I have classified documents in my house. On one of my road trips a few years back, I stopped in Vegas and hit up my favorite bar at the Flamingo. Hunter Biden was there drunk, surrounded by hookers and hanger-ons, passing out documents with big red letters at the top that screamed Classified! Said he found them in his dad's garage.

I can't say specifically what was in the two that I got, because, you know, they're classified. But I can hint that one discussed aliens, and the other shed light on the Kennedy assignation.

OK, just kidding, don't want the Feds showing up at my door! But it's a totally feasible scenario.

Daniel was over last night, and we were talking favorite female singers. The first one out of his mouth was Megan Trainer, OK. We then started using Alexa, his Goggle shit on his phone, my ChatGPT site, and our memories, to conjure up our favorite female singer.

Armed with a giant TV with a kickass soundbar, and a YouTube search engine, we explored our favorites. If we could not remember an artist, we used Alexa or ChatGPT to remind us.

We played Megan, sweet and sings good. Then we moved to Stevie Nicks. I told him the time my sister bought me, Steph and Riley front row seats to Fleetwood Mac in Oakland, CA. She's amazing.

He considers Miley Cyrus a whore, I don't. I love her music and her style. So here we are at a standstill.

My final vote goes to Jennifer Nettles of SugarLand. Her song Something More was Stephs and my theme song leaving Kent Washington, down to a new life in Idaho.

This is my blog, so I win...