Come, they told me

 

Hello, Ducks!  Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! for SunDayFunDay, December TwennyTooth, 2013.  We are reporting from over the river and through the woods, so We are offering you an encore presentation of last year’s e-pissode from this date, immediately following the Non-Apocalypse…

 

Come, they told me

Hello, Ducks!

 

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope! for Saturday, December 22, 2012. We trust you all had a lovely Apocalypse, and are enjoying the first day of Capricorn by watching Our brand spanking (heh) new Time of the Month Horosocpe video, which see above.

 

 

 

We Our Own Self Personally spent the Apocalypse, and now, the Post-Apocalypse (The Apocalyptic Afterbirth, if you will (or even if you won’t…what makes you think it’s all about you?)), on Holiday with Himself in the Hinterlands. (Is it just Us, or does On Holiday with Himself in the Hinterlands sound like a bizarre made-for-TV Christmas disaster movie from the late 60s or possibly early 70s? Starring Bing Crosby and Charo.  With Jerry Lewis as The Bieber.  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

 

 

 

We nearly didn’t make it all the way to the hinterlands. We were All Aboard AmCrack, when they stopped Our train due to police activity in Amish Country.  No doubt a rogue quilting bee, or an illegal butterchurning lab.  We do not speak Pennsylvania Dutch (or Hollandaise Dutch, for that matter), but We are fairly certain We heard some negotiations being made concerning Our imminent betrothal to a smelly bearded man named Zebediah who had six toes on each hand.  Fortunately, Himself woke up at this point, and We evaded this fate by posing as lesbian trapeze artists with a travelling circus.

 

 

 

Speaking of peculiar religious sects (which are, of course different than peculiar religious sex, which, if We recall correctly from Our remote youth, consists of screaming “Oh Jesus!” repeatedly while cavorting with lemurs in Catholic schoolgirl uniforms and being coated in hot wax), there was also, on this Train Of Fools, an entire family of Mennonites.  Which, for those who are unfamiliar, would be comprised of Mennonites, Womennonites, and Childrennonites.

 

 

 

ThankYouVeryMuch, We’llBeHereAllWeek, Don’tForgetToTipYourWaitress.

 

 

 

But please don’t tip your waitress’s cow.

 

 

 

Meanwhile, for those of you who missed a Twitter update from Helen Keller yesterday:

 

Helen Keller‏@Helen_KelIer

 

You can wear sweat pants and I won't judge. I won't even know!

 

Helen Keller‏@Helen_KelIer

 

The only kind of mail I get is blackmail.

 

Helen Keller‏@Helen_KelIer

 

I hope my gynecologist is who he says he is.

 

And heeeeeere’s the HorrorScope:

 

Speaking of The Beaver, it is Barbara Billingsley’s birthday.  But don’t expect much of a party; she’s dead.

 

Today brings an ending. (We’re pretty sure that was meant to be yesterday.)

 

 

 

That doesn’t have to be bad — lots of endings are positive, after all!  (Is anyone else now imagining Ryan Phillippe from behind?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)

 

 

 

You may have to decide to end the project, relationship or whatever it is (How can We end it if We don’t even know what it is?)

 

 

 

on your own, which can be difficult but rewarding.  (Difficult But Rewarding, was, oddly enough, Ryan Phillippe’s nickname in high school.)

 

 

 

 A friend you used to see with some regularity seems to have dropped off the face of the earth, and you miss them.  (We really try not to get involved with Our friends’ regularity.  Or lack thereof.)

 

 

 

(Poop!)

 

 

 

If your phone calls and emails have gone unanswered, don’t take it personally. (How else should We take it, bitch?)

 

 

 

They have a lot of stuff going on right now, and they might just need some breathing room. (Breathe on your own time, bitches.)

 

 

 

 Even though you may mean well, they might not have time to give you the attention you need. (How dare they?  We’ve had just about enough of them!)

 

 

 

Use this time to get to know someone new in your life a little bit better.  (We are presuming that, by “a little bit better”, you mean “biblically”.  Because We are nothing if not biblical.)

