Favstar gets even better if you sign in.
Here's why signing in is good for you.
When she asked, "What kind of idiot are you?" it took me a while to realize it wasn't a Facebook quiz.
I don't make jokes about "your mom" because I'm old enough to be your dad, and probably am.
It's fun when he leaps on the bed in the morning and licks my face until I get up and feed him. Still, it's time to put grandpa in a home.
"Roxxxy," the world's most sophisticated talking sex robot has a $7,000 price tag. The silent version is $57,900.
Our local park is full of humans with plastic bags over their hands, waiting for dogs to poop. I think that would make Darwin sad.
When Sarah Palin says, "This book wrote itself," I believe she believes that.
I hope you can respect my family's privacy as we struggle with well-founded rumors that many, many women simply have not had sex with me.
The bright side of the Helen Thomas scandal is that it wasn't a sex tape.
I'm starting to suspect my high school sweetheart went out with me only because she was imaginary.
Bitch.
It's in this hour before church that I thank God for the parking space I'm about to get at the mall.
That airport full-body scan was embarrassing! I mean ... really, a standing ovation?
The long-missing finger of Galileo has turned up Italy. This means I now have no idea whose severed finger I've been keeping.
Turns out Secret Santa is a well-known gift tradition and NOT the old guy at the mall who put me on his lap and said, "Don't tell your mom."
Twitter can revive a feeling I got often when in the newspaper business. That one when the presses are running and THEN you spot the typo.
I worry that if Oprah fades from the limelight, we'll never know how much she weighs at any given moment.
I've reached that age where, in all my rock-star fantasies, I'm the bass player.
I really thought this love would last forever, but tonight I noticed some freezer burn.
If I have this hacking cough one more day, I'm either going to shoot myself or issue another pointless ultimatum.