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(Dammit. I can never remember if you're more of a "what's the background story here" person or a "zombie garden gnome" person. If you're the former, check here. If you're the latter, check here. Frankly, I'm both. Then again, I'm awesome).
I'm particularly excited about this batch of photos from camera chameleon Frosty. You might think that's because there's a photo in there of our mutual mate Threadrock singing up his reproductive organs.
That is exciting, but no.
Then you might think (and you're really doing an unnecessary amount of thinking about this, by the way) that I'm excited because of that shot where you go "oh, look, it's a flame OH MY GOD THERE'S A FACE BEHIND IT AND IT CAN SEE DIRECTLY INTO MY SOUL".
Wrong again.
You might think I'm excited because I have an unnatural and very private shoelace fixation.
Nup.
I'm excited because one of these photographs is totally of my handbag.*
Enjoy. And yes, you can borrow it.
*
No, silly. Frosty isn't my handbag. He's more my bitch.
I've been crap, haven't I.
Inconsistent blog updates with eons between them. I know. I know.
And I'm sorry.
Well, as sorry as a self-indulgent brat with delusions of grandeur can be, anyway.
The kind of sorry that could kick your arse in a cage fight, if it could be bothered getting off the couch and into its cage fighting... what, leotard? I don't know. But anyway, my sorry would be wearing a cup. And a leotard. And hell, a glitter-wig, because my sorry RULES.
There's some good stuff coming, but. Rumour has it that Australia is apparently looking for its next top something something, so I figure I might take a mild, back-seated interest in that eventually.
In the meantime, feel free to join me listening to the sound of my own voice on Twitter and also see what Mrs Woog from Woogsworld and I look like when we're being Agnetha and Frida. We made it as authentic as possible. They have martinis in Sweden, right?
