I met the Devil in Poughkeepsie, New York

Hello, Ducks!

Before We begin e-pisstling all over your petunia patch (and before We begin the beguine, because nothing says “Dear Jeebus, you’re GAY” like knowing who Cole Porter is), from The Department Of People On The WorldWideInterWebNetz Who Actually Give A Shit About Us, please note that Our beloved colleague and future ex-cyberhusband AstroGeek, who looks damn good in a leather thong (We assume (thereby shoving Uma Thurman up Hume Cronyn’s ass), as We have no photographic evidence of same), is peddling his papayas at a new InterWebNetzian address, to wit, here: http://sett.com/astrogeek895/ .  He is extremely well-versed in cosmic orbs of all sizes, colors, and weights, and knows, dare We say it, even more about Uranus than We do, so do please go and check him out.

Tell him Starzina sent you…maybe he’ll show you his thong.

And now, today’s e-pissode.  Brought to you by Zombie’s Eve™…for that not-so-fresh, rotting-flesh feeling.

(Did We just do a zombie joke?  It’s a cry for help, people!  (At least it wasn’t a FUNNY zombie joke…))

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for WinesDay, October 2^th, 2013.  Happy birthday to Susan, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back.  Also, Happy Birthday to Dean, who also turns twenty-four today, also right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.

In further-flung news, Happy Birthday also to Davon, who turns twenty-four today in New York.  New York, New York, that is.  Davon and We were, apparently, in a student fillum together once.  Although that is another thing of which We have no photographic evidence.  One wonders how these fillum students ever learn anything, when they never seem to finish their fillums.  Sigh.

Also, last but not Lee Strasberg, Happy Birthday to CuteBoyInTights, all the way out in The Windy City.

In other news of importance (as opposed to other news of imPOtence) We are  remounting (ooooohhhh!) Our show, LOOKING FOR URANUS: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour, the best-kept secret of the 2013 Philadelphia Fringe Festival, so that everyone who was too busy Fringing can have a chance to see it.  So get your tickets now, kidz; We’re doing it one night only, Sunday, October 13 at 7:30 at L’Etage:

http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/478137

And here is the HorrorScope:

In celebrity birthdays, Mahatma Gandhi was born today.  As was Sting.  (Were We the only one who didn’t realize that they were two different people?)  Also, Kelly Ripa and Groucho Marx were born today; you will, of course, remember them from their talk show, Groucho and Kelly.

It’s a day of routines for you and your people  (Oh, damn…and here, We left Our baton in Geometry class.)

— but try not to grumble or express your boredom. (We do not GRUMBLE.  People might not HEAR Us.)

It’s a great time to get things done, and there’s really only one way to do that effectively.  (An Uzi.  Or a flamethrower.  Oh, wait…that’s TWO ways.)

Today you should put ‘good conversation’ at the top of your priority list!  (And here, We’ve already put “cunning linguist”.  But that’s sort of the same thing right?  Speaking in tongues…)

But in order to make it happen, you have to be ready to take things to a deeper level than you usually do — with people you don’t usually talk to. (Okay, now We’re bored.)

Small talk is for small minds, right now, and since you certainly are not one of those, why not prove it? (Never mind.)

(See, that right there?  Was an existential joke.  (Existential jokes are the kind that aren’t funny.  (Well, ONE of the kinds.  Also, zombie jokes.)))

Instead of asking about someone’s weekend, ask them how they feel about, say, international politics. (Or, say, the International House of Pancakes.)

You might get an odd look, (Wait…We could look odder than THIS?!?)

but you’ll also get great insight into another person.  (A chainsaw has that same effect.)

A snap judgment could close off an avenue that is much better left wide open.  (And a snapping turtle could make soup.)

Just ask one more question, or give them one more chance — even if they’re not quite right, they can introduce you to the one. (Yeah. ‘Cause that? ALWAYS happens.)

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.

