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Thursday, October 9, 2014

Imagine there’s no.

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for Friday’s Eve (for that “not-so-fresh” feeling),  October Ninest, 2014.

Happy Birthday to Jim, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City Of Brotherly Love handles.

Also, Happy Birthday to Kristina, who also turns twenty-four today, somewhere in Greater Bostonia.

In other news, We had a dream last night.  In which We watched an entire play.  It starred, randomly, Kristen (hi, Kristen!), with whom We last worked whilst seeing Goody Proctor with The Devil.  Her male co-star was unknown to Us.

The play seemed, at first, to be a two-hander, and was going along splendidly, until We were distracted by two (str8) couples making out in the audience. 

Then Kristen and her scene partner came down into the audience, and did a scene lying across empty audience chairs. Which, while certainly avant garde, would have been better if it were (subjunctively) audible.

It subsequently developed that the making-out couples in the audience were actually part of the play.  Everyone went back to the stage, and the thing wrapped up with some sort of an O. Henry twist.

Completely unrelated to Kristen’s thespianistic efforts, there were then homemade meatballs.

 (Speaking of planets, Uranus.  (No, not really…We just said that because there were meatballs in the preceding story.  (Which made Us think, naturally, of Uranus. (But speaking of planets, We just heard though the WorldWideInterWebNetz grapevine that Pluto may be a planet again.  (The jury is still out on Goofy.)))))

Speaking of absolutely nothing that We’ve spoken of so far, here are thirteen sets of twin male models who are totally not safe for work.  You’re welcome:

In random other news, a WorldWideInterWebNetzian group to which We belong wants Us to know that Zilpha Keatley Snyder has died.

We didn’t even know she was sick.

Meanwhile, Our Libra video is above, and here is the link with which you may share it with both of your friends:


And heeeeerrrre’s the HorrorScope:

In celebrity birthdays, you probably already knew that it is John Lennon and son Sean Lennon’s birthday.   But did you know that it is also Brandon Routh’s penis’s birthday?  We thought not.


Sleep will elude you as you wrestle all night with existential questions of mortality and meaning as well as a couple of random wrestlers.


You'll start to think the people who want you to choose between hugs and drugs have set up a false dichotomy after discovering you can actually have both at once.


Remember, only you can give yourself permission to be happy, although the people in charge of giving you permission to use the bathroom may have something to say about that.


You had no idea the love life of the nuthatch was so vigorous, so obsessive, and so likely to result in the death of people like yourself who just like to watch birds do it.


You hate the phrase "We're through the looking glass here, people," but you'll have to use it anyway this week when you and a bunch of people go through a looking glass.


The stars hate to be the ones to tell you, but the problem with you is certainly not that you love too much.


People will say you've hit a new low even for you, which is depressing, as they clearly haven't been paying attention to a thing you've done.


You'll score a bunch of great stereo equipment and furniture from your neighbors, who happen to die when you go into their house and stab them and take all their things.


You'll finally give in to a persistent coworker's desire to, as he puts it, "spread you wide open, throw your feet up on the mantel, and really go to town," but to your great dismay there seems to be sex involved.


You knew that moving to the suburbs would expose you to a whole new kind of culture shock, but you had no idea there were people who didn't get drunk to mow the lawn.


Romance will bloom in your sign this week, coating everything with a thin layer of pollen and making a mess before germinating into the overripe and rotten fruit of routine.


There will be no major changes in your life this week, which given the fires and barracudas, is pretty terrible news.

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.