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Friday, May 3, 2013

When you believe in things that you don’t understand, then you suffer




Hello, Ducks!



Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Friday, May Turd, Twenny-Turdteen.  Happy Birthday to Deborah, who turns twenty-four today.  Also, Happy Birthday to Larry, who also turns twenty-four today.  Also also, Happy Birthday to Shelita Buffet, who also also turns twenty-four today.  All right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.  (Well, Shelita Buffet is actually in Chest Wester, but close enough.)



Belatedly, Happy Belated Birthday to OurAmericanCousin Chris, Elaine, Izzy, Pat, and Robb, each of whom turned twenty-four yesterday.  For a Grand Total of a hundred and twenty.  That’s eight hundred and forty in dog-years. Or, as We call them around these parts, “bitch-years”.




We missed all of those birthdays yesterday because We were absent from Bloggonia.  Oh, We’re fine.  No, really.  But thanks for asking.  The chirping crickets were a nice touch.




We have Precious Little to report.  (We feel as though We say that all the time, but a quick tiptoe through the tulips of Our archives shows that We have only employed said phrase eleven times before.  (Or, as Precious Little would say, “elebben”.)  Here is the most notable vintage occurrence:



“We have Precious Little to report.  Precious Little being, naturally, Chicken Little’s gay brother.  Who was totally fabulous, until the Skyy™ fell.  Apparently, no one ever taught him the old maxim, don’t cry over spilt vodka.  Precious little was heard of Precious Little after that, despite the ascent to stardom of his (and Chicken Little’s) older brother, Rich Little.  Who became famous for doing Paul Lynde.  Well, doing impressions of Paul Lynde.  He may or may not have done him, also.  Precious Little certainly would have, but he and Rich Little didn’t travel in the same circles much after The Frank Gorshin Incident.

(See how We just made something out of nothing there?  Stayed tuned, as later on, We shall being turning chickenshit into chicken salad.)”





Whatever would We do without The WayBack Machine to brighten up an otherwise dull e-pisstle to the E-phesians with a-phasia?




In other news, We had dinner last night at Good Dog, which is a very oddly-put-together bar and restaurant on 15th Street, with the steepest staircases in the known universe.  We had never been there before, and, if any Gentle Reader could tell Us what the building was before it was Good Dog, We’d appreciate the history lesson.   Based on the staircases alone, We would be willing to bet on some nefarious goings-on in this building’s past.




Our WorldWideInterWebNetz had told Us prior to Our visit that We should try their award-winning Good Dog Burger, and since We do everything The Voices tell Us to do, We did.  It was indeed a delicious burger, although We were completely unenamored of the bun.   Fortunately, Our dinner companion had world-class lovely buns to make up for it.




Micro$oft Weird™ would have Us believe that “unenamored” is not a word’ but offers no suggestions for its replacement.  Nonenamored?  Antienamored?  Disenamored?  Armie Hammer (speaking of buns)?  We got nothin’.




 Attention, SitOnOurFaceBook friends:  We?  Do not play Farmville.  Are you fucking retarded?  How many fucking requests to shove a fucking rutabaga up your fucking stupid assholes do We fucking have to ignore before you fucking GET that We?  Do. Not. Play. Farmville.  Jeebus.




Well.  We feel much better now.  We love the smell of fucking rutabaga assfuckers in the morning. (That there is a fillum quote.  From Asspocalypse Now.)




Speaking of people with tuberous vegetables in their rectum (rectum?  We nearly  KILLED ‘em! (Why is this new paragraph making Us think of Michael Douglas and Matt Damon in that new Liberace movie?)), as you can see above, We have released Our new Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope:  Taurus video.  Here is the link with which you will share it with your friends, enemies, frenemies, enemists, and frenulums:







Also, for those of you who like cups of tea, and history, and someone in a tree, here is last year’s Taurus video for comparison:







(Did anyone notice that all of the preceding was a rerun?  That’s what you get for sending crickets to inquire after Us when We go missing.  Next time, send Lassie.  For all you know, We could have fallen down the well like that mongoloid idiot of a Timmy. (Or like the pussy in “Ding Dong Bell”.  (Or like Timmy’s Dong in Belle’s pussy for the Ding, Ba-Da-Bing, that’s-what-she-said.)))




(Didn’t see that last bit coming, didja?)




And now (changing, for some artifactual reason, to birthday-cake-icing-baby-blue), here are the HorrorScopes:



Speaking of Bing, it is Bing Crosby’s birthday.  He is, however, dead, so don’t expect cake.  Also, when We went spelunking for celebrity birthdays, We came across this tidbit of disinformation (of which We are unenamored):


Plays the frequently-shirtless Gibby on iCarly.


We have no idea what any of those words mean.  (Oh, dear lord, We just Googled Mister Munck on Wikipedia…someone get the mental floss, the brain bleach, and a rusty grapefruit spoon with which to remove Our eyeballs.)



You’re a born leader, (Also, We are a rebel.  And We’ll never, ever be. Any good.)



even if you rarely exercise that talent. (Wethinks you’ve misplaced your period, Kelli.  (“Wethinks” is, of course, “methinks” using The Royal We.  (Vagina jokes are never funny.  Period.)))




Today brings you an opportunity (With ENORMOUS knockers.)




to step up and take charge when your people get confused, so be ready to save the day!  (Kiss Us quick, We’re Mighty Mouse.  Or Modest Mouse.  One of those.)




Don’t be afraid to step up and take on a new responsibility or two today.  (When you walk through a storm, hold your haddock high, and don’t be afraid of Dick Clark.)





Adding a few more ambitions (We keep telling you: it’s “amBITCHins”.)




to your life is not an invitation to failure. (Well, good.  Because We would definitely have to send regrets.)




(See what We did there?  That there was one of those existential jokes.  You can tell, because it wasn’t funny.)




Sure, you won’t be able to reach every goal for yourself.  (You go, Knute Rockne.)




(We’ll take “Things You Never Expected To See In An Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope!” for $500, Alex.)




But the more goals you do set, the better your odds are for reaching at least one of them. (So, according to this theory, if We attempt to sleep with the entire Swedish Olympic Men’s Swim Team, We should get to bang at least one of them.  Nice.)




You can’t think in complete terms — right now, close enough is good enough.  (Okay, Kelli.  Stand over there while We throw these horseshoes at your head.)




Being perfect is never possible, (And, oddly enough, being imperfect is never impossible, so it all works out.)




but that should not stop you from trying to be better than you are right now. (Wait…it gets better than THIS?!?)




Any plans you make today should have some extra mojo behind them, (Eating FroYo in slo-mo at the HoJo’s next to the dojo…nope, We got nothin’.)




so why not shoot for the stars? (Because there’s a seven-day-waiting period for a gun.)




Send out a few hot invitations, slap together a few parties or just ask that one cutie (Patootie?)




out for real.  (Fo’ shizzle my nizzle.)




(What?)




In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne



(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:  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.