Favstar gets even better if you sign in.
One hour into Nanowrimo in my timezone. Will delete Twitter app. See you in 30 days or maybe not. Cold turkey, fellow addicts, cool poultry.
I need to keep my Nanowrimo participation a secret from my wife. Otherwise it'll be, "You've got time to write?" & a Bible-thick chore list.
I can hear the bongs of Big Ben in this Amsterdam cafe.
I can place the blame on global warming for virtually every single one of my problems.
After I die, my children will inherit my followers.
Whaddya mean my condom is a rubber thimble?
Balding men, instead of being gentle with your scalp, you must masturbate your head with vigor, get the blood flowing--a thick pubic forest.
Shhh. Be vewy vewy quiet, I'm hunting wetweets... huh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-uh.
The year I retired as a physician I delivered 360 doses of a flu vaccine-lysergic acid diethylamide cocktail to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
I clicked on the Favstar trophy for your tweet, even though I'm no longer a member.
It's the thought that counts.
I've been waiting a long time for the front-laced jeans to make a comeback.
May you all get rocks for Halloween.
Every year I learn a new dance move based upon the Peanuts characters' stage boogie in A Charlie Brown Christmas.
Is it a Favstar trophy or is it 2 pandas with a leaf on each of their foreheads staring lustfully into each other's eyes?
I was just about to buy controlling interest in Twitter, but Suze Orman denied me.