Oh, so it's YOUR fault!

[slipjig3]

So after many, many years of trying to fathom the endless fever parade of loons and featherheads that took it upon themselves to call me at the phone company day in and day out and spit forth whatever random neural firings were keeping them from their precious beauty sleep, I finally discover the answer: It's Miranda July's fault.

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The painful truth begins around the 1:42 mark. Yes, I have a total art-crush on you, Miranda, but please, dear heart, stop instigating.