That's me in the corner.

That's me with my i-Phone, losing my reception.

There's no need to Twittercide. Just stop tweeting.

When I tire of pizza, I stop ordering it.

I don't burn down Dominos.

A Twitter wife?

Why would I want a woman who is limited to only 140 cha - oh, I see.

When I die, I want a disease named after me, with symptoms that include "being fucking awesome at everything."

The single set of footprints means that Jesus unfollowed you.

Some days I am so fucking awesome, the roses stop and smell me.

I don't understand tweets about hipsters.

You realize you are 'tweeting.'
With your iPhone.
From a Starbucks.

Right?

Asking a woman if she swallows is uncouth.

Rather, don your top hat and monocle while quipping, "Surely, you ingest?"

My parents just got their first computer. Nigeria, go easy on my inheritance.

Hey guy who just 'happens' to have his guitar on him - let's not, okay?

It's sad that some of you need to berate others to feel better about yourselves.

Idiots.

My teacher asked where I'd like to be at 35. If I answered, "Alone on a Friday night, writing a complaint to GameStop," then I NAILED it.

Why is it a "12-pack" and not a "jury of your beers"?

Pajamas with pockets are basically saying, "Hey. Be comfortable. But if you need something at Target, let's roll."

Dear Dexter: Sandusky.

Just won an argument with my ex-wife, so currently pouring Gatorade on myself.

Nothing says "attention whore" like ordering fajitas.

"I'm sorry you feel that way" is the greatest non-apology of all fucking time.

The thing I miss about Facebook is that I never really know when you're at Denny's. Or if you had another miscarriage.

That one noodle that makes it through the strainer - that fucker is badass.