I’m a little bit country

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Montag, June 18, 2012.  “Montag” is, of course, German for “what the fuck happened to the weekend?”  (“Maytag” is German for “you spent it doing laundry, dummkopf”.  (That last bit just sprang forth from Us, fully formed, like Athena from Zeus’s forehead.  (Remind Us to come back later and put a foreskin joke in here.) Sometimes ya work really hard for the funny, and sometimes it just comes to ya.))

She works hard for the funny, so hard for it, honey, she works hard for the funny so ya better treat her right…

That there was a little disco to get your Monday morning moving.  Just in case your Metamucil™ hadn’t kicked in yet.

So was anyone else not told that the WorldWideInterWebNetz were closing down for the weekend?  Saturday wasn’t so bad, but Sunday…Jeebus!  The InterNetz are creepy when you’re the only one there.  There were tumblin’ tumbleweeds, We’re tellin’ ya.  If ya played a YouTube video, it echoed.  There was only one Angry Bird.  All the porn was masturbation.  Scaaaaarrrryyyyy….

But you’re all back now, right?  (Who let all those crickets in here?)

Meanwhile, in Our very own City Paper (hi, Sara!), We saw an ad for “Semen Donors”.  Who knew you could place an ad for that? It even specified that they be between 18 and 35.  It didn’t say what they had to look like, but presumably that would get sorted out on the interview.  We shall be placing Our very Own ad immediately…finally, Our social life will be looking up!

And not a moment too soon…We never did make it on Our promised trip to Saskatoon this weekend.  (Most of you will remember Saskatoon from the old Bob Seger toon (heh) of the same name:  “Sas-ka-toon…that’s really, really where I’m goin’ to…if I ever get outta here, I’m going to Saskatoon…”)

We apologize…that whole last bit was an inside joke.  Speaking of inside jokes, here’s an inside joke punchline:  “Find the keys, and We’ll drive out”.

Heh.  We kill Us.

Here is an actual joke, in its entirety:

A guy comes home from work to see his girlfriend crying and packing all her stuff.  When he asks her what’s wrong, she sobs that she is leaving him because she just found out that he is a pedophile.  With a look of disbelief, he steps back and says, "Whoa! That’s a big word for a twelve-year-old!"

And, for the theatrically-minded amongst you, here’s this honest theatrical playbill:  http://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/an-honest-theatrical-playbill

We spent much of the weekend thinking of things, and saying, “We must put that in the horoscope.”  Can We think of any of those things now?  No, We cannot.

We used to be into S&M, necrophilia, and bestiality, but then We realized we were just beating a dead horse.

Here’s the HorrorScope:

(According to Kelli, it is someone called Blake Shelton’s birthday today.  It is unclear to Us who that is, but he is unattractive and needs a shave.  (We have just Googled Mister Shelton on Wikipedia, and discovered that he is a country singer.  Which led us to wonder (as things do) whether other countries have country music.  And what other countries’ country music might sound like…say, for example, in Belize.  What does country music sound like in Belize?  Or in Chad? (It now occurs to Us, parenthetically, that those are Two Very Gay Countries.  Belize sounds like a drag queen, and Chad is a gay porn star.)  Let’s try this again…what does country music sound like in Bangladesh…now that’s making Us think of that old movie, inexplicably about baseball, called Bangladesh Slowly…))

(Let’s just abandon all that, shall We?  It was all much too much like work, anyway.  We were initially going to ask what country music was like in Kuala Lumpur, but then the InterNetz informed Us that Kuala Lumpur is a city, not a country.  Who knew?  The InterNetz also disabused Us of the notion that Bangladesh Slowly was a made-for-TV movie.  Apparently, it had Robert De Niro in it.  Now THAT was a makeup job.)

(If We were (subjunctively) a country singer, they would, of course, say of Us, “she puts the ‘cunt’ in ‘country’”.   Which is why We have refrained from that particular pursuit.  Well, that and Our gingham allergy. (Doesn’t “Gingham Allergy” sound like a character name from something?  The mink-clad wife of the chairman of the board in some 50s movie?))

(Our mind is a terrible thing to waste.  (Meanwhile, We are NEVER wasted when We write these e-pisstles.  This is Us (well, We) stone-cold sober.  Party with THAT thought.))

Clarity is absolutely everything today (Well, except for the little part that is Lady Clairol™.)

— communication depends on it, (That’s not the only thing with Depends™ on it.)

(If you pissed it then you shoulda put Depends™ on it…(Kiss Us quick, We’re geriatric Beyoncé.))

and so do your plans!  (And your pants!  (We’re pretty sure we’ve lost the thread.))

Make sure that you know what you want to say before you say it, (You think We PLAN what We’re gonna say in here?  BWAH-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HAH!!!!)

as you only get one chance.  (And We consistently blow it.  (Where’s them semen donors?))

All eyes will be on you today, but don’t succumb to stage fright  (Have you met Us?  We do not “succumb”.)

— these eyes belong to very friendly, supportive people.  (Well, We still ain’t givin’ ‘em back.)

It looks as though this is one of those critical points you’ve been waiting for although you might not even have realized it. (Oh, please.  Let’s not start listing all the things We haven’t realized, or We’ll be here all week.)

You may be called to the stage to make an acceptance speech; be sure to have something genuine prepared. (Does a tasteful cocktail count?)

Use your time in the limelight to make big things start happening.  (PUBLIC semen donation?  Don’t mind if We do.)

