Baby Baby Baby Oh

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for Hump Day, July 30^nd, 2014.

Happy birthday to Sydette, who turns twenty-four today in New York.  New York, New York, The City That Doesn’t Sleep (With Us).

Happy birthday also to Lee, who also turns twenty-four today, right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.

Happy birthday also too to (heh…she said “tutu”) Ell, who also too turns twenty-four today, also too in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.

And happy belated birthday to Bob, and Eddie, and Sarah, and Erica, who turned twenty-four yesterday, while We were In Absentia. Drinking absinthe.

Abyssinia…in all the old familiar places…

Oh, shut up.

(Parenthetically (hence the parentheses), may We just point out that not only does the aforementioned Erica have the fabulous name of “Erica”, but also, she is a Leo, thereby making her exponentially more fabulous than We already knew her to be.)

Speaking of Leo, Leonardo DiCaprio.

Also, We have moved into the sign of Leo, which contains, amongst other things, the highest percentage of sexxxy-assz mens in the zodiac.  Our Leo video is above, and here is the link with which you may Cher it with your friends: http://youtu.be/6kCzNp1JtDo

In other news, the WorldWideInterWebNetz are all abuzz today, as it appears that Orlando Bloom threw a punch at Justin Bieber.  In Ibiza.

Because Mister Bieber is such an easy target, the WorldWideInterWebNetzian response to the incident seems to be running ten-to-one along the lines of “Yeah, way to go, beat the little bitch.”

Now, never let it be said that We Our Own Self Personally have not taken pot-shots at The Bieber.  Here, for example, is Our video with Mister Bieber (which will also serve as a birthday present for the aforementioned Erica, who was mentioned earlier, as she will no doubt recognize this particular incarnation of His Bieberness):

But, seriously, InterNetz?  All the juicy bits that are gloriously, hideously wrong with this story, and all you can come up with is “Beat The Bieber”?

For example, Mister Bieber is not even twenty-one years old yet.  Mister Bloom is pushing forty.  We Our Own Self Personally are, of course, only twenty-four, but We would definitely feel creepy throwing a punch at someone who is not even an adult yet.

(Needless to say (and yet saying it anyway, as One invariably does after saying “needless to say”), if We were (subjunctively) to throw a punch at anybody, it would no doubt originate in a crystal punch glass, and contain champagne and sliced strawberries.  We’re just sayin’.)

Also, neither Mister Bieber nor Mister Bloom is American.  Nor are they Middle Eastern.  They are from Canada and Great Britain, respectively, where people have manners and are civilized.  The hell?

Also, gentlemen, you are in Ibiza.  Now, We don’t know about YOU, but We know exactly the last time We were fortunate enough to be in Ibiza, which was, oh, We don’t know, NEVER.  So you’re in a fabulous place like Ibiza, and the best thing you can think of to do is engage in fisticuffs?  How ‘bout you go sit in a corner and think about how fucking lucky you are that you get to go fabulous places like Ibiza when most of the rest of the world doesn’t?

The altercation was allegedly about Mister Bloom’s ex-wife, Miranda Kerr, whom Mister Bieber has allegedly dated.  A forty year old and a twenty year old dating the same woman, you say?  Turns out she’s thirty-one, so it’s not as creepy as it originally sounded, but still, you GO, Mister Bieber!

Speaking of which, the evidence of Our video to the contrary, We have seen neither Mister Bieber nor Mister Bloom’s genitalia.   However, regardless of the relative dimensions of each, it is unwise for a forty year old to have a dick-measuring contest with a twenty year old, because no matter whose dick is bigger, the twenty year old’s can do a whole lot more things repeatedly and in rapid succession.

Just sayin’.

Now, if you’ll excuse Us, We need to go celebrate Delta Burke’s birthday.  

Here, in lieu of call-and-response with AssHatted Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) Kelli, is a reading from Madame Olivia:

Greetings Starzina ~

It is very good to see you again.

Madame Olivia wonders if like most of us, you sometimes slip into the clutches of an emotional loop without realizing it: something annoying happens and you find yourself in a swirl of negative thoughts that won't seem to let go. To get out of this, ask yourself two questions: 1) what is the evidence that my interpretation is right? (There might not be much.) And 2) Are there alternative explanations? (There undoubtedly are.) Asking these two questions can help you talk yourself out of many difficult and painful places.

