Look, I haven't got the first clue about how this 'blogging' phenomenon is supposed to work, but in the interest of not having spent the ENTIRETY of my Australia Day holiday mewing about in the emotional complexities of 90's emo ballads and re-watching Clueless with alternate foreign language options, I'm willing to give it a red hot burn. Lemme know when I'm getting warm.

So, let's put it straight out there. Tranquilize and dissect the shit out of that elephant in the room.  Madeline Zima's tits. Yes, I'm SO TOTALLY 2007 but that flawless chronology fits neatly with the last time I left my house, so you can understand my surprise when, praise be to Blockbuster Video and the goddess of lactation, MZ's role in Californication was of a manipulating, trixie li'l bra buster out for blood and Mulder's bitemarks. Oh, can those coquettish eyelash acrobatics for now, I bet you still look good in a school uniform.

Also yesterday at the gym a wasp chased me. CHASED ME. In through the window,  where I was cartoonishly running from it on a treadmill. Wyle E Coyote looked over from his bench press and was embarassed on my behalf. But seriously, hate flying insects. They always make a beeline for me (oh stop).

P.s. happy Australia Day jerks.