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Monday, September 15, 2014

Don’t be stupid; be a smartie! Come and join the Nazi party!

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherManacledManateeMasticatingManicottiMonday,  September Fifteenst, 2014.

Happy Birthday to Ross who turns twenty-four today right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.

Happy Birthday also to Walter who also turns twenty-four today, somewhere in MaryLand.  

Happy Birthday also to OurPatrickWhoArtInGreaterBostonia, who also turns twenty-four today.  In Greater Bostonia. But then, We’re guessing you had figgered that out.

Happy Belated Birthday, meanwhile, to Gene, and Joe, and Melanie, and Michael, each of whom turned twenty-four somewhere or another this past weekend. (It should further be noted that the aforementioned Michael has won The Most Beautiful Smile On The WorldWideInterWebNetz Award, so the rest of you can just stop trying.  (You’re welcome.))


In other news, We went, as We said We were doing, to see OurSistahOvella in her production of  Bent in some basement in Old City somewhere, and now YouPeople must snatch (heh…We said “snatch”) up every remaining ticket for the four performances she has left (Thursday, Friday, and two on Saturday…get ‘em here: ).

She, of course, was flawless (she IS OurSistah, after all), and there is the extra added attraction of hearing her sing a song written expressly for her.

The rest of the cast was, first of all, perfectly cast, and doing some very fine work in the very intimate space. (Seriously…a basement.  In three-quarters-round.  There is blood on Our shoe, and it is entirely possible that We were impregnated during a scene change. (The venue actually works really, really well for the piece…We cannot imagine what ELSE it would work well for, with the possible exception of a really creepy Halloween party, but for BENT it really works.))

You will be told, at the door, when you go (because you’re GOING, riiiight?), that the show contains naked cigarettes, or some such. (For some reason, they have to mention the naked cigarettes, but not the blood.) As Freud said, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, omigod, DICK!”

Speaking of things of which We have Our finger on the pulse, in Our never-ending efforts to be The Most Politically Correct E-Pisstler In All Of E-Pisstledom, We must ask Our Gentle Readers if you think it is politically correct for Us to mention how HAWTT the Nazis were?  Because, seriously, those were some hawtt Nazis.  (Also scary.  Because, ya know, Nazis.)

Kudos to the three gentlemen playing the leads, who created an entire universe amidst the minimalism, and especially to Tom Trudgeon as Max, who brilliantly negotiated the fine line of the tightrope between unenlightenedness and unlikeability (are either of those even words?  Oh, well…We know what We mean. (If Helen Keller falls down in a forest, is there sound?))

We cannot wait to see what Truth Be Told Productions gets up to next.  (Hopefully, somewhere with comfier chairs. (Our ass is still in recovery this morning.  (Not that it is Our intention to have you thinking about Our ass.)))

You’re thinking about Our ass now, aren’t you?

Cheeky monkey.

So get your head out of Our ass and go order your BENT tickets:


In other Fringe news, The WaitStaff Sh!ts The Bed!
 was SOLD OUT (and very well-received)  this past Friday, Saturday, and Sunday  nights, so if you want to curry favor with Us by showing up  (because mmmm….curried favor) get your tickets now and/or quick, fast and in a hurry: The show continues Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday at 8 at L’Etage, and, if you perchance lay your hands upon tickets for Friday, you will encounter the extra added attraction of Us Our Own Self Personally working box office.  Because We’re multitalented like that.


Speaking of lemurs on Uranus,  (howZZAT for a segue?), here is a flashback to Our FIRST Virgo video, the one with the naked angel:

In other other news, We have Our schedule at the Murder Mystery Factory for September.  We will next be performing on Friday, September 26.  If you are interested in seeing Us perform in same, holla at Us.  (For those naked skimmers who may not be aware, We have been promoted to A Position Of Power at the Factory, and so will be performing somewhat less.)

And heeeeerrrre’s the HorrorScope:

Speaking of future ex-husbands of Ours who occasionally dress up as Nazis, in celebrity birthday news, it is Prince Harry’s birthday, so We are taking the rest of the day off (although Our invitation to the festivities at Buckingham Palace appears to have gone missing in the post).

You'll have yet another disastrous first date when you get something stuck between your front teeth and a crosstown bus.

The reality turns out to be okay, but when you heard the phrase "taco truck," you pictured a giant taco that was also a truck.

While it's true that someone in Baltimore loves you, this is less a reason for a jaunty T-shirt than a cause for genuine concern.

The stars hear your unasked question, and the answer you seek is: "If they keep losing their opener to the Pirates, way more than 103 years."

You'll be spared a potential source of great conflict and divisiveness in your life this week when it's born dead.

Don't worry: There is nothing wrong with you that emergency brain surgery and a quadruple bypass within the next 90 minutes won't solve.

Your lips are red and chapped because you keep licking them. To balance this out, lick yourself raw everywhere else.

Next week will call for many, many pairs of leather pants, which would be fine with you if they didn't have to be the kind of pants with asses in them.

The sudden spike in the salmon population is no surprise to anyone who knows the real reason you like swimming so much.

You'll soon be feeling like your old self again thanks to a sudden and tragic relapse into alcoholism.

A regular routine can provide much-needed structure, but you might be better off if you didn't start every day with a guy trying to saw your head off.

It's probably best if you just put your head down and keep sharpening pencils for the next few years.

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:  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.