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Tuesday, December 9, 2014

I'm Superman, when you love me it's easy…I can do most anything

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for GoodPieRupeeTuesday,  December Ninest, 2014.

Happy Birthday to Domenick, who turns twenty-four today, somewhere in the suburbs of The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.

Also, Happy Birthday to Summer, who also turns twenty-four today, also somewhere in the suburbs of The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.  Oddly enough, the self-same suburb as the aforementioned Domenick.

Hmmm…two people turning the exact same age on the exact same day in the exact same suburb…you don’t suppose…???

 (We feel, just now, exactly like Lois Lane, saying, “You don’t suppose Clark Kent is really….NAAAAHHHH!!!” (Meanwhile, what kind of fucking idiot is Lois Lane?  Clark takes off his glasses, and she doesn’t recognize him?  What the hell kind of “ace reporter” izzat?))

Oh, cut Us some slack, bitches…We just found out that, in the midst of the Murder Mystery Factory destroying Our December, the one thing We were looking forward to, prior to going away for the holidays, has been cancelled. So if We want to call Lois Lane a fucking idiot, We fucking well will, and fuck you and the whore you rode in on, as well.

In other news, Confidential to Allen in Minnescondakota (well, OF COURSE it’s confidential…have you seen Our hit counts lately?): 

We understand that it is winter out there wherever you are, and thus that it is cold.  It is Our understanding that it is winter there for nine or ten months out of the year.  We find it, however, difficult to believe that your privates do not leave the confines of your mink-lined leather jockstrap for the entire duration of the winter season. Especially if they hear that there’s a photo op.  After all, We have looked at Our calendar for yesterday, and it did not say, “Be born.”

In other other news, as if the cancellation of the one thing We were looking forward to prior to going away for the holidays were (subjunctively) not enough, it has just occurred to Us that it is not even officially winter yet.  Gawd.

On a positive note, check out Our Best Of Holidailies™ Award  here:  

and go to the e-ntry directly here:  

We have leapt recently into Sagittarius, Our video for which is above.  (If We had Our finger on Our ephemeris We could tell you exactly when.  (Dirty-minded Gentle Readers with limited vocabularies just went scurrying off to Google “ephemeris” on Wikipedia.  Quests for knowledge are HAWTT.))

Here is the link with which you may share Our Sagittarius video with both of your friends:  

And here, for your further edification, is Our very first Sagittarius video:

Moving on, didja know that We have been e-pisstling e-pissodes of these e-pisstles in one form or another since 2001?  And that the earliest dead-tree archival records from 2004 are now TEN YEARS OLD, and can be found (for a small fee) here:  ? 

Thank Gawd We didn’t stray from the point.


In celebrity birthday news, Margaret Hamilton would be a hundred and twelve.  If she weren’t, subjunctively, ya know, dead.  And Hermione Gingold would be a hundred and seventeen, except for, well, the same dead thing. It is, however, also Jesse Metcalfe’s birthday, and he is very much alive, so at least We have a cake to jump out of later.


While innovative, your plans for a solar-panel-powered sex machine will fall victim to a wave of scorn and derision.


It may be time to get help for your fear of public speaking now that it's tragically prevented you from yelling "Look out!" to yet another group of innocent bystanders.


Somehow, exclaiming "Someone in this very room is the murderer!" lacks dramatic weight when everyone just saw you beat a guy to death with a tire iron.


It's not as if you have an insatiable thirst for blood. You're just insatiably thirsty and blood happens to be what's around.


You'll meet your own mortality face-to-face this week and be completely disarmed by his boyish smile, nice suit, and career as an environmental lawyer.


You'll be frustrated and mortified when it turns out there's no such thing as a professional snipe hunter, but the pay's good and you get to work a four-day week.


You'll be faced with the choice of either investing in apartment insurance or getting rid of your cat and her thus far undetected fascination with candles.


The idea that nothing can offend you anymore is shattered when you find out what atrocities George Lucas has in store for the 35th anniversary of Star Wars.


You said you'd retire after one last job, and 40 years after accepting a minor actuarial position with Amalgamated Loan and Trust, you're honoring your word.


Constantly seeking approval is unhealthy, but you should still consider the opinions of those nice folks from the Secret Service.


The verb "tear" is somewhat misleading here, but certain people and circumstances in your life will in fact combine to give you a new asshole.


You thought you were over her, but the memories keep flooding back as the scars heal and your brain tissue repairs itself.

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.