Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for JustAnotherManateeMonday, November 19, 2012.  Happy belated birthday to Kathy, who turned twenty-four yesterday.  Also, happy also belated birthday to Jacquie, who also turned twenty-four also yesterday.  They are each, of course, twenty-four-and-a-day today, but We can’t think of a cunning linguistic way to wish them that.

The WorldWideInterWebNetz are a very strange place.  But then, you probably already knew that.  For example, on Twitter (where, We parentheticalized, We recently added Our 100^th follower, and, if you are not one of Our followers, you should be, because We twuly tweet some twemendous twaddle (did We really just do that?  We are SO sorry…))…where were We before We got caught up in parentheses?  Oh, yes…on Twatter…er, Twitter this morning, We learned that Cher?  Is going to the dentist today.  Also?  She is not looking forward to it.

Now, We don’t know about you (well, actually, We do…We’re psychic), but back in the day, when We were a wee ass(tromalogical) ho(roscopulist) watching The Sonny and Cher Show on black and white TV, We never dreamed that someday, We would know when Cher was going to the dentist because of some omniscient machine in OurHouseWhereWeLive. (We dreamed, like all other normal children, that We would know when Cher was going to the dentist because We would be living next door to her, and, as she got into the limo in the morning, she would wave at Us over the hydrangea bushes and call out, “I’m off to the dentist this morning!  I’m not looking forward to it!” in that That’s-So-Cher way that she has, and We would know that, when she came back, she would come over for lunch and regale Us with wacky stories of what happened at the dentist’s while We ate Spaghetti-Os™.)

What?  We can’t help it that you had a dull childhood.  That’s what comes from having no imagination.

Switching gears completely (because there’s really only so much thinking-about-Cher’s-teeth that One can do when all One has had is black coffee), from The Sometimes You Don’t Even Need A Punchline Department, Justin Bieber’s date for the American Music Awards?  His mom.

Meanwhile, in a completely random aside:

Dear Str8 Boi Readers:

When you say “Fantasy Football”, We automatically picture a gay porn film set in a locker room.

KThxBye.

In still other news, today is apparently both Meg Ryan and Jodie Foster’s birthday.  Which is causing Us to imagine both Meg Ryan as Jodie Foster in The Jodie Foster Story AND Jodie Foster as Meg Ryan in The Meg Ryan Story. The latter being worth the price of admission for the When Harry Met Sally orgasm scene alone.

I’ll have what she’s having.

Of course, the question on every inquiring mind is, who should play Billy Crystal?

Here’s the HorrorScope:

(In other news, there is absolutely no humor to be mined from Indira Gandhi’s birthday.  Trust Us.)

You have got to move forward quickly — otherwise, things are likely to fly away from your control. (Ah, yes, the famous illusion that We have any control.)

 That doesn’t mean that you need to dominate,  (Domi-natrix, natrix, natrix…)

(That, of course, was to be sung to the tune of “Dominique”, that song by that singing nun called The Singing Nun.  Meanwhile, being An Inquiring Mind Who Wants To Know (no, really…who wants to know?), We just Googled “what  ever happened to…” on Wikipedia, and found out that she killed herself.  True fact.  Happy Monday.)

just that the future is more enticing than the past.  (It is also so bright, We’ve got to wear shades.)

You’re usually not a very impetuous person, (That’s because We don’t have any pets.)

(What?)

but would it do you any harm to act more spontaneously? (Fine.  We shall schedule that for 4:30 this afternoon.)

You can achieve your goals just as efficiently when you just run out and act on them. (What is this “run” of which you speak?)

There are only so many situations you can anticipate, so why try to cover all your bases? (Have you seen Our ass lately?  If we did indeed play baseball, We could, in fact, cover ALL the bases.)

 Right now you have positive energy on your side, and there’s an opportunity you just can’t pass up.  (It’s the one with the big knockers, innit?)

 Consider initiating contact with a certain hard-to-get type. (Yes, but what about that pesky restraining order?)

You’ve been assuming that they’re aloof, (How can One tell the difference between a loof and a loofah?)

but they really just might be shy. (Lord knows, We are.)

 Make it low-stakes and you’re likely to get the response you want.  (And, even if not, mmmm…steaks.)

                           

(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.

                                                                                                                                    

Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?