Everybody thinks you're so tough, Aries, but they don't know your tender center. Madame Olivia thinks it is time for you to begin to show that vulnerable side to a few select people. Be choosy but brave; take the risk with a few people you trust. You'll forge stronger connections with them and ironically make discoveries about yourself.

Circles and round things will be of import in the near future

Madame Olivia wishes you the best of the best until we meet again.

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

 (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.

                                                                                                                                     

Jean Genie, let yourself go!

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherMan-MadManateeMakingManicottiInMonacoMonday, July 28^nd, 2014.

Happy birthday to Mike, who turns twenty-four today in New York.  New York, New York, The City That Doesn’t Sleep (With Us).

Happy birthday also to Ray, who also turns twenty-four today.  In Indiana.  Pennsylvania.  Because there is no Indiana in Indiana.  Only Indianapolis.  Much like there is no Pennsylvania in Pennsylvania.  Only Pennsylvaniapolis.  Also, there is no “I” in “team”, but there is a “U” in “Uranus”.

Happy birthday too to (heh…she said “tutu”) Daniel, who too turns twenty-four today in New Hope.  Where We really should have a booking of LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour sometime soon. (Must We do EVERYTHING Our Own Self?)

And last but not Lee Strasberg, happy belated birthday to Will, who turned twenty-four this past weekend.

So…four birthday boys.  Perhaps they shall commence to remaking Bob  Carol & Ted & Alice. We can’t WAIT to see who’s a top and who’s a bottom.

In other news, We KNOW We said We were going to get off of Tribe of Fools (and give somebody else a chance), but then they released this (very) short video from a Two Street rehearsal (totally Safe For Work):

Animatronic actors cost MONEY, people; please give:

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/two-street

(FYI The hottie in the striped shirt in the background clutching his pearls is Romeo.  (Or maybe Romeo…We get those two confused.))

An now, A True Story.  That Actually Happened.  To Us:

We were busy early last week writing a sketch for the WaitStaff’s Fringe show (The WaitStaff Sh!ts The Bed!...tickets now available here:
https://pafringe.secure.force.com/ticket/#details_a0Si0000004Y6FyEAK ).  The premise of one of said sketches hinged on two Pennsylvania stoners plotting to trade living spaces with two Colorado lesbians, so they could get legal marijuana, in Colorado where marijuana is legal but marriage equality isn’t, while the lesbians could get married here in Pennsylvania where marriage equality is legal, but marijuana isn’t.

THE VERY NEXT DAY Colorado’s marriage equality ban was declared unconstitutional.

Obviously, Our sketch needs to be rewritten.

We are NOT complaining.

True story.

We have moved into the sign of Leo, which contains, amongst other things, the highest percentage of sexxxy-assz mens in the zodiac.  Our Leo video is above, and here is the link with which you may Cher it with your friends: http://youtu.be/6kCzNp1JtDo

In celebrity birthday news, Our celebrity birthday website wants Us to know that it is Terry Fox’s birthday, and that he is (or, rather, “was”, being dead and all) a “sportspeople”.  And We thought OUR grasp of sportsology was limited…

Also, it is Sally Struthers’s birthday.  (That joke just makes itself, dunnit?)

And now, because the day is hurtling on apace without Us, here, in lieu of call-and-response with AssHatted Ass(tromalogical) Ho(roscopulist) Kelli is a story from the New Yorker, courtesy of OurJill (hi, Jill!):

Guy Walks Into a Bar

BY SIMON RICH

So a guy walks into a bar one day and he can’t believe his eyes. There, in the corner, there’s this one-foot-tall man, in a little tuxedo, playing a tiny grand piano.

So the guy asks the bartender, “Where’d he come from?”

And the bartender’s, like, “There’s a genie in the men’s room who grants wishes.”

So the guy runs into the men’s room and, sure enough, there’s this genie. And the genie’s, like, “Your wish is my command.” So the guy’s, like, “O.K., I wish for world peace.” And there’s this big cloud of smoke—and then the room fills up with geese.

So the guy walks out of the men’s room and he’s, like, “Hey, bartender, I think your genie might be hard of hearing.”

And the bartender’s, like, “No kidding. You think I wished for a twelve-inch pianist?”

So the guy processes this. And he’s, like, “Does that mean you wished for a twelve-inch penis?”

And the bartender’s, like, “Yeah. Why, what did you wish for?”

And the guy’s, like, “World peace.”

So the bartender is understandably ashamed.

And the guy orders a beer, like everything is normal, but it’s obvious that something has changed between him and the bartender.

