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Sometimes I'll send a tweet, notice a typo in it, delete it, re-send it, notice a different typo, unplug computer, change my name and move.
I'll be tweeting telepathically today, so if you think of something funny, that's me.
Yesterday my boss asked why I was tardy and I said, "I don't think you're supposed call people that any more."
I use Google Earth to see which yards have milkshakes.
Hamburger Helper is powerless if the hamburger doesn't WANT to be helped.
My car's GPS has learned to say "Your other left."
Before Twitter we used to call this "talking to yourself."
Just imagine how good prescription cheese would be.
I'm convinced that our Twitter personas are closer to who we really are than the personalities we wear in public.
By the time someone says something in the meeting worth writing down, I've likely already taken my pen apart and lost the spring.
Fast food places should have a third window, where you can trade in the wrong stuff they gave you at the second window.
Pretty sure the guy who named them "walkie talkies" got fired before he could name other military equipment.
It's just a matter of time before they add the word "Syndrome" after my last name.
I didn't sign up for the 401k at work, because there's no way I can run that far.
I'm forbidding the twelve people who regularly star my tweets to ever fly in an airplane together.
In a perfect world, the phrase "axe body spray" would only be used to refer to blood splatter patterns.
It's awkward when I have to pull someone aside and point out that my fly is open.
I know we're not supposed to say this, but our second black president looks just like our first black president to me.
Just noticed my desk calendar ends on December 31. Here we go again.
Just unfollowed a bunch of people funnier than me. Now my tweets seem, you know, funnier. Tomorrow I unfollow all the good-looking people.