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Friday, March 1, 2013

In the movie that We saw, We saw your boobs.

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Friday, March 1th, 2013.  In like a limepicker, out like a labradorbreeder.  Whatever that means.  Old sayings are quaint, but largely devoid of meaning.  Happy Saint David’s Day to all of Our UKian readers.  (And, by word association, to Our Ukranian readers, should We chance to have any readers in Ukrania.)  We are not exactly certain who Saint David is, and We were under the impression that Protestants didn’t have saints.    However, that may just be what they taught Us in Catholic school.   Lord knows (heh), they lied about everything else. 

In birthday wishes news, Happy Birthday to Brie, who turns twenty-four right here in The City Of Brotherly Love-Handles.  Also, Happy Birthday to Claudia, who also turns twenty-four today, in a suburb of The City Of Brotherly Love-Handles.  Also also, Happy Birthday to Justin, who also also turns twenty-four today, somewhere in New Jersey.  Part of which is a suburb of The City Of Brotherly Love-Handles, and part of which is a suburb of Manhattan.  The rest of it is Atlantic City and the Pine Barrens.  You think MATH is hard?  GEOGRAPHY is hard.

And, last but not Lee Strasberg, Happy Birthday to Devon, who turns twenty-four today all the way up in Greater Bostonia.  Devon is an actor/director, which is why We put that Lee Strasberg joke in there.  Because We’re topical that way.  Like a rash.

Speaking of actor/directors, please go and join Our SitOnOurFaceBook event here:

In random other news, the gas bill We wanted to pay yesterday but could not find?  Arrived in yesterday’s mail.  We know you were concerned.

This just in from Our roving reporter, Debris Huxtable:  apparently, if you go to Google and type in “why do people h”, Google autosuggests “why do people hate Anne Hathaway”.

Which segues just as well as anything else to today’s topic, Sexism At The Oscars™:

The kerfuffle apparently continues over Oscar™ host Donny Osmond’s song “We Saw Your Boobs”.  (A second kerfuffle (can you tell that We love that word?) also continues among those who mistook the host for middle child Peter Brady.  We Our Own Self Personally are now aware that the host was neither Peter Brady nor Donny Osmond, but We still have no idea who the fuck he was, or what he had to do with the movies.)

Now, We are not one to throw gasoline on a kerfuffle fire, so We will not be reproducing said song here.  We will, however, show you something you might not have seen, a distaff response from the WorldWideInterWebnetz.  Ladies and Genitals, “We Saw Your Junk”:

As with the original, Our major objection to this is that it is a one-shot, ten-second joke stretched out over a minute and a half.  Which is not a long time on YouTube, but is an eternity on (inter)national television.  Add to that the fact that it was a part of the already-nine-hour-long opening, and it is a mystery to Us how it didn’t wind up on the cutting room floor.


There are two arguments being advanced in opposition to the number which, in addition to teetering on the brink of insanity, also oil the kerfuffle’s slippery slope slide towards censorship and Saint-David-knows what else. (We are going to drag “kerfuffle” in here till you learn to love it as We do, so you might as well just relax and enjoy it.)

The first folks with their panties in a bunch are all like, “But many of those women whose boobs you saw were playing sexual abuse/rape victims!”

Well, yes.  Yes, they were.  Lettuce take the example of Jodie Foster in The Accused, whose character was indeed being violently raped when We allegedly saw her boobs.  (Note that We say “allegedly” because, although We most definitely saw The Accused, the thing We remember most about it is not whether We saw Jodie Foster’s boobs or not.)  The song says, “Jodie Foster, We saw your boobs”, much as a six-year-old might.  A simple statement of fact.  It does NOT, as the naysayers would have you believe, say, “Jodie Foster, when you were being gang-raped on the pool table, We saw your boobs, and that was really HAWTT!”

