Little Red Courgette™

Hello, Ducks!

Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s Daily Horoscope for Monte Hall, November 14, 2011.  Happy birthday to Shaun, who turns twenty-four today, all the way over in London.  England.  The UK.  Or, as We like to call it, the YUK.  Home of fish and chips.  And rugby.  And Prince Harry’s penis.  Sigh.  Also happy birthday to Joe, who also, coincidentally, turns twenty-four today.  In New York City.  The Big Apple.  The City That Never Sleeps.  N-Y-C, what is it about you?  I like the island Manhattan; smoke on your pipe and put that in.  Clearly, Erix Daily Horoscope has Gone Global, George Gobel.  (The first person who makes a fat joke gets stricken from Our Christmas list.)

Micro$oft Weird™, meanwhile, is objecting to the possessive “Harry’s” in the preceding.  How else would you like Us to indicate that it is, in fact, the Prince’s penis, no matter how many people he may periodically lend it to? (Micro$oft Weird™ does NOT object to the possessive “Prince’s”, but that doesn’t really do the job, since, as I’m sure either of them would tell you, Prince Harry’s penis is not Prince William’s, and, conversely, Prince William’s penis is not Prince Harry’s. (Further flummoxing (We love that word) Us is the fact that Micro$oft Weird™ has no problem with the possessive “William’s”; it’s as if they just don’t want poor Prince Harry to have a penis.  Or they want Prince William to have two. (Note to self:  new children’s book:  Prince William Has Two Penises: The Sequel to Heather Has Two Mommies.)))

Whew!  That’s a lotta stuff about penises so early in the morning.  (How much will you pay Us NOT to say, “We love the smell of penis in the morning”? (Actually, you already owe Us for the fact that not once in the preceding paragraph did We so much as mention The Artist Formerly Known As Prince.  (Or his penis.)))

In completely unrelated news, because We are awesome, and, more importantly, have awesome friends, last night We found Ourself at a local food emporium’s Pumpkin Beer Dinner, at which We enjoyed an autumnal four-course dinner accompanied by five different pumpkin-based craft beers.  We would describe it further, but those of you with any sense (and We’re sure you’re both very nice) are already penis-green with envy.

Oooops…did We say “penis” again?  Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad. (What would “penis-green” even be?  We shall offer a prize for the best answer.)

Having had a good time earlier in the evening, We naturally needed to be punished by The Universe, so of course, We woke up in the middle of the night and managed to punch Ourself in the eye as We attempted to pull up Our covers.  Stars were seen.

It came to Our attention that We completely ignored 11/11/11 in its numerological sense.  So We’ve spent the past half hour searching for That Episode of Erix Daily Horoscope in which We collected all extant episodes from dates such as 7/7/7, 8/8/8, 9/9/9, 10/10/10, etc.  Do you think We could find the bloody thing?  No, We could not.  Bugger.  (Another prize for the locator of same.)

So instead, here’s this:

Share it with your goddamn friends, or you’ll wake up and punch yourself in the eye:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzWPpMcE_go

And now, here’s Prince Harry and Prince William, penis-swordfighting with The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. (They teach penis-swordfighting in prince school, you know. (Especially to the princesses.))  Alternatively, here’s the HorrorScope:

You need to get out there and do things  (Way to be specific.)

— it almost doesn’t matter what (If it doesn’t matter, why do it?)

(“Why do it?” was, of course, a slogan rejected by Nike.  Go figger.)

though you should keep it legal. (You, Missy, are the damper on Our fun, the hamper on Our sun, and the poopy Pamper™ on Our bum.  (Somewhere in there is a staggeringly brilliant haiku.  Somebody call up a Chinaman to come ferret it out.))

Your energy is a little down for now, but it’s not good for you to keep it that way.  (Pass Us that crackpipe, Bay-Bee.)

Whatever emotion you feel today should be embraced and celebrated.  (Oh, Ennui, We have missed you so!  Come, let Us clasp you to Our bosom with your companions, Malaise and Melancholy.)

(Is it just US, or is it getting downright fucking poetical in here this morning?)

From elation to depression, everything should be given its fair amount of time. (And they would, if only Tedium didn’t keep getting greedy and taking more than his share.)

  

So don’t suppress that inconvenient attack of the giggles — let it out, and the longer you laugh, the more likely it is that the folks around you will join in.  (One would imagine that that would bode well for this evening’s WaitStaff writers’ meeting.  (Have We mentioned the WaitStaff Christmas show in here lately?  Tuesday, December 20 at 8PM at Helium Comedy Club: The Real Housewives Of South Philly Occupy Christmas.  Tickets can be had here: https://www.seatengine.com/venue/helium-comedy-club/event/897  ))

The same goes for a blue fog that may descend over you in the late afternoon.  (Later that evening, One will enjoy a magenta mist, a violet vapor, a heliotrope haze,  and a cerise smoke.  Hey, just because One is depressed doesn’t mean One ceases to be gay.)

 Let yourself feel these emotions — it’s the healthiest way to get through them.  (Actually, We are pretty sure that a rousing penis-swordfight would also do the trick.)

