colliding.  Bitch.)

After all, everyone has something in common — they adore you!   (We’ll have what she’s having.)

Get them talking about you and all will be fine.  (We can just imagine.)

Staying firmly in touch with your personal values now means you’re that much closer to attaining a certain romantic goal.  (Oh, please.  If you could see Us right now, the last thing you would imagine would be Us “attaining a romantic goal”.)

A long talk with a friend about what you want keeps you on target. (Ready…fire…aim.)


(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.