Greetings, Episcopalian Reincarnated Into Confucianist---


Here is your horoscope for Sunday, Sunday, Sunday (sorry), March 21, 2010 (Happy birthday to anybody whose birthday it is. We don’t think We know anybody personally who’s having a birthday today, but We sure wish We did, because mmmm….cake.):


(Actually, We haven’t even had Our coffee yet. But, before We do, We would like to draw your attention to the commentary section of Eric’s Daily Horoscope here in Bloggonia. Yesterday’s subject line (“Just panties…what else do I need?”) caused Our Sistah Ovella and Us to wax nostalgic (but, fortunately, not bikini wax nostalgic, which can be dangerous (or wax the carrot nostalgic, which is just plain rude)) in the commentary section about the greatest movie ever made. Which is, of course, The Poseidon Adventure. (What did you think We were gonna say…Citizen Kane? Some fat guy in black and white…what’s so great about that?) “Just panties…what else do I need?” is, of course, a line of dialog from said film, spoken by The One And Only Stella Stevens, and, as such, would seem to violate the Eric’s Daily Horoscope time-honored tradition of using song lyrics as the subject line. But au contraire mon frère Frigidaire Sonny and Cher, it is ALSO a song lyric, courtesy of Our Chicagogonian friends who created Poseidon! An Upside-Down Musical. Herewith is a video for said song, which is safe for work, as long as “panties” are safe at your work (and, if not, what are you doing at work on Sunday with no panties on? Slut.)):

(There. Now wasn’t THAT a d@mn sight better than church? At any rate, if it hadn’t occurred to Us to point this out to all y’all, you’d have totally missed out on it if you don’t also at least read the commentary section. H3ll, We were sure that, by this point, y’all would be commenting up a storm and talking amongst yourselves. (Or maybe you ARE, and you’re doing it all behind Our back(s)…after all, it’s not paranoia if they ARE all out to get you.))


(Speaking of fillums, We fell asleep last night in the middle of (500) Days of Summer , in which Joseph Gordon Levitt, whom We usually love, has a really boring affair with some dull chick which is told totally out of chronological order. Which might be interesting if said affair lasted, say, two weeks, but it lasted for the titular (heh…We love that word) 500 days, and the time-jumps were indicated by on-screen titles: Day 379…Day 12…Day 351…wait, was that third scene before or after the first one???...so You never really knew (or, after a while, cared) where You were.)


(This little impromptu nappy-poo toodle-oo Kalamazoo may have impacted Our sleep during the night, when We kept being awakened by bizarre dreams. In the first, We were able to fly. Not the usual dream, wherein One flies like Superman, but instead with giant wings sticking out of Our back. The Sainted Mother was beginning to get annoyed with Us flying around the house, so she promised to take Us outside for flying lessons. But she made it very clear that We could only fly ten times a day. Although she never explained what would happen if We tried to fly eleven.)


(In the next dream, We were sleeping, for some reason, on a cot at the EAC. (This dream, no doubt, was a flash-forward to Our eventual homelessness.) It seemed like a perfectly good idea, until We discovered that a whole lot of people apparently worked the night shift. So We decided that We should probably get dressed (oh, yes, We were nekkid), which would mean retrieving Our clothes from the men’s room, where We had foolishly left them unattended. We woke up from this dream as We picked up Our pants, just knowing that there was no longer a wallet in them.)


(That was 5:30AM. Now it’s 9:30, and We’re finally having coffee. Is some d@mn birthday cake out of the question???)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Touchy? (Touché?)


You? (Moi?)


No way. (Fermez la Bouche, Touché Toupee.)


You may, (Mais oui…(heh. Didn’t see that last one coming, didja? That concludes Our little French lesson for today. We love the French. They invented all the best stuff…mustard, doors, kissing. Toast, dressing, fries. Bread, braids, drains. Horns, connections, the Foreign Legion. Not to mention that cartoon skunk. (No, seriously…don’t mention him. Zey hate zat.)))


however, be a teeny bit moody, cranky or oversensitive -- but certainly not touchy. (Moody, Cranky, Oversensitive, Touchy…these are but a few of the Seven Dwarves in the Snow White remake by Woody Allen.)


Unfortunately, (See, when a sentence starts out like that, ya just know no good can come of it. So let’S just skip to the next one, shall We?)
the rest of the world may not be quite so astute at differentiating between these subtleties.


Be nice, (Also, Be A Clown, Bea Benaderet, Beanie and Cecil.)


(YOU thought We were gonna say “Bea Arthur”. That’ll teach ya to try to predict Us. We haven’t been predicted (or dicted, for that matter) in years.)


even if it's killing you (Softly?)


and brag about your incredible self-control tomorrow. (“Get a load of these Spanx™!” (Or is that not what you meant?))


Talking them into seeing things your way will come easily, but do you really want to win that way? (What kind of @sshole question izzat?)


You can always even things up after dark. (Clearly a lyric from the song “Just Another Smutty Sunday”. Which was, of course, the prequel to “Just Another Manic Monday”. Unfortunately, the sequel, “Just Another Tepid Tuesday” never got written, because nobody could be bothered.)


(Oh, leave Us alone. We didn’t have enough sleep.)


If you know you're not fit for human consumption, (“Not Fit For Human Consumption“, of course, having been Our nickname in high school.)


don't press your luck. (But, more importantly, don’t press your duck. Because We just Googled “pressed duck” on Wikipedia, and EEEUUUWWWWW!!!! Those wacky, zany, madcap Frenchies!)


Get yourself home as soon as possible, get into your jammies and don't answer the phone. (The calls are coming from inside the house!!!)


