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Saturday, December 22, 2012

Come, they told me



 

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! for Saturday, December 22, 2012. We trust you all had a lovely Apocalypse, and are enjoying the first day of Capricorn by watching Our brand spanking (heh) new Time of the Month Horosocpe video, which see above.

 

We Our Own Self Personally spent the Apocalypse, and now, the Post-Apocalypse (The Apocalyptic Afterbirth, if you will (or even if you won’t…what makes you think it’s all about you?)), on Holiday with Himself in the Hinterlands. (Is it just Us, or does On Holiday with Himself in the Hinterlands sound like a bizarre made-for-TV Christmas disaster movie from the late 60s or possibly early 70s? Starring Bing Crosby and Charo.  With Jerry Lewis as The Bieber.  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

 

We nearly didn’t make it all the way to the hinterlands. We were All Aboard AmCrack, when they stopped Our train due to police activity in Amish Country.  No doubt a rogue quilting bee, or an illegal butterchurning lab.  We do not speak Pennsylvania Dutch (or Hollandaise Dutch, for that matter), but We are fairly certain We heard some negotiations being made concerning Our imminent betrothal to a smelly bearded man named Zebediah who had six toes on each hand.  Fortunately, Himself woke up at this point, and We evaded this fate by posing as lesbian trapeze artists with a travelling circus.

 

Speaking of peculiar religious sects (which are, of course different than peculiar religious sex, which, if We recall correctly from Our remote youth, consists of screaming “Oh Jesus!” repeatedly while cavorting with lemurs in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms and being coated in hot wax), there was also, on this Train Of Fools, an entire family of Mennonites.  Which, for those who are unfamiliar, would be comprised of Mennonites, Womennonites, and Childrennonites.

 

ThankYouVeryMuch, We’llBeHereAllWeek, Don’tForgetToTipYourWaitress.

 

But please don’t tip your waitress’s cow.

 

Meanwhile, for those of you who missed a Twitter update from Helen Keller yesterday:


You can wear sweat pants and I won't judge. I won't even know!


The only kind of mail I get is blackmail.


I hope my gynecologist is who he says he is.

And heeeeeere’s the HorrorScope:

Speaking of The Beaver, it is Barbara Billingsley’s birthday.  But don’t expect much of a party; she’s dead.

Today brings an ending. (We’re pretty sure that was meant to be yesterday.)

 

That doesn’t have to be bad — lots of endings are positive, after all!  (Is anyone else now imagining Ryan Phillippe from behind?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

 

You may have to decide to end the project, relationship or whatever it is (How can We end it if We don’t even know what it is?)

 

on your own, which can be difficult but rewarding.  (Difficult But Rewarding, was, oddly enough, Ryan Phillippe’s nickname in high school.)

 

 A friend you used to see with some regularity seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, and you miss them.  (We really try not to get involved with Our friends’ regularity.  Or lack thereof.)

 

(Poop!)

 

If your phone calls and emails have gone unanswered, don’t take it personally. (How else should We take it, bitch?)

 

They have a lot of stuff going on right now, and they might just need some breathing room. (Breathe on your own time, bitches.)

 

 Even though you may mean well, they might not have time to give you the attention you need. (How dare they?  We’ve had just about enough of them!)

 

Use this time to get to know someone new in your life a little bit better.  (We are presuming that, by “a little bit better”, you mean “biblically”.  Because We are nothing if not biblical.)

 

You have room in your life for more friends.  (But not their frenulums.  Because with frenulums like these, who needs enemas?)

 

 You don’t need to be paranoid, (Unless, of course, they really ARE out to get you.)

but you ought to watch out for red flags. (Oh, sure…like they’re gonna WARN Us.)

 

Something small could indicate someone’s big-picture values.  (What does that even MEAN?)

 

Ask more questions before you decide to fall for them.        (“Is it bigger than a breadstick?”)

 

 

(You’re Your-O-Scopes:

 

http://www.humorscope.com)

(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.