I’m not much to look at, folks. Erica likes me, but there’s something wrong with her. In just the right way, mind you, but still, she be broken.

Every part of me is off by just a little bit in either the X, the Y, the Z, or two of those axes. Never all three at once, and never none.

But none of these things are why I’m at the keyboard right now. I’m here tell you one thing, and one thing only: fucking hell I’m having a good hair day.