If it DID say that, We would certainly have a problem with it.  For the obvious reasons, as well as the fact that JODIE FOSTER was not being gang-raped on a pool table.  Jodie Foster’s CHARACTER was being gang-raped on a pool table.  Jodie Foster was doing her (Oscar™-winning) job, executing meticulous, well-rehearsed choreography, and premeditatedly exposing herself to whatever extent she had contractually agreed to prior to filming the movie, while preserving her personal modesty to whatever extent she had contractually negotiated.  If her boobs were shown, she agreed to show them, and We saw them.

This conflation of actor and character is deeply disturbing, especially when displayed by supposedly intelligent people in the industry.  It explains, parenthetically, why Miss Jane Hathaway has a Best Supporting Anorexic Oscar™:  voters were all like, “Awwww…she lost her job, and had to become a whore to support her child, and then she had to sell her hair, and her teeth, and to top it all off, she died.”  Um, no.  That was her CHARACTER, Pantene.  Miss Jane Hathaway had the cushiest job in that forty-seven hour movie,  because she was only onscreen for seventeen seconds, and only had to learn one song.  Jeebus.

The other argument being advanced by the anti-boob-seeing crowd is even more ludicrous, speaking as it does of the creation of a hostile work environment.  Seriously folks?   The aforementioned Miss Jane Hathaway came to the Oscars™ ceremony in a dress that was HELD ON by her nipples, even though she doesn’t have boobs.    Every woman in the place was displaying her boobs to their best advantage in whatever way possible.  Some of them had no doubt purchased boobs for the occasion.  And to try to equate the “workplace” of a Hollywood actress who agrees to show her boobs onscreen for millions of dollars to the workplace of an IHOP waitress whose boss corners her in the kitchen and demands to see her boobs so she can keep her job is, how you say, disingenuous at best.

We have not done the dramaturgy, but the song WOULD collapse under its own weight if any of the actors named therein had shown only ONE boob, in which case We would not have accurately saw “your boobS”.

And, of course, no mention of cinematic boobs would be complete without a mention of the greatest boob scene of all time, Dame Julie Andrews in SOB.  We tried and failed to find a YouTube clip of same, but trust Us.

Speaking of boobs, 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:

Also on the subject of boobs…er, biebs, it is Justin Bieber’s birthday, so naturally, here is Our Pisces video from last year in which he appears:

Try your best to open yourself up to the people in your life today (Oh, We are WIDE open.  Fully dilated, if you will.  Or even if you won’t…what makes you think it’s all about you?  Or about you at all?  WE’VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF YOU!!!)

— that’s what your energy is best at right now.  (You make it sound as though “Our energy” could do stuff on its own.  If so, can We go lie down?)

It could mean that you’ve got to push your own needs down on the priority list.   (Mmm-hmm. THAT could happen.   Right after We show you Our boobs.)

 The world’s energy is feeling quite a bit louder right now, and it might create some stress in your day.  (Okay, is it just Us, or is she now just randomly using the word “energy” to mean anything she wants it to mean?  It’s not like it’s “kerfuffle” or something.)

Don’t be surprised (SURPRISE!!!)

if you start feeling unusually introverted  (That always happens when We show Our boobs.)

— nothing will appeal to you more than crawling into bed and hiding away from the world.  (Well, We wouldn’t say NOTHING.  There’s always Johnny Depp covered in Hershey’s™ syrup.)

This isn’t necessarily a case of the blues, more like a case of the blahs.  (Also, not necessarily a case of the chartreuses, more like a case of the chanteuses.  (Okay, her way worked better…they can’t ALL be winners.))

Honor your feelings by trying to escape from the hubbub that is going on around you.  (It’s not a hubbub, it’s a KERFUFFLE!  Jeebus!  Try to pay attention.)

Find out if someone else can take on some of your hassles.  (Who handles David Hasselehoff’s hassles?  (It’s mental tangents like that that will probably keep Us from ruling the world.   Although We are still in the running for Pope.  And We have the hottest gown for the inaugural ball…it really shows off Our boobs.))

A little blood flow will boost your hotness factor.  (Fine…whom should We stab?)


Who knows what kind of hottie you’ll attract? Some boob-lover with a death-wish, no doubt.)

(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.