 

 

 

You have room in your life for more friends.  (But not their frenulums.  Because with frenulums like these, who needs enemas?)

 

 

 

 You don’t need to be paranoid, (Unless, of course, they really ARE out to get you.)

 

but you ought to watch out for red flags. (Oh, sure…like they’re gonna WARN Us.)

 

 

 

Something small could indicate someone’s big-picture values.  (What does that even MEAN?)

 

 

 

Ask more questions before you decide to fall for them.        (“Is it bigger than a breadstick?”)

 

 

 

 

 

(You’re 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.

 

Everybody raise a glass! Raise it up the master’s ass!

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Thursday, February 07, 2013.  We have just this moment learned that the last of the people who worked at Our old company prior to its acquisition by the Evil Acquiring Company (EAC) and who subsequently caused Us to lose Our position in the new regime has now been “made redundant”, as They say.  How do you spell “schadenfreude” and, more to the point, can you put it under “Special Skills” on a résumé ?

Meanwhile, from The Happy News That Actually Affects Us Department, We learned yesterday that the murder mystery We wrote for a local dinner theater has been accepted, subject to very minor revisions, and that a contract (and, subsequently, a blessed, blessed check) are imminent.

Which brings Us to the subject which is going to comprise the bulk of today’s e-pissode:

Our review of Les Miserables.

Could it have been any MORE miserable?  We don’t think so.  First of all, lettuce just say, whoever allegedly “directed” this fillum should be horsewhipped, then drawn and quartered, and all the pieces shot.  Since when is “Extreme Closeup” the answer to everything?  Especially when, with a few notable exceptions, none of the stars are wearing any makeup.  Not that they couldn’t have found a few spare hands to apply some, since, if you skip ahead to the credits, you will note that the entire populations of both Hollywood and France worked on this picture.  Of course, with the constant Extreme Closeups of people simultaneously singing and crying, half of those workers were clearly on permanent Booger Check Patrol.

Now, We are not going to attempt to tell you the entire story (which, as near as We can tell, was longer than the French Revolution), but We shall sketch in the salient points.  It concerns Hugh Jackman, who can sing, and Russell Crowe, who hits the same “note” over and over again and sounds as though someone were (subjunctively) kicking him in the balls.  Russell is the sheriff or some such of Paris (France, not Texas, which you can tell because everybody has British accents and calls each other “Monsieur”) and is in pursuit of Hugh, who is some sort of criminal. Russell’s pursuit is hampered by the fact that, although he looks exactly the same throughout all nine hours of the movie (except for a succession of varying Smart Gay Hats), he can only recognize Hugh when Hugh shoulders some heavy object a la Christ carrying His cross.  Hugh adds to this difficulty in recognition by disguising himself more and more as Marty Feldman throughout the course of the fillum.

Once the Hugh-Russell rivalry is thoroughly established, about thirteen hours into the fillum, Anne Hathaway turns up.  Of course, she only looks like Anne Hathaway for a few seconds before she starts selling off her hair, and her teeth, and her coochie.  She then treats Us to Our first Up-The-Nostril Extreme Closeup of the fillum as she sings the soul-stirring ballad, “Where Is My Oscar™ For Best Supporting Anorexic?”  Then she dies, because (A.) there were really no good roles for women in the French Revolution and (2.) if you play a whore AND you die, you are practically guaranteed an Oscar™.  Plus, as she said in a subsequent interview, “Judi Dench won an Oscar™ for eight minutes in Shakespeare in Love.  I am in this fillum for eight minutes that seem like an eternity; engrave my little gold statue NOW, bitches.”

It should be noted that, in a bizarre coincidence, once they cut all of her hair off, Anne Hathaway looks uncannily LIKE an Oscar™.  Except when she sings; then, she looks like the Reach™ toothbrush guy with the flip-top head.  (Did We mention that she only sold her BACK teeth?)

