Hello, Mon Bebes

   Sincerest apologies for paucity of posts the last while, I've been terribly boring. Unless you want to read about my adventures in artificial sweetener, in which case I invite you over post-haste for coffee and chats.
   I'll just drop in a cursory "fuck" and then I'm off again, but I do promise a fairly meaty post with heartfelt expletives, some dallying in the realm of hairdressing stories, and explanations for my absence of late. Sufficed to say, I am wallowing the fuck out of my martyrdom right now as I find myself at the ugly end of a fairly shit stick, and this precludes me writing and/or functioning like a normal, non self-centred human being for the moment. There may have been an inhalation of a cupcake, half a wheel of plastic Camembert and some Chinese food involved in this wallowing, so you should understand that at best I'm only about a third of the way through my required self-pity food consumption. I think Monday I shall go spend all of my monies buying clothes I don't need and hairstyling implements I'll never use.


   All of the above said in a fair amount of humour, but just quickly: fuck everything. Fuck it all right in the neck, and bring on the daiquiris.

  
   With that out of the way, allow me to leave you Hellboy Mario to look at so you know I still care. I show my affection in measured instalments of pop-culture parodies, apparently.

   Oh, and please have Benedict Cumberbatch bathed, powdered and sent to my room immediately. That combined with some left-over garlic bread might just eke me forward towards my wallowing quota.