Third verse, same as the first

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Hump Day, January Twenny-Nineff, Twenny-FourTeen.

Apparently, there was some glitch in Our proceedings yesterday which prevented the majority of you from reading yesterday’s e-pisstular e-pissode.  But being, it would seem, the Gentlest Gentle Readers Who Ever Gentled, no one deigned to inform Us of this fact until We were in the actual physical presence of one of you last evening.

So We will be doing an instant replay of yesterday’s e-pisstular e-pissode below.  Which is all fine, because We have a conference call regarding Our appearances in Greater Bostonia.

Those of you who DID get to read yesterday’s musings will be shrilled and ignited to learn that We had a dream in which Elizabeth Taylor impersonated Barbara Bain in an episode of the old Mission:Impossible TV show.  Which, while perhaps not a smutty, sleazy, steamy sex dream, was such an improvement over the preceding night that We cannot help but be pleased.

Second verse same as the first…

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  GoodPieRupeeTuesday, January Twenny-Eightff, Twenny-FourTeen.

Happy Birthday to Patrick, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles. Happy Birthday also to William, who also turns twenty-four today, also  right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.

Also too, Happy Birthday to Amanda, who also too turns twenty-four today, in FairBrooklynThePrideOfTheThornInTheSideOfNewYork.  (Thank you Stephen Sondheim.)

Additionally, Happy Belated Australia Day to Our Australian readers (Hi, Lizzy!)

And now, some complaints about dreams.

[Desi Arnaz voice]: Looosy, you got some complainin’ to doooo…/[Desi Arnaz voice].

We have been having epic, feature-fillum-length dreams of late, and have been waking up annoyed.  So annoyed, in fact, that We may have to call The Dream Police.  If, that is, any of you Gentle Readers can supply Us with their number.

(Ooops…now We have gotten sidetracked imagining The Dream Police.  Who are, naturally, wearing nothing but police caps, aviator sunglasses, and navy-blue sequined G-strings with a big badge on the front, and who all look suspiciously like Ryan Phillippe.)

Sorry…We’re back.  In addition to the complete absence of smutty, sleazy, steamy sex, other things about Our dreams regarding which We wish to lodge complaints include the following:

Things should not cost money in dreams.  We are perfectly happy to dream about having money, or winning the lottery, or even everything being free, but We should not have to spend Our valuable dream time worrying about the money We spent on a train ticket that We are subsequently thwarted from using.

Speaking of trains, unless said train is going through the tunnel (if you know what We mean (and We think you do (slut))), there is no place for trains (or any other form of conveyance) in dreams.  If We need to be somewhere else, have Us turn up there.  We promise not to ask any questions. KThxBye.

Speaking of not asking any questions, much as We don’t care how things work in real life, We really REALLY don’t care how things work in dreams. Especially things like Netflix. (Seriously.  Somebody spent FOREVER last night in one of Our dreams explaining to Us how Netflix works.)

Also having absolutely no place in dreams:  people trying to wake Us up.  Also, senility.

So tonight We shall expect to go peacefully to bed and dream of nothing but Ryan Phillippe and his nightstick.

In other news, more complaining. (Complaining, you may have noticed, is Our art form.  It’s like Our origami, if origami had less paper and more bitching. It’s like Our Tae Kwan Do, if Our Tae Kwan Do involved a Wang Hung Lo on Sum Yung Gai.)

(Okay, We’ll stop now.)

But seriously: complaining.  If We contact you through one of Our modern forms of communication, you have, etiquette-wise (unless you’ve been “detained” (or detrained (heh)) by The Dream Police), twenty-four hours to get back to Us. Especially if Our contact involved some sort of schedule-related planning.

Acceptable excuse for failing to do so: Ryan Phillippe’s nightstick.  

Unacceptable excuse for failing to do so: “I’m not on The Facebook that much.”

Because guess what, people?  If this old dog can learn the new trick of texting people instead of ever calling them, you can learn that, unless you’re over seventy, you need to be on “The Facebook” enough to answer your goddamn messages.  Also, stop calling it “The Facebook”…you sound like a ‘tard.

        .

Changing gears, on to Our upcoming appearance in Greater Bostonia.  At the risk of redundantly and reiteratively repetitively repeating Ourself, We are hereby issuing a “Save-The-Date” to Our Greater Bostonian Gentle Readers for  Friday, February 28st.  (That date will not be Our only Massachusettsian appearance, it is just Our only confirmed date at the moment.) We are VERY excited….stay tuned!

We are currently in the sign of Aquarius, the only sign of the zodiac for which there is only one Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope video.  Fortunately, it doesn’t suck.

Our video (Aquarius, for you naked skimmers who aren’t paying attention) is above, and here is the link with which you may share it with your friends:     http://youtu.be/ovOtlxcnC50

And now, the HorrorScope…

It is Henry VII’s birthday.  Yes, We said “VII”, not “VIII”.  We just Googled him on Wikipedia, and he was a fairly colorful king. Of course, he doesn’t have his own song, the way his son does, but We can rectumfy that:

I am Hennery the seventh I am
Henry the seventh I am, I am
I got married to the widow next door
She's been married six times before
And every one was an Hennery (Hennery)
She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)
I'm her seventh old man, I'm Hennery
Hennery the seventh I am

Second verse same as the first…

Oh, sorry…is that stuck in your heads for the rest of the day now?  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad.

You’ve got to stay as grounded as possible  (We are an adult, grown-up person.  Who the fuck is going to ground Us?)

— emotional trouble could arise if you get too crazy. (We’ll take “Ships That Have Already Sailed” for $500, Alex.)