Once Anne is dead, about eighteen hours into the fillum, the director decides that, in order to wake up the audience, he will resort to the tried-and-true device of a fillum with a fillum.  So, when Hugh goes off to find Anne’s now-orphaned daughter, Crumpet, We suddenly find Ourselves in BizarroWorld, with innkeeper Helena Bonham Carter, who has apparently never bathed or changed her clothes since she made Sweeney Todd, and her husband, Jerry Lewis, as the guardians of the child.  They sing “The Worst Pies In London”, even though it’s Paris, while putting a prosthetic leg through a meat grinder.  Once they finish singing, about nineteen hours later, We discover that Jerry Lewis inexplicably has a quasi-French accent, while everybody else at the inn, and, indeed, in the entire fillum, has a British accent.  Except for Helena Bonham Carter who, as usual, never speaks above a mumble, so We never find out what kind of accent she has.  Apparently, Jerry Lewis is from a different part of France.

Helena and Jerry have a daughter who is Chinese.  Or a Mongoloid idiot…We may have dozed off somewhere in here; the fillum had been going on for three days at this point.  At any rate, their little China girl becomes important (much) later on, when little Crumpet grows up to be a pretty blond girl who can’t sing, and little China girl grows up to be Xena, Warrior Princess.

Some time the following week, a few strapping young tenors turn up in the fillum as a small perk for those of Us who are not into daddies, Hugh being in full-on Marty Feldman mode by now, and Russell having been kicked in the balls more times than We can count.  The main tenor, plot-point-wise, is a freckle-faced youth whom We imagine would be quite attractive under other circumstances, but (A.) many of the strapping extra tenors around him are more attractive and (2.) those freckles are very distracting.  Seriously, you couldn’t slap a little CoverGirl™ on that?

A triangle quickly (“quickly” being, in this fillum, a relative thing) develops between Freckles, Crumpet, and Xena Warrior Princess, and just as quickly is resolved when everybody realizes that Xena is a lesbian.  Also, she dies, as do all of the strapping extra tenors.  (Hey, if she’d only sold her coochie, she could have competed with Anne Hathaway for that Oscar™.)

Nine and a half weeks (and an interminable crawl through the sewers of Paris) later, Freckles and Crumpet are married, Russell kills himself when a production assistant inadvertently shows him the dailies, and Hugh decides to die when he realizes that his metamorphosis into Marty Feldman is complete.   All of the dead people are reunited in the afterlife, except Russell, who may finally have learned to kick himself in the balls.

FIN

Speaking of the French Revolution, We shall be playing The VD Match Game on Friday and Saturday, February 15 and 16, at 7:30 at L’Etage.  You can obtain tickets here http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/331562 and find more info here
http://www.facebook.com/events/279672565493605/  Our Sistah Ovella, for those of you who know her, will be playing also.

Here is a little Aquarius fillum, for Our birthday Aquarians:

And here are the HorrorScopes:

Despite having given up thirteen months of Our life to watch that miserable fillum, somehow it is all made better by the fact that it is Ashton Kutcher’s birthday.  Our horoscope, meanwhile, is below.  We are too faint with hunger to answer it as usual; We must go steal a loaf of bread.  Please feel free to answer it in Our stead.  (Hey, that rhymed!)

You need to make an extra effort today — though that may come naturally. Your drive for success is fully activated, and you should find that your energy is pushing in the right direction.  Just because you have extremely positive feelings about someone doesn’t mean that everyone else does, so make no assumptions today. If no one is as excited about them as you are right now, don’t worry about it. You need to tone down your excited feelings anyway — and let other people see for themselves what’s so great about this person. Only then can they understand why you are feeling the way you do, and only then can they come over to your way of thinking. A stint of long, hard labor means that your social life falls by the wayside for a brief amount of time. It’s worth it. After all, you can’t live on love alone. Other projects and career prospects take precedence now.

 (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.

                                                                                                                                    

I streamed a stream of consciousNESS

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for  Wednesday’sChildIsFullOfEverySha-La-La-LaEveryWhoa-Whoa-WoeKarenCarpenterIsStillDead, February 6, 2013.  (That there joke operated on so many levels that it was frightening, wunnit?  A sort of existential tone poem of a joke, if you will, Buffalo Bill coupe de ville Anita Hill.  The sort of joke a Buddhist monk might mime to his yak.  A yuk for yaks, as it (subjunctively) were.)

