The birds sing the song of the day; the crickets sing the song of the night.

Sia's crackling voice does not sound good. "Yeah I heard you were a wild one. oOoooOoooohhhh"

Things are happening with my father-in-law right now. We're praying him into the kingdom. Tonight, I sent a pivotal text message. A long one. The first one. It was masterful, probably spirit influenced. And I could have left the part in where I called him a fucking asshole, amongst adjurations that we should as men be able to call each other assholes sometimes. Again, it was masterful. And I hit send and now the ball is on his side of the table. I should add that we don't really talk in person. This is some special ops shit.

We're either going to war, or it was a pep talk. Not much room in between.

Those fucking bitches in Google music are using your offline mixtape to feed you new music and measure whether you like it or not. Those fucking niggards dude.

There was an author that said: the secret recipe is already perfect. It can't be improved on in any way. And that is how I think the inventor of TheraBreath mouthwash must have felt at some point. Because, the original flavor is genuinely the best. Not sure why the other ones exist. Marketing I guess...

It seems plausible to suspect that one or more free image hosting web sites are three letter acronym owned and operated.

I'm realizing now that underwear was invented to fundamentally keep dust from falling into your balls.

As I take off my boots and the soaked pant legs descend on the once warm fabric of my socks, and dry too, ... I now realize how good these boots are.

I feel like I need multiple noster identities so no one can correlate some of my shitposts with some of my other shiftposts.