(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


Pardon me…do you have any Grey Cowgrass?)

How are things in Glocca Morra?

Greetings, Emphatic Rebuttal Infuriates Czar---


Here is your horoscope for Thursday, February 18, 2010 (We have finally smartened up and put all the WaitStaff show info in pixture form above, to spare all y’all from having to get n@ked yet again to skim a whole paragraph of information. You’re welcome.):


(This, however, is the important part: after the show, as We are forced to depart the World Café Live immediately (no doubt amidst a hail of rotting fruits and vegetables (“Hey!” We hear you cry, “Some of my best friends are rotting fruits and vegetables!”)), We have decided to reconvene to accept accolades, acolytes (that was an altar boy joke…on your knees, b1tch!), and, most importantly, free drinks two blocks away at Slainte (which see: http://www.slaintephilly.com/ ). This, We are told, is an Irish drinking emporium whose name does not rhyme with “taint”, as One would imagine (although that would, We suppose, make it a g@y drinking emporium). Instead, it sounds, when pronounced by Irishian Irish speakers of Our acquaintance, something like a cross between “lawnchair” and “trenchmouth”. This is because Irishians are a very strange people who don’t even call their language “Irish”; they call it (oh, like you didn’t see this coming) “Gaylick”. But what can One expect from folks who once starved a bunch of potatoes to death for no reason whatsoever?)


(Leprechaun, shillelagh, HassenPfeffer Incorporated.)


(As a special boner…er, bonus treat, those of all y’all who have only started following the WaitStaff since the beginning of Our appearances with same will not yet have seen the following video. Which is totally NOT safe for work. Unless, We suppose, you happen to work in a brothel.)

(We should also note that the WaitStaff’s well-oiled (heh) publicity machine is in high gear, and tickets are flying out the door faster than a starving potato in a leprechaun colony (what???), so get yours NOW. Here We are in today’s City Paper: http://citypaper.net/articles/2010/02/18/desperate-and-dateless (You will note that We Our Own Selves Personally do not appear in the accompanying photo, which is an old WaitStaff publicity photo taken prior to Our affiliation with same. In fact, only two of the people pictured will be in tomorrow’s show; the rest are…well, We’re not exactly sure, but We have heard the phrases “making license plates” and “penile servitude” bandied about.))


(And, in case you needed one more inducement to attend, Our mission du jour is to go shopping for exactly the right pair of boxer shorts in which to do the tango. (Whaddaya mean, the World Café Live just called and said they’re closed tomorrow?))


(Our-O-Scope…)


It's time for you to take some time out. (We hear there’s a special chair for that.)


Phone off the hook. (Okay, let’S just think about that one for a second. (The S is capitalized because it’s a contraction of “let Us”, which involves The Royal Us. But then you knew that already.) Once those chirren born in 1990 whom We were discussing yesterday have chirren, there will be a whole generation of people who have no idea what the fu(k “phone off the hook” even means. Seriously, people. Turn off your eight-track tapes of Lawrence Welk and give that a moment’s thought.)


Sit down. (Sit on my face and tell me that you love me.)


Breathe. (Oh, please. If you have to be told, perhaps it’s better if you just stop. More air for the rest of Us.)


Think about your past year. (Scr3w that noise. Think about this: which is funnier: “Is that a shillelagh in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” or “Is that a leprechaun in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?” We Personally are leaning toward the leprechaun, but discuss.)


(We’ll take “Phrases No Sane Person Would Ever Type” for $500, Alex…what is “leaning toward the leprechaun”?)


What are you grateful for? (Ingrates.)


(No, give it a minute. It’ll come to you. That was one of Our rare suBtle jokes. THERE ya go!)


If you have time, it's a good time to actually make a list. (If We don’t have time, should We make a list of things We don’t have time for?)


Think about your blessings. (Then think of Debra Messing covered in Thousand Island dressing. (That was a little bone We just threw to Our str8 boi readers, to make up for the “Cindy Brady’s pubes” thing from yesterday.))


(As a little insight into the inner workings of Eric’s Daily Horoscope, We would like to point out that We originally covered Ms. Messing in Russian dressing, but We decided that Thousand Island was funnier.)


Sometimes the mere act of reveling in all that is good actually brings on more good things. (Mmm-hmm. And sometimes, unicorns f@rt cinnamon-scented rainbows.)


If you want to have some peace and quiet now, the skies support you. (The skies, you say? We find Ourselves somewhat nonplussed.)


(Insert reflection on what a peculiar word “nonplussed” is here.)


Feel free not to say yes to every single invitation, if you don't actually feel like it. (Oh, please. If anyone ever actually invited Us anywhere, We don’t have a thing to wear, We just washed Our hair, there’s no time to Nair™, Fred Astaire, Linda Blair, Sonny and Cher.)


(Oh, shut up.)



(YOUR-O-Scopes:


http://www.humorscope.com


cowgrass tastes good like a cigarette should)