Favstar gets even better if you sign in.
Don't "organize" the cabinets if you don't cook. I just got lost in fucking Narnia looking for the goddamned Goldfish crackers.
I have a kind heart. Sure, I'll fucking set you on fire but at least I'll call you an ambulance afterwards.
I'd never make it out of plumbing school. Ball cock, holding nuts, caulk. I'd stroke out from holding my adolescent giggles in.
If your kids don't eat animal shaped food items head first, waste 'em and start over. It's a sign of poor survival skills.
Sliced strawberries look like tiny, little elf cunts.
OK,I promise to never Twittercide again. Do I get my shoe laces and belt back yet? If I don't autoerotic asphyxiate every 2 hours, I twitch.
Crazy? I'll show you fucking crazy. Gimme ten years and I'll be my mother. That bitch INVENTED fuckin' crazy. (I can't wait!)
I am not participating in this "sub-tweet" bullshit because I'm not passive aggressive cunt like some bitches I happen to know...
A broken heart is not the end, but a beginning...of a really sloppy, drunken, rage fueled plea for your life back.
I like it here. I can fabricate a functioning, intelligent, healthy version of myself. I don't, but I could if I wanted to.
My 12 year old cousin just drew a Hitler 'stache on her grandfather while he was napping. The douche is strong in this one.
Cold hands, warm cunt.
My family reunions look like a Rikers island Tweet-Up.
You call it child abuse, I call it one on one dodge ball where I win every time.
Five minutes back on twitter and my soul hangs up a "Gone Fishin'" sign...
Dear Commercial With Loud Doorbell Noise, I have a dog. Fuck you. Fuck you so hard.
I bet if that Duggar chick used her monster meat wallet to smuggle Mexicans in she wouldn't need to make her own hideous clothes.
Just knowing that I can still flush a toilet with one foot makes me feel secure in my decision to continue living.
Some days, I wonder if my daughter is payback for all the horrible things I've done in my life. Right now, I'm certain.
Wandering back into Twitter feels a lot like falling down the rabbit hole, only greasier. With more mind altering substances.
Police told me to stop screaming out of my window at passersby, so here I am cunts!