                                                                                                                                     

Message in a (Geritol™) bottle…

Greetings, Effortless Regurgitation Inconveniences Contortionist---



Here is your horoscope for Monday, May 03, 2010 (Aaaaannnnddd We’re back. Didja miss Us? Yeah, We can tell, from the voluminous outpouring of expressions of dismay and concern at Our absence. Absence, of course, makes you shart Jane Fonda. (We do not have the intestinal fortitude to sit here and define “shart” for all y’all, so just pretend you understand.) We were off celebrating the anniversary of Our nativity with fambly. But We are back to Eric’s Daily Horoscope, just in time to wish a happy belated birthday to Chris, who turned twenty-four yesterday. (We are not sure exactly how one is “in time” to wish a happy BELATED birthday, but We’re pretty sure there’s a time machine involved.)):


(Before We begin, a little musical interlude, courtesy of a brother across the pond, in honor of the pope’s visit to the UK. This is totally not safe for work (well, not TOTALLY…no one’s n@ked in it. Or, if they are, they’re a cartoon), and you will have to listen very carefully to hear all of the lyrics (which are very clever, beyond the vulgarity). But it’s a perky, toe-tapping little ditty, perfect for a dreary Monday morning):




(As far as this particular installment of Eric’s Daily Horoscope goes, this may be a long one (that being, of course, what she said). We are awaiting delivery of a printer from Staples. Who have free delivery. What they don’t tell you is, their delivery is by UPS, whose idea of a “delivery window” is “between 9AM and 7PM”. If We are still sitting here at 7PM, We’d better be answering Our door to a tight brown uniform containing one Johnny Depp, with a cocktail in one hand and a bl0wj0b in the other. Seriously.)



(We could relate another anecdote involving a hunky repairman (a locksmith) with whom We were forced to consort on Thursday evening when We were supposed to be packing for Our departure, but since We realize in hindsight that at no point was his key in Our keyhole, We shan’t (which is totally (totes mcgotes) different than “shart”) take up your precious time.)


(Our Our-O-Scope.)


Feel that sting on your skin? (Not Sting, Johnny Depp! Jeebus, don’t you ever listen?)


It's not a sunburn, and it's not a flush either. (Oh, great. Flesh-eating bacteria again? Sigh…just when Our leprosy had cleared up.)


It's the spotlight. (Curses! Foiled by a simple declarative sentence! Our funnyz, they fail Us.)


Whatever you say, do, dream or imagine will cause quite the public commotion. (It puts the commotion on its skin, so come on come on and do the locomotion with me.)


(We’ll take “Pop Culture In The Blender” for $500, Alex.)


Fortunately, (People always say that. But We have yet to see a fortune.)


you'll just so happen to have the right speech prepared for the occasion. (Four score and seven deadly sins, ask not why your country has tea for two, we have nothing to fear but ferret’s elf…wow. Some of those old famous speeches were really stupid, no? People would apparently listen to any old thing before they had WorldWideInterWebnetz.)


Ahem! (Ahoy! Alas! Alack! Abortion clinic!)


(Micro$oft Weird™ would like you all to know that “Abortion clinic!” is a sentence fragment. You’re welcome.)


(In random other news, We spoke to Our friend John G on the phone last night. We bring this up only because We subsequently had a dream in which he and We were hosting the Oscars™. Bizarre, no?)


You're not imagining it. (Don’t you tell Us what We’re imagining!)


Everyone is, indeed, smiling at you. (Well, of course they are. They are also backing away slowly, while speaking in a calm, soothing voice. None of it’s gonna help ‘em, but whatevs.)


Don't question it, but do be merciful. (Kiss Us quick, Our name is Ming. (Did anyone actually get that? Who ARE YouPeople?))


Smile back. (Smoke cr@ck, shoe black, bring sexy back, knick-knack-paddy-whack give a dog a boner.)


You don't have to give them your number. (Well, of course not. What’s a dog gonna do with Our number? On the other hand, a dog will know EXACTLY what to do with a boner. Dogs are funny that way. Not, of course, so much, “Funny: arf-arf” as “Funny: bet you wish you could lick YOUR own ballz.”)


Have your competitors (Wait…people are competing with Us? To win what, exactly?)


met at the door by someone (Where do We find these “someones” who will do Our bidding?)


to gently inform them that this just isn't the best day to compete with you. (This is apparently not the best day for much of anything, except sitting around waiting for the UPS guy to show up. And you just know that, with Our luck, when he finally does show up, he’s gonna be a l3sbian.)


Handing out flowers might soften the blow even further. (And throwing out handj0bs might harden them up for the bl0wj0b. What’s your point?)






(Your YOUR-O-Scopes:






http://www.humorscope.com




raise your hands, raise your hands if you’re cowgrass)