@Gwog's most faved Tweets...
20th HS reunion was this weekend; looking at people's pics on FB. Nice to know the weird guy married someone hot. And didn't go. And is me.
A buddy just gave me an antique flask. This is a problem. A "if you give a guy a hammer, he'll start looking for nails" kind of problem.
My kids don't realize how lucky they are to have been *put* to bed tonight rather than *stapled* to bed.
I like when people vigorously defend their love of Nickelback. Especially if they gesticulate.

They're easier to see through the scope.
If there really was a God, Twitter stars would stick and Facebook apps wouldn't.
To do list: 1. Make a sign about having lost voice. 2. Practice frown. 3. Practice irritated finger jab. 4. Frown, and jab finger at sign.
Got 25 stars just today... but on 8 different tweets. Focus, people.
Today a MILFy neighbor rested her crotch on the front bar of her bike and gently rocked back and forth while we talked. That image: a gift.
A rapper insulting a pop country singer on MTV is like the trifecta of don't-give-a-shit.
"Hey boy, you sure got a perty mouth."

Not the smartest ringtone I could have chosen.
Perhaps the best part of having a shaved head is how well the "Let me get some FUCKING WORK DONE" post-it sticks to the back of it.
They could easily combine all these blood donor questions into one; "Have you done anything remotely fun since 1977?"
We ended up talking mostly about me at the meeting last night. God, those people were so interesting!
Dirty Jobs, my ass. I'd like to see that pussy Mike Rowe try cleaning the sink drain in my kids' bathroom.
Anyone else ever worry that there might really be a God and that he's way more concerned about brushing and flossing than we thought?
You've got to question the nature of modern business when so much of it can be conducted using a cellphone while sitting on the toilet.
Attention, old people that pass me going up the fucking mountain: You are OLD, please act accordingly.
Man, Gibbs is 37. I'm 37. He'll be working in the White House, I'm in a tiny closet with three other guys always talking about poop.
Aah, leftovers. It's a little-known fact that the word comes from the Latin word for "fuck this, I'm getting something off the lunch truck."
Thumbing through my closet, I think I'll choose "Shitty with a Chance of Fuckballs" as today's attitude.
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