Self diagnosis does lead to self medication.

I'll have my cat follow your cat.

Twitter. Because I need semi permanent evidence of my emotional damage.

I'm that bitch who changes the radio station when she gets in your car.

Porn. Bacon. Nutella. Insomnia. Weed.

To the bitch who stole my lighter: Please just return it unharmed. No questions asked.

I thoroughly enjoy clicking the Follow button.

Holy shit... 500 followers. And I didn't suck a single dick to make it happen.

The secret to getting more followers:
Be soft, sexy and seriously fucking high.

I only needed three tries to get that reply exactly the way I want it... I am obviously winning at Twitter.

If I had a dollar for every time I heard someone say, "You look tired," I could afford to go somewhere far, far away from those people.

If I ever did fuck someone I met on Twitter, I would probably be compelled to roll over and tweet about it.

I think it's time we all got high. I won't take no for an answer... #puffpuffpass

Watch me scratch the fuck out of your furniture, because I am a strong independent... kitteh... and no one can take that away.

Fuck you, Twitter follow limit. We meet again.

Just because I like to form complete, grammatically correct sentences, doesn't make me less of a cat. Sorry for the rant.

At the end of my TL, I think I'm hilarious. And that's really all that fucking matters in this dull existence.

My bro, reading his favorite book... so proud of the kid. http://t.co/w7JyHArO

You see, there was this rabbit hole... and I couldn't resist falling farther and farther. I wonder how deep it goes.

I know you're not perfect. In fact, I'm counting on it.