Google+ Followers

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Jimmy craps corn, and I don’t care

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for WinesDay, October TwennyTurd, TwennyTurdTeen.  (Hmmm…try saying that out loud.  “TwennyTurdTeen”, We mean.  Except say it a little more like “TwennyNurdNeen”.  (Not like THAT…NEVER go full ‘tard! (No, DON’T say “TwennyTardTeen”….that’s just rude.)))

We’re not fifty words in, and already a ‘tard joke.  And people thought “Picturing Allen And Kevin Naked Week” and “Picturing Peter’s Peter Week” were rude.

Happy Birthday, before We digress again, to AJ, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City That Loves You(On Your) Back.  Happy Birthday also too to Barry, who also too turns twenty-four today, also right here in The City That Loves You(On Your) Back. 

Meanwhile, Our ever-so-lucky Gentle Readers are about to be the first folks in the known universe to hear that The Little Show That Could, LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour , will be returning for one night only on Sunday, November 10 at 7:30 at L’Etage.  Get your tickets here:  . Dammit.

But back to the matter at hand, Ducks (which is different than the hatter Armand (which is, yet again, different from the Mad Hatter Armand Hammer (remember when Armand Hammer made baking soda?  Now his great-grandson Armie Hammer…well, Looks Like That.  Hi-yo, Silver, et cetera.)))…none of these parentheses is getting Us any closer to the matter at hand, is they, Ducks?  Let’s start over…

Armie Hammer naked…

Let’s start over again…

Having already dragged Allen, Kevin, and Peter into this again by neck and crop (and have We mentioned recently that We’ve actually SEEN the “crops” on two out of three of ‘em in Real Life?  Sigh…), We must mention that We had absolutely no responses to yesterday’s request for Whom Should We Picture Naked THIS Week? Consequently, We have taken matters into Our Own hands (along with Mad Hatter Armand Hammer’s great-Grandson Armie Hammer), and decided, for reasons entirely Our Own to declare it “What’s In Those Jeggings™? Week”, starring OurThreeSons from the murder mystery.
Faithful Gentle Readers will no doubt recall that We have waxed rhapsodic (carrots) on prior occasions about OurThreeSons.  And here, courtesy of cut-and-paste (and general indolence) are those occasions right now:

{Insert “WayBack Machine” sound effects here.}

Also, Happy Non-Birthday to Evan, who does NOT turn twenty-four (or any other age) today, in Oh, Hai, Ohio, or anywhere else.  Evan apparently sat down the wrong way (sidesaddle?) on his SitOnMyFaceBook and inadvertently (“inadvertently”, which is today’s Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! Word Of The Day Du Jour Au Jus (and how long has it been since We’ve had one of those?), means, obviously, “without any adverts”) changed his birthday, which was actually earlier this month.

As We are always One to make cake while the sun shines (yes, We KNOW the expression is “make hay”, but who the fuck wants hay, and besides, mmmmm, cake), We shall use this opportunity to do an instant replay from Our e-pissode on the date of Evan’s actual birthday:

Also, Happy Belated Birthday to Evan, who turned not-quite-twenty-four during Our hiatus, and who is one of OurThreeSonsWhoLookReallyGoodInSkinnyJeans, whom We have previously discussed, most recently here:

That post was on the occasion of the birthday of another one ofOurThreeSonsWhoLookReallyGoodInSkinnyJeans, which has only just now caused Us to reflect on the fact that two of OurThreeSonsWhoLookReallyGoodInSkinnyJeans are Virgos.  Hmmmm…the third of OurThreeSonsWhoLookReallyGoodInSkinnyJeans is an Aries like Our Own Self.  We have no idea what that means, but We thought We’d Cher.

Here, for those of Our Gentle Readers who are too lazy to click on the link in the above, is where said link would take you:

Happy Birthday to Johnny, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.  Johnny is the third of Our Three Sons in the murder mystery.  (We say “third” only because he was the third of them that We met/worked with; We certainly love all of Our Three Sons equally, and we do not discriminate amongst them and their skinny jeans.)

It occurs to Us that We have waxed rhapsodic on the subject of Our Three Sons before (complete with an arcane Fred MacMurray reference), so, lest We repetitively and reiteratively repeat Ourself, We shall simply refer you to said rhapsodic waxation here:

And once again being the kind of full-service Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) that you all know and love, here is where the above link would take you, if you were (subjunctively) not too lazy to click on it:

We have precious little to report today.  We are off this evening to do Our murder mystery, where We shall be working with the third of Our three sons.  All We know is, the unseen father of these boys must have some serious genes, because these boys can seriously wear them some jeans.  Just sayin’.  We are thinking of writing a spinoff of the murder mystery, in which We remake My Three Sons. Because Fred MacMurray ain’t got nothin’ on Us.  Except in this version, the boys and We run a clothing-optional tropical resort, and Uncle Charlie is---

Ooops…was that all in The Outside Voice?

Hit Us up if you would like to come see Our murder mystery.  Summer being a slow time in murder mystery dinner theatre world (go figger), We may even be able to get you discount tickets.  Plus, you will get to see Our Three Sons.  In Their Jeans.  Of course, the fatal flaw of this show is that, at any given performance, We only have one son at a time.  We shall solve that problem with Our next murder mystery script, in which the boys shall play extremely suspicious Siamese triplets.  At a nudist colony.

Wow.  We sure did manage to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear (whatever the fuck THAT means) out of Our Evan sitting his perky buttocks down askew.

{Insert REVERSE “WayBack Machine” sound effects here.}

And now, We are back in the present.  Isn’t time travel exciting?
(Is anyone else still chuckling over “waxing rhapsodic (carrots)”?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

And here is the HorrorScope:

Although many fascinating celebrities were born today, this year, We choose to commemorate the birth of Gummo Marx, notable for inspiring the first and only time in human history that anyone actually uttered the sentence, “And We shall call the child Gummo.”

Your ability to reach other people and make them understand where you’re coming from is pretty amazing (Only to those who haven’t seen OurThreeSons in their Jeggings™.)

— but that doesn’t mean you can’t stumble. (So many fascinating “-umble” words. Only one of which is Bryant Gumbel.  (Many of Our Gentle Readers will be shocked that We know who that is.  We know so many interesting things.))

Pay attention to everything going on around you.  (Sorry…did you say something?)

(Heh.  See what We did there?)

Having lots of charm is nothing new for you, especially today. (Always after me Lots Of Charm…they masturbate the fishes.)

(If going full ‘tard is wrong, going full ‘tard LEPRECHAUN is just pure evil.)

You’re bubbling over with it. (There are so many more fascinating “-umble” words than “-ubble” ones.  Plus, you wind up having to fall back on Barney and Betty Rubble. And the telescope guy.  Who is no Bryant Gumbel.)

All of this magnetism is flowing back to you and helping you keep a positive attitude — that’s why you’re not sweating the small stuff. (A lady doesn’t sweat.  She has hot flashes.)

Flaky or annoying people can’t get you down either. (How flaky are they? And will they butter Our biscuit?)

You’ll just give them a smile (We can turn the world on with Our smile.  We can take a nothing day, and give it a blowjob like Gomer Pyle.)

(Heh.  We kill Us.)

and keep going on your merry way. (Was that a gay joke?)

It’s also a great day for negotiations.  (And a grand night for singing.)

Your perceptive side helps you pick up information from people without them having to say a word. (And yet, Kelli, you keep blathering on.  AssHatt.)

This skill comes in handy when you need to decode the actions of someone new, so stay alert! (Once a lert, always a lert.)

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

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.