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Tuesday, September 24, 2013

It’s time to play the music, it’s time to light the lights…

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for GoodPieRupeeTuesday, September 24st, 2013.

We just found out that it has been National Chicken Month all month, and none of YouPeople bothered to tell Us.

Meanwhile Happy Birthday to Mike, who turns twenty-four today, somewhere in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back, or its environs.  Happy Birthday also to Lurie, who also turns twenty-four today, somewhere in Greater Bostonia. Also too also, Happy Birthday to M Uppet, who also too also turns twenty-four today, here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.  He is made of felt and enjoys fisting, but We’re open-minded and non-discriminatory like that.

Micro$oft Weird™, in its infinite wisdom, put a blue squiggly line under “fisting” in the preceding, meaning that it imagines We have made an incorrect word choice, and that it would like to suggest a more appropriate word.  Before We looked at its suggestion, the only other word We could think of was “fasting”; as it turns out, Micro$oft Weird™’s suggestion was “fishing”.   Which makes a lot more sense, as many people do enjoy fishing, but who in the hell enjoys fasting?  (Look at your bracelet, Anna!)

We, however, stand by Our original “fisting”, as We are well-versed in Kermit and Miss Piggy and all that lot, and their peculiar proclivities.

That was a whole lotta crap about puppet sex.  Don’t get Us started on Shari Lewis and Wayland Flowers.

Speaking of things nobody told Us, We just found out that one day last week was National Talk Like A Pilates Instructor Day, and none of YouPeople told Us that, neither.

In other news, The Red-Headed Step-Child of the Philadelphia Theatrical Community has concluded the run of her show, so you will be spared entreaties to purchase tickets.  Also, despite efforts on the part of many to make her feel Less Equal Than Everybody Else, the bitch made her bank, so said show will be back to annoy you all shortly.

Thank you, meanwhile to all of those who came out and/ or supported Us.  We are already hard at work on the Kickstarter rewards.

Apropos of muffins, We have a pimple in the crook of Our elbow that makes it appear as if We have been shooting up heroin with a dirty needle.

And here is the HorrorScope:

Holy fucking crap!  All that Muppet shade We threw earlier, and it turns out to be Jim Henson’s birthday!  We had no idea!  Mayhaps We actually ARE psychic!

An email brings some strange — but welcome — news today, possibly tonight. (Seriously?   Does anybody ever get personal emails anymore?)

You may find that you need to stick with electronic communication today if you want to get anything done.  (Mmm-hmm.  Because the WorldWideInterWebNetz don’t waste Our time at all.)

You’re no angel  (Hell no…We is da Debbil.)

(Where’d THAT come from?)

(Your mother sews socks in hell.)

— especially when your fabulously mischievous side comes out to play.  (Okay, on a scale of One to Gay, how Gay is “fabulously mischievous”?  We’re thinking pretty much Paul Lynde painting watercolors of Charles Nelson Reilly fucking Liberace in a feather boa while lying in a field of pansies listening to Judy Garland singing opera.)

Naughtiness is the name of the game, (Well, so much for that Parcheesi plan.)

and you’re the grand master when it comes to making up the rules — and breaking them later on.  (Well, you know what they say:  Mercedes Ruehl was a maid in Hoboken.)

That’s the whole point of being contrary, right?  (We are not merely contrary.  We are Mary Mary QUITE contrary.)

(Heh. “Mercedes Ruehl was a maid in Hoboken.”  We kill Us.)

Fortunately, you know exactly how to turn your naughtiness from a vice into nice, especially when it comes to romance.  (We can also, for future reference, turn mice into lice, dice into rice, and the Spice Girls into Diet Slice™.)

(Okay, how many of you old farts remember Slice™?  (Specifically, Diet Apple Slice™ and rum…mmmmmm…..))

For once, you’re not tongue-tied. (But are We fist-fucked?)

Let your talent for communication do all the work. (Are. We. Fist-fucked?)

Open, easy communication is sure to clear up any misunderstandings that could get in the way of a true connection. (You mean a RAINBOW connection, riiiiight?)

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:  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.