Showing posts with label Greta Garbo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Greta Garbo. Show all posts

Monday, August 18, 2014

On the cover of a magazine






Hello, Ducks!




Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for JustAnotherMundaneMonday, August Eighteenst, 2014.




Happy birthday to Frank, who turns twenty-four today right here in The City Of Brotherly Love Handles.



Happy belated birthday, meanwhile, to Hannah, and Lane, and Sarah, each of whom turned twenty-four over the weekend.



We are currently in the sign of Leo, which contains, amongst other things, the highest percentage of sexxxy-assz mens in the zodiac.  Our Leo video is above, and here is the link with which you may place it on the SitOnMyFaceBook pages of your friends having Leonine birthdays: http://youtu.be/6kCzNp1JtDo



So We ran the show at the Murder Mystery Factory this weekend in Our one and only training day for Our New Position Of More Responsibility That We Don’t Really Want But It Will Pay Us A Lot More Money.



Sigh.



In related news, We will soon have Our September performance schedule available for YouPeople to resoundingly ignore a la Our August performance schedule.



In Our very next e-pissode, We will begin sharing Our Fringe attendance schedule and trolling for dates…lucky you, TWO things you can resoundingly ignore.



In advance of that, however, you may pencil in Friday, September 5 for Our opening night at The WaitStaff Sh!ts The Bed, which We directed and wrote sketches for, at 8:00 at L’Etage.  We will be there that night, barring unforeseen difficulties at the Murder Mystery Factory, and We hope you will be too.



Other shows We will be attending (no dates yet (or, presumably, EVER, depending on your definition of “dates” (heh…see what We did there?))), include Truth Be Told’s Bent and Tribe of Fools’ Two Street.



Coincidentally, both of these productions are currently fundraising, so if you happen to have a mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound with which you know not what to do, you could donate them here:






or here: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/two-street   ... for Two Street.



(Is it wrong that We are now imagining how it would be so much more convenient for Us (it being, of course, All About Us) if they were (subjunctively) to combine these two productions into one?  Gay Mummers Go To Dachau has a nice ring to it, no?)



Now here’s a random thing that has been bothering Us (is anyone else picturing Andy Rooney in drag right now?  Just Us?  Alrighty, then.)…



Long-term Gentle Readers who are at all acquainted with Us will know just how much We love and respect the autistic…er, artistic endeavors of geriatric gay pop icon McDonna (here’s a hint for the rest of you: NOT MUCH).  


Consequently, We rarely mention Madge the Menopausal Manicurist within these pages.  And indeed, the screed upon which We are about to embark has only tangentially to do with HerSelf…



Here We go:



Upon the recent death of Lauren Bacall, “journalists” rushed forward to announce that the last of the film icons namedropped by McDonna in “Vogue” had now shuffled off this mortal coil.



(We will not be listing all of these icons here, as We would then have to index them, and Our Google-Blog-O-Tron only permits Us 200 characters of indexing per entry.)



It is worth noting, however, that at the time of Vogue’s release, said icons were divided almost equally between living and dead.  (It is even more worth noting that, a mere month after the song’s release, Greta Garbo promptly dropped dead, presumably of horror.)



Our point, however, is that, since the death of Marlon Brando in 2004, Lauren Bacall was the only Vogue-namedropped icon still alive (until last week).  So, for all We know, those articles about Vogue that have been cluttering up the InterNetz since her demise could have been written TEN YEARS AGO.  


Indeed, it is within the realm of possibility that some of the people who WROTE said articles may now be dead.



Journalism is hard.




And heeeeerrrre’s the HorrorScope:



We have just learned that it is Shelley Winters’ birthday.  We are hereby declaring a national holiday.



Namaste, MotherFuckers.



In gaseousness,


Starzina Starfish-Browne

(Your Your-O-Scopes:

 (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.


                                                                                                                                     

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

How do you think he does it? I don’t know.





Hello, Ducks!





Starzina Starfish-Browne here with your Eric’s! Daily! Horoscope! for WinesDay, September 18rd , 2013.  Happy Birthday to OurAmericanCousin Lizzie, who does NOT turn twenty-four today.  In Texas.  Where all Our exes drive their Lexuses to cineplexes. (We are a poet, but We are unaware of it.)  Happy Birthday also to Dan, who also does NOT turn twenty-four today, right here in The City That Loves You (On Your) Back. Also too, Happy Birthday to Nick, who MIGHT turn twenty-four today.  Of course, he also might not.  We simply don’t know.  We also dinna ken.  (No, seriously…We never laid a hand on Ken, during dinna or otherwise.)