We may be having a stroke.  Oh, We can raise Our arms, and We can smile, but when We tried to say a sentence, it came out as one of the sentences from the preceding paragraph, so the jury is still out.

We are apparently becoming civic-minded in Our dotage.  That was Our second Public Service Announcement in two days.  Many of you are no doubt still recovering from Our breast cancer PSA video from yesterday.  Speaking of strokes.

As a matter of fact, We’re feeling so benignly benevolent and benevolently benign that We’re gonna replay that PSA just pour vous, Nanette Fabray:

For those of YouPeople who have paused long enough in your naked skimming to wonder just how We create such a bantery barrage of bon motley badinage every day before breakfast, We are here to tell you, Boris Badonov, it is almost entirely stream-of-consciousness.  Stream-of-consciousness is, of course, a literary technique perfected by noted American author William Faulkner.  We are fairly certain We’ve never read an actual word written by the illustrious Mister Faulkner, but, on multiple choice tests in high school, if they said “William Faulkner”, we were trained to bark out “stream-of-consciousness”, much like Pavlov’s dog.

Nuns are fucking hysterical, no?

Speaking of hysterical nuns, We shall be playing The VD Match Game on Friday and Saturday, February 15 and 16, at 7:30 at L’Etage.  You can obtain tickets here http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/331562 and find more info here
http://www.facebook.com/events/279672565493605/  Our Sistah Ovella, for those of you who know her, will be playing also.

Speaking of Our Sistah Ovella (is it just Us, or is the stream of Our consciousness much like a circus elephant pissing on your head and then telling you it’s raining? (Of course it isn’t, silly; circus elephants can’t talk.  (This is the same reason why those Buddhist monks had to mime to their yaks.  (Oh, look; We’ve come full circle! (To everything (turd-turd-turd) there is a season (turd-turd-turd)…)))))

What the fuck were We talking about?  Oh, yes, Our Sistah Ovella.  To cheer Ourselves up here in the dead of winter, she is coming over later and We’re gonna eat baguettes and watch French people starve to death.  That is, We’re gonna look at Our SAG screener of Less Miserable.  If We’re lucky, maybe long about the third hour, Jerry Lewis will sing a song.

As Marcel Marceau always says:

Here is a little Aquarius fillum, for Our birthday Aquarians:

And here are the HorrorScopes:

Apparently, today is everybody’s birthday, from Axl Rose to Zsa Zsa Gabor.  (We have no idea what that means, but We do enjoy the symmetry.)

You need to snap into action today  (We’ve already had a stroke…isn’t that enough “snapping” for one day?)

— so make sure that you’re not just spinning your wheels or talking the big talk. (Also, what about Crackle?  And Pop?)

Things should start to get more interesting (Well, they certainly couldn’t get less.)

just as you’re in the thick of it all!  (Is it just Us, or did the exclamation point make that sound really dirty?)

 Seek out someone who you really respect or admire and find out how they do it. (WWWFD?)

(What Would William Faulkner Do?  (Try to keep up.  Jeebus.))

If you love how they handle themselves in a meeting, (Or if you just love how they handle their love-handles.)

ask them for pointers on how to improve your verbal communication.  (It is also Eva Braun’s birthday.  We just thought We’d throw that in there.)

If you admire the way they always get the party started, find out how you can become more outgoing.  (What if We want to become more incoming?  If you know what We mean.  And We think you do.)

Whatever you want to learn today, the best way to get your education is by asking someone who’s already doing it well. (Now We are picturing Axl Rose and Zsa Zsa Gabor sharing birthday cake.  Someone make it stop, please.)

They’ll be flattered (Or flattened.)

and will start seeing you in a more positive light.  (How ‘bout a nice bastard amber?)

Exploring some new scenes and meeting some fresh characters gives your heart the kick-start it’s desperately in need of.  (Did We mention Our stroke?  Kick-starting Our heart might not be the wisest idea…)

Now for something, and maybe even someone, entirely different!  (Whatevs.  We gotta go to the bakery for baguettes.)

 (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.