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Friday, September 19, 2014

What ever happened to predictability?

Hello, Ducks!

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

We really just can’t even any more with this month.  Seriously.


In random news from the WorldWideInterWebNetz, James Franco passed his orals at Yale.  We have no idea what “passed his orals at Yale” is a euphemism for, but We sure hope there’s a video.

Speaking of “passed his orals at Yale”, We have a vivid memory of John Stamos naked which We can only imagine is from a dream We had last night, as We would certainly recall having met John Stamos in real life. Especially were he (subjunctively) naked.

If We were making this shit up, We would have a third thing to put here.  But We aren’t, so We don’t.


In other news, The WaitStaff Sh!ts The Bed!
has been consistently SOLD OUT (and very well-received)  , 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:  (That assumes (thereby making an ass of Uma Thurman) that there are any of said tickets left; We have no idea.) The show plays twice more, tonight and tomorrow at 8 at L’Etage, and, if you perchance lay your hands upon tickets for tonight, 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:

And heeeeerrrre’s the HorrorScope:

In celebrity birthday news, Adam West is eighty-six today.  Now THERE’S a pair of purple leotards that doesn’t bear thinking about.  On the other hand, it is also Kevin Zegers’s birthday, and he can wear all the purple leotards he wants.  Especially if he’s “passing his orals at Yale”.

The rest of the year will seem to fly right by, along with a few hundred others, after you're frozen in a giant block of ice.

Despite the efforts of literally hundreds of singers to tell you "let's go," you have yet to actually go.

You'll come face-to-face with many of life's mysteries next week, none bigger than why the Angel of Death looks like a younger, slimmer Roy Clark.

You're not usually the kind of person who cries at weddings, but this one's of a former lover, you're at a strange place in your life, and soot gets in your eyes when the whole church burns down with everyone inside.

It's sad to think that when they tell the story of your life, you'll only be remembered as one of two guys whose most notable achievement was to walk into a bar.

You and a man with no arms will be stuck in an elevator together for three and a half hours, but it'll only take you eight minutes to piss him off with insensitive questions about ass-wiping.

Just when you start to think that you haven't seen the strange men in lab coats for a while, bam, there they are in line with you at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

After your 17th time around as an underpaid office worker in the late-20th-to-early-21st centuries, you're really starting to become disenchanted with the whole reincarnation thing.

You'll discover a brilliant legal loophole that will both get rid of that annoying guy at work and force the Department of Justice to serve you any meal you want.

Sometimes you actually hate yourself for going out and drinking until five in the morning, but most times that's just what you tell people.

You firmly believe that everything has a soul, which explains why you think your tape dispenser is a bad person.

The jury won't be able to really feel disgust at your habit of eating your murder victims, because, hey, who doesn't love deep-fried food on a stick?

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.