You might want to head to a tearjerker matinee (Heh…Kelli said “jerker”.)

or have a session with the punching bag — you’ve got some internal goings-on that are going to come out one way or another.  (That was a whole lotta euphemism packed into one little sentence, young lady.)

Why not enjoy it?  (That’s why We placed the ad in the first place.  Semen donors…they’re not just for breakfast any more.)

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

(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://agskylab.blogspot.com/.  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.

I’m feeling transcendental; am I here?

Greetings, Eaves Relieve Ivy Chives---


(Oh, shut up; it’s Monday.)


Here is your horoscope for Monday, April 26, 2010 (Happy belated birfday to Our Manhattanese Sistah, Asphyxia-8, who turned twenty-four yesterday. You may have noticed that there was no Eric’s Daily Horoscope yesterday, or Saturday. Or you may not have noticed. How the h3ll would We know? At any rate, We are back to a five-day publication schedule.):


(But enough of this business talk, you came here, if you came here at all, for the misery, and to have your life be made better by comparison. And We are here to tell you, We have already fired up Our fancy-schmancy new coffeemaker that grinds its own beans. Of course, One’s coffee does not come out so fancy-schmancy when One neglects to use a filter. We’re just sayin’. In still other news, OurHouseWhereWeLive is haunted. Here’s how We finally figgered it out: the bulb in Our befridgedator blew. (It’s been so long since anything around here has blown, We didn’t even understand what had happened at first.) Now, on a scale of household calamities, this particular event hardly registers. Even We, with Our limited motor skills, can replace a burnt-out befridgedator bulb. Without even calling one of Our l3sbian friends. The only difficulty One could possibly foresee in such a task was the absence, naturally, of any replacement befridgedator bulbs in Our house. So imagine Our surprise when, after trundling off to purchase same (a pack of TWO, no less. Because fool Us once, day-old poo; fool Us twice, Katmandu. (Isn’t that a Bob Seger song? (What ever happened to Bob Seger?))), We attempted to replace said befridgedator bulb, and discovered that the first of the two replacement bulbs was defective, and the second one, while not (at least not quite as) defective, wouldn’t light. Hmmm, sez We, and trundled off (is it just Us, or is there a lot of trundling in this story?) to find the befridgedator manual. Now here comes the haunted part. All of Our appliance manuals are kept in the very same drawer (the very same drawer as each other, in case that wasn’t clear). And every time We go to find one of them, they are all there except the one We are looking for. Scary, no?)


(See? HAUNTED!)


(Of course, it’s a good thing We are able to man up and do these home improvement tasks Our Own Self, because it has been well over six months since ContractorBoi (remember him?) stopped returning Our phone calls and emails for reasons unknown to Us. (Well, perhaps not entirely unknown…there is the suspiciously miswired device in Our basement that rings a constant alarm and seems to be counting down toward some sort of explosion. Needless to say (and here We go, saying it), We won’t be recommending HIM any time soon.))


(Of course, ContractorBoi is not the only one who’s stopped returning Our phone calls and emails. It makes Us wonder just what horrible atrocity it is that We’ve perpetrated on these people. And, more to the point, is it the SAME atrocity, or DIFFERENT atrocities? Would it be so d@mn difficult, before cutting off all contact, to send one more missive exclaiming, “How dare you apostrophize my bandicoot?”, thereby letting Us know in what way We have offended them, and possibly enabling Us to keep from offending others in such a way in the future? Sigh.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


The universe has arranged for you to cross paths with individuals who'll excite and inspire you. (That depends…inspire US to WHAT?)


Is this foolish? (Does anyone actually say “foolish” anymore? Doesn’t “foolish” sound rather, well, foolish?)


Should you be cautious? (We don’t know about you, but We would be very careful and wary of being too cautious.)


Is it simply time to take one giant step outside the box? (Oh, the h3ll with it…step ON the box! After all, you only live once. (We’re pretty sure Shirley MacLaine doesn’t read Eric’s Daily Horoscope.))


It's all up to you (Great…something else We can totally fu(k up.)


-- but don't doubt your instincts for a single second. (Yeah…’cause they’ve done so well so far.)


You're not interested in flirting, or being flirted with, unless the individual in question has been preapproved and found worthy by a very particular panel of one. (Actually, We’ll pretty much take what We can get.)


You go! (Um, that’s “You go, GURRRRLLLLL!!!”, Missy. Try to keep up.)


Cut yourself a break. (Also, cut yourself the cheese. (Because it’s been quite some time since We’ve had a good old fashioned f@rt joke in here.))


Instead of putting together your usual schedule and feeling bad because you couldn't pull it off, (We dunno ‘bout you, but “pulling it off” is generally ON Our usual schedule.)


give yourself the day off. (Okay, you’ve talked Us into it.)


It's not hedonistic. It's realistic. (It’s also supercalifragilistic. To say nothing of expialidocious. (No, really. Say NOTHING. (Also, it’s ComCastic! (Remind Us to tell you about how Amos (or Andy…We’re not sure) was going door-to-door last week, peddling Comcast upgrades. Seriously. We have two words for you: “Mister Eric”.))))


This moment of fame could well last a lot longer than fifteen minutes. (Well, lord knows this morning has gone on forever so far.)


Keep a pen handy, (Our penis handy.)


(Heh. See what We did there?)


because you'll need it. (Oh, We KNOW!)


Most fans don't have their own. (Well, We ain’t sleepin’ with ‘em then. So there.)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




it’s cowgrasstastic!)