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Monday, October 21, 2013

Somebody spoke and I went into a dream . . .






Hello, Ducks!




Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherMadLibs™Monday, October 21th, 2013.   Happy Birthday to Karen, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.  Also, Happy Birthday to Jason, who also turns twenty-four today, Somewhere In New Jersey.



Happy Belated Birthday, meanwhile, to Richard, who turned twenty-four this past weekend, coincidentally in the same Somewhere In New Jersey as Jason, although, according to SitOnMyFaceBook, they do not know each other.



(SitOnMyFaceBook, as you probably know, was broken this morning.  We, of course, thought “it was Us”, and wasted a good hour rebooting, etc. before We heard the news (today, oh, boy) on Twatter.  Which is just as well, because last time something was broken and it WAS Us, We asked YouPeople for help and not a single goddamn one of you so much as answered Us.)



Happy Belated Birthday also to Cynthia, who turned twenty-four this past weekend in Liverpool.  Which sounds pretty cool, until you realize it’s not the John-Paul-George-and-Ringo-related one (today, oh, boy (and right away We have a musical theme…are We good or what? (Who said, “Or what”?))), but the one in Pennsyltucky.  Which We didn’t even know existed until this very minute.  Speaking of Pennsyltucky, Happy Belated Birthday also to Luke, who turned twenty-four this past weekend in Erie.



(Parenthetical (hence the parentheses) digression re: Erie: Number One, wouldn’t it be more fun if it were (subjunctively) spelled “Eerie”?  And (B.), they have a canal there, yes?  Which always reminds Us of that old palindrome: “A man, a plan, a canal….anal sex!”)



Happy Belated Birthday also to The Lovely And Talented Daniel, who turned twenty-four this past weekend in WeHo.  And also too, Happy Belated Birthday to Kate, who also too turned twenty-four this past weekend.  In New York.  Not New York, New York.  (The name of the place is not “Not New York”.  (But then, you probably knew that.)  It’s “Syracuse”.  Which is kind of making Us want to do some sort of really esoteric “j’accuse” joke.  Unfortunately, We don’t speak Frawnch.  Nor do We have a Jacuzzi™.)



Speaking of birthdays, We had a dream last night that it was Our Own Personal birthday, which is odd, considering that We’ve had quite enough birthdays as it is.  In honor of the occasion, they played one of Our Time of the Month Horoscope videos on (We shit you not) Beavis and Butthead.   Then We had sex with a robot. (Not a “Danger, Will Robinson!” kind of robot, but a mechanical human.  We’d tell you who it looked like, but then We’d have to kill you.)



Meanwhile  Picturing Peter’s Peter Week ended, much like Picturing Allen And Kevin Naked Week before it, and We never were sexted a winning penis pixture from Peter, Allen, OR Kevin.  (Or from Peter Allen, but that is much less surprising, as he is dead.)  And there was a serious prize at stake and everything….



YouPeople do understand that these e-pisstles are meant to be interactive, don’t you?  We are a real, live person sitting here typing this, not some WorldWideInterWebNetzian Random Hilarity Generator.  You can leave comments, you can answer questions when We ask them, you can share Us with your friends and, if you send Us a pixture of your prick, We will not bleed.
Alas, poor Shakespeare…We knew him well.  He is currently chortling in his grave over Our “prick” pun.  Or, to misquote the Black Fairy from Sleeping Beauty, “You will finger your prick and die!”



All of which is to say, if you are Allen, Kevin, or Peter, We will still accept penis sexts, and you will still get the promised prize.  Hell, even if you’re NOT Allen, Kevin, or Peter, We will still accept penis sexts, and you will still get a prize.  (But only if the penis in question is yours…don’t go sending Us porno penises.  No Jeff Stryker.  (Helpful hint:  if you don’t know who Jeff Stryker is, DON’T Google him if you are at work.  (Hi, Dena!)))



If you do not happen to have a penis, or are shy about sharing said penis, We shall also send a prize to the first person to guess who the robot from the dream story earlier looked like.



In other news, it was recently theorized that all New Yorker cartoons could be captioned with “Christ, what an asshole” without compromising their comedic value. It was subsequently discovered that this is true of virtually all comics, old and new:







And here is the HorrorScope:




Google, meanwhile, was insistent in informing Us today that it was Celia Cruz’s birthday.  Celia Cruz, for those who are uninformed (as We were, until mere moments ago) was The Queen Of Salsa.  She was, presumably, married to The King Of Tortilla Chips.  Whatevs, Google.




You’re not moving as quickly as you would like (That was Uncle Joe, he was movin’ kinda slow at the Junction…Petticoat Junction, Junction, what’s your function?)




(Okay, that there?  Was a musical mash-up.  For old people.)




but there’s more to life than simple speed.  (We KNOW.  We watched Breaking Bad.)




You may need to check in with your people for some assistance if you get too far behind, though.  (Yeah.  Our people.  Assistance.  We’ll just sit here and hold Our breath until this text turns blue.   Oh, wait…)




That person who’s been eyeing you from across the room?  (Is Arlene Francis.  She’s about to say, “Are you in show business?”  To which We shall reply, “Honey, if you have to ASK, apparently We’re not.”)




(That was another old people joke.  Sorry, young people.)




(Maybe if you sent Us a dick pic from time to time, We’d tell more young people jokes.)




Don’t you dare stare back, or even crack so much as a grin if you’re not interested. (May We crack the gin?  It’s ALMOST noon.)




You’re packing super- ultra- mega-sensual energies now, (Oh, yeah.  That’s EXACTLY what We’re packing.)




and it’s no surprise (SURPRISE!!!)




others are picking up on them. (Who are these “others” of whom you speak? And why have We no pictures of their privates?)




Save yourself the trouble, and save them the heartache.  (Also, save the whales.  They’ll look good over the mantelpiece.)




Are you looking for a sign? (Yes. “Slippery when wet”. Have you seen one?)




Instead of gazing at tea leaves or checking in with a crystal ball, you need to visit coupled-up friends for a quick chat about romance. (Yeah.  ‘Cause “Third Wheel” is always a fun role.)




Get some good advice on how to look for your next love. (“Google Jeff Stryker…”)







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://sett.com/astrogeek895/.  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.