And the bartender’s, like, “I feel like I should explain myself further.”

And the guy’s, like, “You don’t have to.”

But the bartender continues, in a hushed tone. And he’s, like, “I have what’s known as penile dysmorphic disorder. Basically, what that means is I fixate on my size. It’s not that I’m small down there. I’m actually within the normal range. Whenever I see it, though, I feel inadequate.”

And the guy feels sorry for him. So he’s, like, “Where do you think that comes from?”

And the bartender’s, like, “I don’t know. My dad and I had a tense relationship. He used to cheat on my mom, and I knew it was going on, but I didn’t tell her. I think it’s wrapped up in that somehow.”

And the guy’s, like, “Have you ever seen anyone about this?”

And the bartender’s, like, “Oh, yeah, I started seeing a therapist four years ago. But she says we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

So, at around this point, the twelve-inch pianist finishes up his sonata. And he walks over to the bar and climbs onto one of the stools. And he’s, like, “Listen, I couldn’t help but overhear the end of your conversation. I never told anyone this before, but my dad and I didn’t speak the last ten years of his life.”

And the bartender’s, like, “Tell me more about that.” And he pours the pianist a tiny glass of whiskey.

And the twelve-inch pianist is, like, “He was a total monster. Beat us all. Told me once I was an accident.”

And the bartender’s, like, “That’s horrible.”

And the twelve-inch pianist shrugs. And he’s, like, “You know what? I’m over it. He always said I wouldn’t amount to anything, because of my height? Well, now look at me. I’m a professional musician!”

And the pianist starts to laugh, but it’s a forced kind of laughter, and you can see the pain behind it. And then he’s, like, “When he was in the hospital, he had one of the nurses call me. I was going to go see him. Bought a plane ticket and everything. But before I could make it back to Tampa . . .”

And then he starts to cry. And he’s, like, “I just wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye to my old man.”

And all of a sudden there’s this big cloud of smoke—and a beat-up Plymouth Voyager appears!

And the pianist is, like, “I said ‘old man,’ not ‘old van’!”

And everybody laughs. And the pianist is, like, “Your genie’s hard of hearing.”

And the bartender says, “No kidding. You think I wished for a twelve-inch pianist?”

And as soon as the words leave his lips he regrets them. Because the pianist is, like, “Oh, my God. You didn’t really want me.”

And the bartender’s, like, “No, it’s not like that.” You know, trying to backpedal.

And the pianist smiles ruefully and says, “Once an accident, always an accident.” And he drinks all of his whiskey.

And the bartender’s, like, “Brian, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

And the pianist smashes his whiskey glass against the wall and says, “Well, I didn’t mean that.”

And the bartender’s, like, “Whoa, calm down.”

And the pianist is, like, “Fuck you!” And he’s really drunk, because he’s only one foot tall and so his tolerance for alcohol is extremely low. And he’s, like, “Fuck you, asshole! Fuck you!”

And he starts throwing punches, but he’s too small to do any real damage, and eventually he just collapses in the bartender’s arms.

And suddenly he has this revelation. And he’s, like, “My God, I’m just like him. I’m just like him.” And he starts weeping.

And the bartender’s, like, “No, you’re not. You’re better than he was.”

And the pianist is, like, “That’s not true. I’m worthless!”

And the bartender grabs the pianist by the shoulders and says, “Damn it, Brian, listen to me! My life was hell before you entered it. Now I look forward to every day. You’re so talented and kind and you light up this whole bar. Hell, you light up my whole life. If I had a second wish, you know what it would be? It would be for you to realize how beautiful you are.”

And the bartender kisses the pianist on the lips.

So the guy, who’s been watching all this, is surprised, because he didn’t know the bartender was gay. It doesn’t bother him; it just catches him off guard, you know? So he goes to the bathroom, to give them a little privacy. And there’s the genie.

So the guy’s, like, “Hey, genie, you need to get your ears fixed.”

And the genie’s, like, “Who says they’re broken?” And he opens the door, revealing the happy couple, who are kissing and gaining strength from each other.

And the guy’s, like, “Well done.”

And then the genie says, “That bartender’s tiny penis is going to seem huge from the perspective of his one-foot-tall boyfriend.”

And the graphic nature of the comment kind of kills the moment.

And the genie’s, like, “I’m sorry. I should’ve left that part unsaid. I always do that. I take things too far.”

And the guy’s, like, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just grab a beer. It’s on me.” ♦

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

 (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.