Happy Fathers Day, you domesticated savages. I hope this update of Misty Lovelace makes you realize that our time in this dimension is limited. Essentially, I am writing this to nobody. Let's face it, we are all dead people walking our dead dogs, admiring the dead trees. Your countdown has begun. One subtracted from the finite number of breaths that your lungs will ever breath. Another. Get moving. You're not as flexible as you used to be.

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