Sting’s Seven Days in on Pandora.
I’m buzzed and shredded. If I count correctly, we’ve had 60 degree days twice in each of the last three weeks, which I have used to great advantage.
My return to Liberty has aspects of Chevy Chase in Funny Farm. Two months ago, I raked leaves in the front of the house to the curb for pickup. Workers walked over those leaves since, retrieving those I’d bagged and put out on the walk.
Yesterday, I bagged them. The next door neighbor walked by and said the town was gonna pick them up, and I said, “Yeah, but when?
I shipped this morning, tarped the fun machine and drove the truck to Lowe’s, picked up more pavers and treated 2×2’s for the flower boxes. I put out the pavers in back of the He-Man Woman Hater’s Clubhouse and devised a method to begin constructing flower boxes from the boards of the demolished deck. At 18 X 18 x 36, they require around 400 inches, and I have enough to make eight, should I live so long. The Wife has some green and purple stain leftover from the seven I made her, so that is what they’ll look like.
The Wife barely noticed this morning when I announced that Brexit and Trump’s victories were data-driven using psychometrics and spelled the end for non-specific advertising. BHMG just pitched another round of targeted online ads, so she’ll go with that and Adsense until the people who put Trump in office are ready to sell her ads on Facebook.
I’m pretty much walking on air, what with Trump making nice with Putin last week, the knowledge that the Orange One is actually an incredibly disciplined data-driven politician of the future, and knocked one out of the park yesterday with his SCOTUS nomination.
The Libtards should be a little less butt hurt today after learning they got run over by the Facebook psychometric truck on its way to perfecting advertising. It’s almost as miraculous as Hari Seldon developing Psychohistory. Speaking of Asimov, I work with a robot everyday. Her name is Peggy because she has no legs other than the ones I gave her, no arms and no head. Regardless, I am quite aware of the insults she feels from wearing things she doesn’t like. Peggy’s our most valued employee. She never complains and is always there when required. I don’t even know if she has a family.
Just when I’d begun to think Facebook was a total fucking waste of time, it turns out to be the engine of political destiny and advertising Nirvana. Apparently, my choices define me and I’m OK with that.
Johannes Linstead on Pandora.