(As you can plainly see, the humor in here this morning has skipped past Fast & Furious 7, 8, 9, and 10, and is now all the way up to Fast & Furious Fifteen. (And We will also have you know that, in the interest of accuracy, We Googled Fast &Furious on Wikipedia so We would know how many there really are.  (There’s a brain cell We’ll never get back.)))




What, you might wonder, are all these youngsters doing having their birthdays here at Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope!?  We have no idea, but, lest We be accused of Corrupting The Morals Of Minors, We shall probably have to watch Our fucking language.




(Dan, if you’ve made it this far, We still have your photos, and would love to have a drink and get them back to you.)




Okay, no more fooling around.  Every time We mention Our show, many of you look as blank as you look when We mention Our having Justin Bieber’s love child.  (Have you heard that he’s gonna be Robin in the new Batman/Superman gay porn fillum?) Go get your tickets RIGHT NOW for Looking for Uranus: Starzina Starfish-Browne’s Comeback Tour.  There are three shows remaining, tonight and Thursday at 8PM, and Sunday at 7PM at Café Nola, and you can either buy tickets in advance or at the door:





If you are buying tickets at the door tonight, We will give you a five dollar discount if you say “Too bad, so sad, anal sex with your dad” (or, alternatively, if you say, “I read Eric’s!Daily!Horoscope!”




Thank you, meanwhile, to everyone who has come to see Our show so far, and to all of Our generous supporters.




Speaking of G-strings, it occurs to Us that We have been remiss in not re-sharing Our other Virgo video with you, the one with the hawtt almost-nekkid angel in it.  So here ya go:




 


And here is the HorrorScope:




In celebrity birthdays today, We could be sad about James Gandolfini, or mad about Lance Armstrong.    We could make an “I vant to be alone” joke for Greta Garbo, or marvel that James Marsden is forty.  But, more important than any of those things, celebrating her NINETY-SIXTH birthday today is Ms. June Foray, the voice of Rocket J. Squirrel in Rocky and Bullwinkle.




It’s one of those days when you’ve got to lie low. (We’re sorry, but the phrase “lie low” has now been retired, due to its unfortunate connection with Lindsay Lohan, aka LiLo.  Please hang up, and try your party again later.)




Try to take the day off, if possible — though you may find that harder than usual, as your conscience pesters you to take care of business.  (We’re doing a show tonight.  It’s not like We have an understudy.)




The best thing about good karma  (Is that, with every fifth karma, you get a chameleon?)




coming back to you is that you’ve earned your good fortune, so you don’t need to feel guilty for enjoying it. (Or that.)




But when you get some big-time karma payback today, (Is it just Us, or does “big-time karma payback” sound more like a threat than a promise?)




spread the blessings around. (We shall spread those blessing like LiLo’s legs.)




You’re blessed with so many wonderful things right now — you can afford it. (Oh, please. We can’t even afford to pay attention.)





(Sorry…what?)





So if a rock-star parking space opens up, let the driver behind you have it.  (As all-powerful as We would like to imagine that We are, We fail to see how We could take it from him (or her). What with Our not having a car, and all.)




(AssHat.)




If you find a couple of bucks on the street, (Is it deer season yet?)




leave them in a friendly barista’s tip jar. (We’re not exactly sure what a barista is, so We’re just gonna assume it’s a Latino bartender.  Named Ramon.  Who’s not wearing shirt.)




(Oh, is Kelli still talking?)




 Keep the good karma flowing.  (It is a karmic heavy flow day.  The fucking chameleons are swimming for their lives.)




Try group activities — turning that blind date into a double date, (Alternatively, turning it into a deaf, dumb, and blind date who sure plays a mean pin ball.)




 or organizing a casual happening (Um, Kelli?  1975 called, and it wants its “casual happening” back.)




with a bunch of single friends — takes the pressure off, and increases your fun by quite a bit.  (Is it just Us, or does the phrase “increases your fun” not sound particularly like any fun?)






In gaseousness,


Starzina Starfish-Browne




(Your Your-O-Scopes:


(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.

                                                                                                                                     

Thursday, August 12, 2010

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