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Monday, August 18, 2014

On the cover of a magazine






Hello, Ducks!




Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherMundaneMonday, August Eighteenst, 2014.




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



Happy belated birthday, meanwhile, to Hannah, and Lane, and Sarah, each of whom turned twenty-four over the weekend.



We are currently in 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 place it on the SitOnMyFaceBook pages of your friends having Leonine birthdays: http://youtu.be/6kCzNp1JtDo



So We ran the show at the Murder Mystery Factory this weekend in Our one and only training day for Our New Position Of More Responsibility That We Don’t Really Want But It Will Pay Us A Lot More Money.



Sigh.



In related news, We will soon have Our September performance schedule available for YouPeople to resoundingly ignore a la Our August performance schedule.



In Our very next e-pissode, We will begin sharing Our Fringe attendance schedule and trolling for dates…lucky you, TWO things you can resoundingly ignore.



In advance of that, however, you may pencil in Friday, September 5 for Our opening night at The WaitStaff Sh!ts The Bed, which We directed and wrote sketches for, at 8:00 at L’Etage.  We will be there that night, barring unforeseen difficulties at the Murder Mystery Factory, and We hope you will be too.



Other shows We will be attending (no dates yet (or, presumably, EVER, depending on your definition of “dates” (heh…see what We did there?))), include Truth Be Told’s Bent and Tribe of Fools’ Two Street.



Coincidentally, both of these productions are currently fundraising, so if you happen to have a mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound with which you know not what to do, you could donate them here:






or here: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/two-street   ... for Two Street.



(Is it wrong that We are now imagining how it would be so much more convenient for Us (it being, of course, All About Us) if they were (subjunctively) to combine these two productions into one?  Gay Mummers Go To Dachau has a nice ring to it, no?)



Now here’s a random thing that has been bothering Us (is anyone else picturing Andy Rooney in drag right now?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)…



Long-term Gentle Readers who are at all acquainted with Us will know just how much We love and respect the autistic…er, artistic endeavors of geriatric gay pop icon McDonna (here’s a hint for the rest of you: NOT MUCH).  


Consequently, We rarely mention Madge the Menopausal Manicurist within these pages.  And indeed, the screed upon which We are about to embark has only tangentially to do with HerSelf…



Here We go:



Upon the recent death of Lauren Bacall, “journalists” rushed forward to announce that the last of the film icons namedropped by McDonna in “Vogue” had now shuffled off this mortal coil.



(We will not be listing all of these icons here, as We would then have to index them, and Our Google-Blog-O-Tron only permits Us 200 characters of indexing per entry.)



It is worth noting, however, that at the time of Vogue’s release, said icons were divided almost equally between living and dead.  (It is even more worth noting that, a mere month after the song’s release, Greta Garbo promptly dropped dead, presumably of horror.)



Our point, however, is that, since the death of Marlon Brando in 2004, Lauren Bacall was the only Vogue-namedropped icon still alive (until last week).  So, for all We know, those articles about Vogue that have been cluttering up the InterNetz since her demise could have been written TEN YEARS AGO.  


Indeed, it is within the realm of possibility that some of the people who WROTE said articles may now be dead.



Journalism is hard.




And heeeeerrrre’s the HorrorScope:



We have just learned that it is Shelley Winters’ birthday.  We are hereby declaring a national holiday.



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!)

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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.