Take deep breaths, (Can We take them from other people?)

get some exercise or just have a long talk with someone who knows you really well.  (Hmmm…exercise…or talking…decisions, decisions…)

New beginnings aren’t just your sign’s specialty, they’re your very favorite state of affairs too. (Much like raindrops on rowhomes and whiskeyed-up kittens.)

Happily, (You know, if you stare at “happily” for a while, it’s a very strange word.  Also, crappily.  Which Micro$oft Weird™ would have Us believe is NOT a word.   But We would beg to differ.  Well, not, perhaps, so much “beg”, as just differ, without asking any permission whatsoever.  Because it’s much easier to ask for forgiveness than persimmons.  Because who the hell ever has any persimmons?)

(More evidence of that stroke We had the other day.)

that’s exactly what’s on the agenda right now, thanks to an impending career offer that can only be called sweet. (Are We back to prostitution then?)

It may be so sweet, in fact, that you’ll be tempted to jump on it right away.  (Apparently so.)

Moving quickly might not be a bad idea, but taking time to check out the details first via a trusted, knowledgeable friend can’t hurt. (If We had a trusted, knowledgeable friend, whyeverthefuck would We be listening to YOU?)

Channel your ambitious, maybe even aggressive, energy into work today, instead of your love life.  (Ryan. Phillippe’s. Nightstick.  Just sayin’.)

After all, romance isn’t about what you’re after — it’s about taking chances, exploring and keeping an open heart. (Is it just Us, or was that last part a description of cardio-pulmonary bypass surgery?)

Namaste, MotherFuckers.

In gaseousness,

Starzina Starfish-Browne

(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://sett.com/astrogeek895/.  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.

                                                                                                                                     

In the navy, you can sail the seven seas.

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Wednesday, February 27, 2013.  Happy Hump Day, y’all.

We are debating with Ourself whether to tell you that We really don’t have much of a point today, and that, consequently, today’s e-pissode is going to be largely a good, old-fashioned Potpourri-For-$500-Alex, or whether to let you find that out for your own selves.  We’ll let you know what We decide.

So, how about Anne Hathaway turning out to be Satan?  Didn’t see THAT coming, did We?  Although setting her sights on being Julia Roberts should have been a big ol’ red flag.

Which leads Us to the random thought that if Being John Malkovich had (subjunctively) been Being Julia Roberts, it would have been a very different fillum.

In other news, We are drinking tea.  Because, at the Ack-A-Me yesterday, We forgot to buy coffee, and We have a HouseWhereWeLive full of tea, even though We never drink tea, which is why said tea is still here and not gone, but why was it ever here in the first place?

The tea in question is from Twinings™, and is called “Christmas Tea”.  It is flavored with cloves, and cinnamon, and other spices, and tastes not unlike licking a Christmas tree’s asshole.  A REAL Christmas tree, not an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree.  Obviously.  Because why would an ARTIFICIAL Christmas tree need an asshole?

All of which serves to explain why We are a little cranky this morning.  Well, that and the fact that We have now been forced to ponder the question of whether plants poop.  They must; modern literature tells Us that EVERYBODY Poops.  But then why do they need fertilizer?

Additionally compounding Our crankitude are Our ongoing efforts to maintain something like a social life and avoid being a complete hermit in the face of The Strains Of Modern Life.  The communication and scheduling feats required to accomplish this are not unlike juggling, if you imagine that you are juggling three balls, one of which is a balloon, one of which is a waffle iron, and one of which is invisible, and, on every third time-around, becomes a chainsaw.

That was poetical, was it not?  Kiss Us quick, We are Maya Angelou.  Or Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole.  One of those.

We were just taking a WorldWideInterWebNetzian survey for fun and profit, and they asked Us what features We’d like to see in an e-reader.  To which We amused Ourself by replying, “Paper pages”.

Yesterday, meanwhile, We made meatballs.  Because We are apparently someone’s Italian great-grandmother.  We’re not sure why We’re sharing that, except that some of you who may object to hearing about Maya Angelou’s Christmas tree’s asshole might prefer instead to hear about Our balls.

We are fairly certain that We had some other bit of brilliance to share with you, but it will just have to wait till tomorrow.

Speaking of everybody pooping, We have released Our new Starzina’s Time of the Month Horoscope video for Pisces, which see above.  Here is the link with which you would share same with your friends, both Piscean and otherwise:    http://youtu.be/KMNgwWwNux8 .

Here are the HorrorScopes:

Speaking of Elizabeths, as We were just yesterday, it is Elizabeth Taylor’s birthday.

You have too many little details to handle today  (Tell Us about it.  Didja READ this e-pissode, or didja just nakedly skim it?)

— so make sure that you’re either reenlisting the help you need or deferring some of this insanity until tomorrow or even later.  (“Reenlisting”…”deferring”…”insanity”…aren’t those military terms?)

As devoted as you are to your friends and loved ones, you cannot be responsible for them.  (Well, no.  Because We were never sponsible in the first place.)

So if one of them comes under attack today, you need to think twice before stepping up to defend them.  (Okay, “attack”…”defend”…are We suddenly in the Marines? (Well, that’s just ridiculous…We can’t be in the Marines.  Well, We can, but We can only be in them one at a time.))

In doing so, you could be inserting yourself (Heh.)

into a situation (Uranus.)

that is much more complex than you truly understand. (No, Honey, they repealed “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”.)

Instead, you should step back and let them handle this thing on their own. (Aw, where’s the fun in that?)

They won’t feel let down — deep down, they know that you’re there if they need you later.  (This just gets dirtier and dirtier, dunnit?)

You’re usually more of the social leader than the wingperson, but if someone’s calling on you to back them up on a romantic mission, (Or e-mission…)

do your part.  (Indeed.)

Who knows — it could work out for you too.  (Apparently, today, ze jokes?  Zey tell zemselves.)

(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!)

*****************************************************************************

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.