Google+ Followers

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Wok like an Egyptian





Hello, Ducks!



             
Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for …oh, wait, it’s only Wednesday?  So if We call it Thursday, people are gonna get confused?  Okay….



Happy Hump Day to all you dreary dromedaries and backwards bactrians out there in Hump-Hump Land.



A poem:


The one-humped camel, he’s a mammal
The two-humped camel, he’s a mammal…
…also.
Poetry is hard.
Go fuck yerself.




Happy HumpDay Birthday, meanwhile, to John.  Unlike most people who birthdays are celebrated in the hallowed pages of these e-pisstles, John is NOT turning twenty-four today.  We would tell you just how very young he is, but then We would have to go hang Ourself in the closet.  Suffice it to say, We have panties older than he is.  They say “Ye Olde Tuesday” on the front.  They’re like the Shroud of Turin, except instead of Jesus’s face, they’ve got Miss Havisham’s.  Or The Ghost Of Christmas Past.  One of those.  They are made out of cobwebs spun by a spider from King Tut’s tomb.




Sigh.




In other news, We neglected to mention in yesterday’s e-pissode that a SitOnOurFaceBook friend had informed everyone that it was only 128 days until Spring.  So today, it’s only 127 days.  So there’s that.




In case We haven’t been clear enough, We are not doing especially well with this year’s transition into Eternal Darkness And Nuclear Winter.  And the folks who are ignoring Our texts and emails aren’t helping any.  KThxBye.




We should also mention, lest you thought We were finished plugging Ourself (We HAVE to plug Ourself…no one else will) that LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour  is actually going on tour!  We shall be at Vagabond Acting Troupe’s Arts House Theater, somewhere called Honey Boo Boo, Pennsylvania, which, as near as We can tell from a map, appears to be in Amish country.  You can find all the particulars regarding Our gig next Sunday, November 17, here: 





Is Starzina gonna rock Zebediah’s Rumspringa, or what?




And now, the HorrorScope:




Well, One supposes that things can’t be ALL bad on Whoopi Goldberg’s birthday.




Something new pops up on your radar (Do you pop out at parties?  Are you unpoopular?)




and forces you to take notice.  (See, if Kelli The AssHatt had an editor, that sentence would be SOOOO much more interesting, because it would read, “Something nude pops up on your radar and forces you to take nudists.”)




You may find that you’re in the middle (Just call Us Malcolm.  In the Middle.  Or Angel.  Of the Morning.  One of those.)




of a new adventure before you even realize what led up to this exciting moment!   (You can tell it’s an exciting!  Moment!  Because there’s an exclamation! Point! There for no reason!)




(Shut! Up! Kelli!)





Testy? Cranky? Who, you? (Tinky?  Crusty?  (Hey, YOU name YOUR Seven Dwarves, We’ll name Ours.))




Just because the planet in charge of your sign just so happens to be Mars, the ancient god of war? (Hey, if they called him “Mars, the god of warS”, it would rhyme.)



(Poetry is hard.
Go fuck yerself.)




No way. (Way.)




It’s not that you’re irritable. (Of course not.  It’s just that so many people are working overtime to piss Us the fuck off.)




It’s just that ‘the opponents’ — those of us who happen to inhabit the extra space in your world — are just so darned uncooperative. (ExACTly.)




Don’t take any guff from these intruders. (Oh, great.  Now where are We supposed to get guff?)



Put ’em right in their place.  (Well, if We can do that, why can’t We at least take HALF of their guff?)



Being a downer turns off those around you, so turn it around into a frenzy of positive energy. (Mmm-hmm.  Because nothing equates to positivity like “a frenzy”.)




Concentrate on some big project you’re actually thrilled to take part in, and let your enthusiasm light the way.  (It’s like They say, “It’s better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”)




(On the other hand…fucking darkness.)




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.