Google+ Followers

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

In the navy, you can sail the seven seas.

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Wednesday, February 27, 2013.  Happy Hump Day, y’all.

We are debating with Ourself whether to tell you that We really don’t have much of a point today, and that, consequently, today’s e-pissode is going to be largely a good, old-fashioned Potpourri-For-$500-Alex, or whether to let you find that out for your own selves.  We’ll let you know what We decide.

So, how about Anne Hathaway turning out to be Satan?  Didn’t see THAT coming, did We?  Although setting her sights on being Julia Roberts should have been a big ol’ red flag.

Which leads Us to the random thought that if Being John Malkovich had (subjunctively) been Being Julia Roberts, it would have been a very different fillum.

In other news, We are drinking tea.  Because, at the Ack-A-Me yesterday, We forgot to buy coffee, and We have a HouseWhereWeLive full of tea, even though We never drink tea, which is why said tea is still here and not gone, but why was it ever here in the first place?

The tea in question is from Twinings™, and is called “Christmas Tea”.  It is flavored with cloves, and cinnamon, and other spices, and tastes not unlike licking a Christmas tree’s asshole.  A REAL Christmas tree, not an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree.  Obviously.  Because why would an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree need an asshole?

All of which serves to explain why We are a little cranky this morning.  Well, that and the fact that We have now been forced to ponder the question of whether plants poop.  They must; modern literature tells Us that EVERYBODY Poops.  But then why do they need fertilizer?

Additionally compounding Our crankitude are Our ongoing efforts to maintain something like a social life and avoid being a complete hermit in the face of The Strains Of Modern Life.  The communication and scheduling feats required to accomplish this are not unlike juggling, if you imagine that you are juggling three balls, one of which is a balloon, one of which is a waffle iron, and one of which is invisible, and, on every third time-around, becomes a chainsaw.

That was poetical, was it not?  Kiss Us quick, We are Maya Angelou.  Or Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole.  One of those.

We were just taking a WorldWideInterWebNetzian survey for fun and profit, and they asked Us what features We’d like to see in an e-reader.  To which We amused Ourself by replying, “Paper pages”.

Yesterday, meanwhile, We made meatballs.  Because We are apparently someone’s Italian great-grandmother.  We’re not sure why We’re sharing that, except that some of you who may object to hearing about Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole might prefer instead to hear about Our balls.

We are fairly certain that We had some other bit of brilliance to share with you, but it will just have to wait till tomorrow.

Speaking of everybody pooping, We have released Our new Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope video for Pisces, which see above.  Here is the link with which you would share same with your friends, both Piscean and otherwise: .

Here are the HorrorScopes:

Speaking of Elizabeths, as We were just yesterday, it is Elizabeth Taylor’s birthday.

You have too many little details to handle today  (Tell Us about it.  Didja READ this e-pissode, or didja just nakedly skim it?)

— so make sure that you’re either reenlisting the help you need or deferring some of this insanity until tomorrow or even later.  (“Reenlisting”…”deferring”…”insanity”…aren’t those military terms?)

As devoted as you are to your friends and loved ones, you cannot be responsible for them.  (Well, no.  Because We were never sponsible in the first place.)

So if one of them comes under attack today, you need to think twice before stepping up to defend them.  (Okay, “attack”…”defend”…are We suddenly in the Marines? (Well, that’s just ridiculous…We can’t be in the Marines.  Well, We can, but We can only be in them one at a time.))

In doing so, you could be inserting yourself (Heh.)

into a situation (Uranus.)

that is much more complex than you truly understand. (No, Honey, they repealed “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”.)

Instead, you should step back and let them handle this thing on their own. (Aw, where’s the fun in that?)

They won’t feel let down — deep down, they know that you’re there if they need you later.  (This just gets dirtier and dirtier, dunnit?)

You’re usually more of the social leader than the wingperson, but if someone’s calling on you to back them up on a romantic mission, (Or e-mission…)

do your part.  (Indeed.)

Who knows — it could work out for you too.  (Apparently, today, ze jokes?  Zey tell zemselves.)

(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.