Meditate today on what you want from your next relationship. (Did We not just say “a rousing penis swordfight”?  Why do you never listen to Us?)

Do you want something casual and fun? (Well, We’ve certainly never had a FORMAL penis swordfight.  Or, for that matter, one that wasn’t fun.)

Or maybe you’re ready for a serious commitment?  (Hmmm…penis swordfighting in straightjackets…now THERE’S a pixture!)

Weigh your options carefully and proceed with an open mind.  (Our mind is wide open and fully dilated.  Presumably that’s why things keep falling out of it.)

 (Your YOUR-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com)

                            

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

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.

Bye Bye Bye

Greetings, Erogenous Reflux Immobilizes Concubine---

Here is your horoscope for Thursday, August 12, 2010 (Every so often, We are right about something.  Unfortunately, this happens with exactly enough regularity to keep Us encouraged.  Consequently, We keep trying sh1t, instead of going permanently back to bed.):

(Speaking of bed, We had two very long and involved dreams last night.  We won’t go on at length, except to say that, in one, We were having a snowball fight.  In the other, We were the RA for a co-ed college freshmen dorm.  Neither, as you might imagine, turned out well.)

(Hmm.  Our attention keeps being diverted by bright shiny Internetz.)

(Whatever you do, don’t go look at this video, or tell your friends about it:

)

 (Our Our-O-Scope:)

After an especially hectic period, (That’s HAPPY period.  Have a HAPPY period.  Who the h3ll says “have a hectic period”?  What does that even MEAN? Change your tampon every five minutes whether it needs it or not?  Why not “have an eclectic period”…wear a tampon and a maxipad that don’t match.  Or “have an electric period”…pop a couple of flashlight batteries on up in there. Or “have a dyslexic predio”.)

(Wow.  That’s a whole lotta stuff about c00ter so early in the morning.  So any of all y’all havin’ your periods?  Much like roommates, scientific studies show that Erix Daily Horoscope readers’ periods wind up in synch.  (No word on what ‘N Sync’s periods are doing.  But We hear Justin Timberlake is having a heavy flow day.))

(Okay, now We’re really gonna stop.)

it's high time (And Us, without a doobie.)

you spent some quality time alone with you. (Kiss Us quick, We’re Greta Garbo.)

(This is Us, pausing politely while the youngsters go Google Greta Garbo on Wikipedia to figger out what the h3ll We’re talking about. (“Go Google Greta Garbo” is, of course, the title of ‘N Sync’s comeback hit, following the disappointingly dismal failure of their previous effort, “Go Gargle George Gobel”.))

(Seriously, you WISH you could spend a week’s vacation in Our mind.  And hey, the rates are reasonable, it’s fully furnished, and there’s a water slide.)

Tend to your nest, (Chew up some worms, then vomit them down your kids’ throats. (Werd pixtures…We paintz them.))

order some take-out (Yes, but, see, “take-out” (or, for Our British friends, “take-away”) is only really take-out (or, for Our British friends, take-away) if you call up (or, for Our British friends, ring up) and place an order, then go your own self and take said order out of (or, for Our British friends, take said order away from) the food emporium in question.  If you sit on your fat lazy @ss and have your order brought to you by a Chinaman on a bicycle (does anyone else get disturbed when a Chinaman on a bicycle brings your pizza?), it should really be called “bring-out” (or, for Our British friends, “bring-away”.  Or actually, more accurately, “bring-to”.  The entire industry could be renamed “ring-and-bring”. And the Chinaman could be called Hop Sing.  The advertising jingle practically writes itself.)

(Meanwhile, do We even HAVE British friends?)

 and soak your poor tired feet. (For some reason, this last bit immediately conjured up a pixture of Us p1ssing on Our own feet.  The only shred of consolation in THAT image is that at no point did We imagine hiring someone to do it for Us.)

If you speak to anyone now, (And that’s a mighty big if.)

it better be someone with extremely sympathetic ears. (Who cares about their ears if they don’t have a sympathetic mouth to match?)

(Did that sound dirty?)

 If you're out to woo someone, (“Woo”?)

they don't stand a chance of resisting you (No, seriously…”woo”?)

-- whether they've been with you for thirty years or thirty minutes.  (We’re pretty sure “woo” is Chinamanese for “p1ss on your own d@mn feet…me ride-ee bicycre”.)

(“Chinamanese”.  Heh.  We kill Us.)

You're not feverish or achy. (We are, however, creepy and kooky, mysterious and spooky, and altogether ooky. (Awww…did We just get The Addams Family theme song stuck in your head for the rest of the day?  Too bad, so sad, @nal s3x with your dad.))

You just know you need to stay home today. (And yet, somehow We just know We’re gonna wind up going somewhere.)

Good luck with that. (Is that any way to send Us off into the world?)

(Your Euro-O-Scopes:

http://www.humorscope.com

Their house is a museum; when people come to see ‘em, it really is a scree-um, the Cowgrass Family. (Heh. Heh. Heh.))