There’s no point sugarcoating this and act like a hypocrite, so let’s get straight to it: I hate Bindi Irwin. Okay, okay, maybe “hate” is a strong word. Hell, I don’t even know the kid. But something about her just makes me want to pour acetone all over my TV and then bust out a flamethrower. Of course, I don’t own a flamethrower and my TV is kind of expensive, so I’ll stick to blogging for now.

Today is Bindi’s 11th birthday. I couldn’t give a fuck, but there she was anyway when I opened my laptop, right in the latest news popup app.

Yeah, I’m totally using the most unflattering picture I could possibly find, so what?

She’s kind of like Ned Flanders on crack and I can’t help but cringe as soon as she opens her mouth. Today’s birthday celebration included all the ingredients:

- khaki shirt and bottom
- 80’s pig tails
- cheesy thumbs up pose
- Terri, her pimp mom, to orchestrate the whole thing
-  at least one microphone was involved

She’s so corny it hurts.