Move faster, clock. Move faster. I need to get through my work day.

In this tasty little teaser interview, Fillion dishes on his love of Halo, messing with fans, and his role as Sergeant Buck in the game.

Which has left me with a bizarre but delicious daydream in which I remake Kill Bill, Vol. 1, but with Buck getting his lips chewed on in a way that he wouldn’t complain about . . .

. . . rowr.

Do you hear me, baby? I miss you. Right now I’m gazing at you, wishing I could put my lips on you and whisper how much I’d love to just eat you up. Lick you. Go crazy and spend a whole night devoted to you.

Sigh. And yet all I can do is look at your sweet face:

It’s not the same. I love you, Jaffa Cakes. I first tasted them in college, and after moving back to the U.S. I made frequent trips to an import shop in Santa Monica just to get them. Gradually I weaned myself off of them, because they were hard to find and making special trips just gets more difficult. But I had some while on my vacation in April and it triggered that deep love. I could run, I could hide, but I could never escape this passion.

And the effing import shop is out. “Probably until Friday.”

Curse you, McVities, for your cruel and unfair failure to expand distribution to North America. Curse you for parting me and my great love.

So why is there so much snot in my nose? Has all the snot in the universe been sucked into a black hole over in the Gamma Quadrant, radiating out through an Einstein-Rosen bridge that has taken up residence in my sinuses, costing me a fortune in Kleenex?

There is no other orifice that behaves this way. If there’s something nasty coming out of you, usually you run out of it quickly and it’s done and over with. But the nose! Ah, the nose. What a miraculous little defier of physics you are.

MAN I hate being sick . . .

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This post contains too much information.

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I’m really not kidding.

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Stop reading now if you’re not prepared for the consequences.

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For serious.

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Okay . . . Just remember, when you get to the end of this and wish that you could bleach your brain cells, that you did this to yourself . . .

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You just had to look, didn’t you? Okay. So today was my second round of laser hair removal. I’m a big fan; the results of just one treatment were awesome and well worth the awkwardness of having a complete stranger handle some of the most sensitive areas on your body with a zapper that feels like a miniature slingshot. It’s really no big deal — the procedure itself takes only a few minutes, and the most important and time consuming part is where I drop by the drug store for some goop and numb up for an hour. It makes the difference between excruciating pain and mild annoyance.

The website for my dermatologist just said “Topical Analgesic.” So I asked the physician at Longs and he said, “okay . . . hmm . . . this should work just fine” and handed me a tube of something with a name that is vaguely familiar. Awesome. So I get to the doctor’s office, open the tube, spread the cream along the ol’ bikini line and . . .

ow ow ow ow Ow Ow Ow Ow OW OW OW OW OWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!

Burn! Bad burn! Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgood. Wipe and wash. Wipe and wash. Ow. Ow. Ow.

wtf?

Label. What is on the flarghing label? Capzasin-P. Topical Analgesic Creme. What is IN this stuff? Ow! Nurse, oh nurse? OWWWWW! She doesn’t know. She’s never seen this stuff. She’s trying not to laugh at me, but not very hard. She’ll go ask the other nurses. Wow. My skin is really red. Thank goodness I managed to get that stuff off so quick or it would have been bad. Wow. Somebody’s laughing out there. Like, loud. More people are laughing. The nurse comes back in and tosses a couple of ice packs at me.

“Okay, so don’t ever ask that pharmacist for advice again. Capsaicin is –”

And now I remember where I know the name from. The Food Network. “– chili peppers,” I say with the nurse. That bastard. He handed me a tube of arthritis ointment that delivers a red hot dose of pepper power deep down in the joints. Strangely enough, this substance does not make an ideal skin numbing cream on those, er . . . sensitive areas. Why wasn’t I smart enough to do the trial round on the pits?

They gave me some ice packs and a tube of real numbing cream, and we were able to move through the always awkward yet thankfully brief procedure by chatting about how disgusted we are with the election and how we couldn’t wait for it to be over. I hardly noticed the smell of char-broiled hair and the sting under my arms. I was just grateful that I no longer had . . . well . . . red hot chili cooch.

Things I learned today?

1. That @#%*! at the pharmacy doesn’t know what he’s talking about
2. Nurses involved in elective cosmetic procedures reserve the right to laugh at their patients
3. Despite coming with a high price tag (cash, pain, my dignity), never having to plan ahead for wearing a swimsuit is well worth it

I told you this post would have too much information.