Hello, Ducks!
Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your
Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for FriedEgg, November 1th, 2013. Happy All Saints Day to all you saints who
are reading this. We are sure you are
both very nice, and hope you go marching in.
Whatever the fuck that means.
This being a daily horoscope, it has felt
most peculiar to go all these days running without anyone to whom to wish a
happy birthday. But that is all over now…Happy Birthday to David, who turns
twenty-four today somewhere in Greater Bostonia. Happy Birthday also to Beth, who also turns twenty-four
today, somewhere suburbanly related to The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.
(Micro$oft Weird™ is trying to tell Us that “suburbanly”
is not a word, when it is obvious to everyone that, if “suburban” is the
adjective, “suburbanly” is the adverb.
Shut up, Micro$oft Weird™. We can
adverb if We want to; We can leave your friends behind. ‘Cause your friends don’t
adverb and if they don’t adverb, then they’re no friends of Ours.)
(Sorry.
Just a little “Safety Dance” to
brighten up an otherwise dreary morning.
(And, now that We type it out, how did We never notice that rude
reference to “your friend’s behind” ever before?))
Happy Birthday also too to Jen, who also too
turns twenty-four today, all the way out in Wisconsin. And here, We thought We only knew ONE person
in Wisconsin, and one person in Wisconsin temporarily at that.
And, last but not Lee Strasberg, Happy Birthday
to John, who turns Twenty-Four today, Our SitOnOurFaceBook informs Us, in
Phoenix, Arizona. We were about to
remark that that was news to Us, but then We went Googling through the
Wikipedia of Our archives, and found this, from one year ago today:
{Insert WayBackMachine sound effects here}
Hello,
Ducks!
Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily
Horoscope for Thursday, November 01th, 2012. Happy Dia de los
Muertos to all Our dead readers out there. Also to Fred and Ethel
Muertos. And Happy All Saints Day to Our Catholic readers. (That
sort of pales by comparison to “Dia de los Muertos”, dunnit? Especially
if you manage to roll that tricky R in the middle there. (What? Ricky
Ricardo would do it.))
How We got from Dia de los Muertos to I Ruv Roosy, We haven’t got any idea. (And Micro$oft Weird™
autocorrecting “Ruv” to “Rub” didn’t help matters, neither.) At any rate,
Happy Birthday to John, who turns twenty-four today. Our SitOnMyFaceBook
informs Us that, although he used to be in Africa, he is now in Arizona.
Apparently, he is seeing the world alphabetically. Which (and if you don’t see
this coming, you may not know Us as well as you think) would seem to be A Long
Way To Tipperary.
Heh. We kill Us.
Also, Happy Birthday to Beth, who also turns twenty-four
today. In Suburbia. Which, say what you will, is alphabetically
much closer to Tipperary.
(We were about to embark on a long dissertation concerning
the distance to Uranus, but We stopped Ourself in the nick of time.
You’re welcome.)
(Having, however, thus cited It’s A Long Way To Tipperary AND Uranus as a geographic destination, We
may be inspired to craft an original song about Uranus for Our upcoming
Starzina One Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) Show, coming soon to a theatre
near YOU. (Or near U. (And Uranus.))
(Is anyone else hearing “U and Uranus” to the tune of “Me and My Shadow” now? Just Us? Alrighty, then.)
{Discontinue WayBackMachine sound effects
here}
Those
faithful Gentle Readers without short-term memory impairment will also recall
just yesterday, when We swore to eschew (gesundheit (thank you)) picturing
people naked, as follows:
“Speaking
of dreams, in the wake of all of Our recent “Picturing People Naked” Weeks, We
would like you all to know that, as We move into a brand new month, We shan’t
be picturing anybody naked for a while.
No, indeed, We shan’t be Envisioning Allen’s Tomahawk, or Tiptoeing
Through The Tulips Of Kevin’s Manscaping, or Picturing…well, We never DID
actually SEE Peter naked, but a girl can dream, can’t she? There will be no more conjuring up images of
Lex’s eggroll, only to re-conjure them half an hour later when We are hungry
again, and no more imagining what tricks or treats are nestled like sugarplums
in OurThreeSons’ Jeggings™. (Is it warm in here, or is it just Us?)
