I recently lost 2 followers, and I know who they are thanks to an app catering to my psychotic insecurities.

When aliens decode our extinct civilization, I'm worried they'll place too much emphasis on teenage girl's poetry.

I'm phat with an "F."

Before hitting SEND, have you:

-Included a punchline?

-Inserted some sexual innuendo?

-Prepared yourself to lose followers and not bitch?

"I'm sorry, but my dog ate my homework and then we ate the dog." ~ Chinese version of the oldest excuse in the book.

I don't suffer from panic attacks, but I do go through periods of existential anguish, especially when my liquor cabinet goes dry.

Good morning! I slept like a Dwayne Johnson last night.

I have high hopes that religion in a hundred years will more closely resemble today's wine tastings.

I attract more followers and stars a day when I don't tweet anything. I guess that's twitters way of rewarding me for being a good listener.

I am to meatball subs what storm chasers are to tornadoes.

My dad is really good at pointing out when other people run red lights, but I never know what to do with this information.

Kids these days don't realize how lucky they have it. When we were growing up, we had to FIGHT for our right to party.

Hiroshima Suntans would be a terrible name for a tanning salon.

Will near-death experiences in the future consist of our tweets flashing before our eyes? And, if so, will we regret the anal themed ones?

Human resources seem to think that "open bar" is not a legitimate excuse for coming in late. It's like Warsaw circa 1939 here sometimes.

If I lived every day like it were my last, I'd probably be too depressed to get out of bed.

You should respect me for the women I'm not fucking.

If I wanted to debate the Marxist- Leninist theory of American Imperialism I'd have gone to college. Just make me a fucking cup of coffee.

My cock is free range.

If I had long hair I'd totally walk into a salon and ask for the Margaret Thatcher, because that look is dope, yo!