We
trust that none of these lovely gentlemen will expire from the dearth of
attention. And We sincerely hope they
will keep perusing these e-pisstles, despite their absence from their pages.
Perhaps they will even deign to explain how it is that We didn’t receive so much
as a single sext after almost of month of this shameless behavior…”
And here We are, a mere twenty-four hours
later, torn between (two lovers, feelin’ like a feel (SHADDUP!)) picturing
John-from-Arizona-by-way-of-Zimbabwe naked or picturing Our good friend
Miss-Udderly-Wisconsin-Dairy-Queen-Twenny-Thirteen naked.
We think We shall have to opt for picturing
John naked now, and Our other friend later.
After all, if We picture John naked today, We can picture him with a
candle in his cake.
(Oh, please…who didn’t see THAT coming?)
And, after a month of the shenanigantics
described above, We did receive the following billet-doux from one of the
gentlemen in question yesterday:
I'm sorry I couldn't provide an evidence of my maleness for you, my dear
sir, but I do seem to recall a cache of incriminating evidence is already at
your disposal. And as very little has changed in the, oh Jesus 14 years or so
since that time, I can assure you very little has changed with the exception of
a scar which travels from the navel down and provides a center aisle through
the crowd around the acropolis, if you get my meaning. I hope that little
(ahem) image provides at least a smile.
We have chosen to respond in this forum. We shall even abandon The Royal We for the
occasion:
MY Dear Sir,
Thank you so much for your response. It was certainly not as “evidence of your
maleness” that I requested your headshot (as it were). Having seen such evidence on a number of
occasions lo, those many years ago, I did not imagine that your “maleness”
would be deserting you any time soon.
I note your employment of the term “little”
three times in the course of one brief paragraph, twice preceded by “very”. This does not square with my
recollection. However, the “cache of
incriminating evidence” (which has certainly NOT reached the disposal) that you
mention is much more discreet than you perhaps recall, having been collected at
a time before we all ran around with cameraphones in our pants.
You will note that I have protected your anonymity
to the best of my ability. Although it
should be clear to all concerned that you are NOT one of MyThreeSons, as
causing any one of them to appear naked in public FOURTEEN YEARS AGO would have
been a felony.
Rest assured that imagining the “crowd
around your acropolis” continues to provide a smile and then some.
Your humble servant,
Starzina Starfish-Browne
Changing gears completely, The Little Show
That Could, LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour , (to which We presciently referred in the bit
above from the WayBackMachine) will be returning for one night only on Sunday,
November 10 at 7:30 at L’Etage. Get your
tickets here: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/499391 . Dammit.
And
here is the HorrorScope:
In
“celebrity” birthdays, both Coco Martin AND Coco Crisp were born today. Who knew?
Or cared?
Just
pay attention today — (Sorry…did you say something?)
that
mystery is sure to be resolved if you can just listen to what your partner or
friend or customer is saying. (And we’d’ve
made it, too, if it weren’t for those pesky kids.)
Somewhere
buried in the words is the gem of truth.
(When We first read that, We read it as “buried in the woods”. That way’s better.)
When
you get a closer look at someone’s plans today, you will see quite a few holes
in their way of thinking. (Meanwhile, the preceding sentence becomes much more
awesome if you replace “plans” with “pants”.
Especially if you keep in mind the “candle in his cake” euphemism from
earlier.)
This
is a tough call: Do you burst their bubble, or let them live in blissful
ignorance? (So, essentially, what you’re
saying is, if you see The Boy In The
Plastic Bubble, do you tell him he’s gonna grow up to be That Fat Guy Who
Used To Be John Travolta?)
(Pop
culture makes everything so much clearer, dunnit?)
You’ll
have to use all of your tact and charm to get what you want (What if what We want is more tact and
charm? THEN WHAT???)
—
which is for them to re-evaluate their idea and not get defensive about the
fact that you’re not immediately in love with it. (We’re just gonna sit here
and picture a candle in his cake till this bitch shuts her piehole. KThxBye.)
They
need a dose of reality, and you are the best person to give it to them. (“Piehole” is so too a word. So there ya go.)
Think
about what they want to hear, when they want to hear it and who they want to
hear it from. (How can We think about
ANYTHING, after the headache that sentence has given Us?)
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: 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!)
*****************************************************************************
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.
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