Favstar gets even better if you sign in.
I fell asleep listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and woke up illiterate.
At my parent's house, or as I like to call it, the world's most judgmental self-service laundromat.
I'm pretty sure the way my sister just depicted Oprah in Draw Something should be considered nothing short of a hate crime.
My date does not seem impressed with my combo washer/dryer/dining room table.
Self-checkout is the best thing that's happened to the anti-social community since the handwritten manifesto.
My current state of caffeination is beyond 'semi-pleasant conversationalist' and quickly approaching 'ability to see through time.'
I can't tell what God enjoys tormenting me with more: the success of my exes or my check engine light.
If I had a time machine, first thing I'd do is go back and inform whoever attempted this Airline Sudoku puzzle that they're a fucking idiot.
At the hipster coffee shoppe, playing my new favorite game: Face Tattoo or Birth Defect!
All I was told was to bring snacks to a work meeting. Where does it state that 4 bottles of wine aren't snacks and that I have to share.
Congratulations to everyone graduating college this week on reaching a level of employability still lower than a 1970's high school dropout.
Great Date Night Idea: "Let's put our iPods on shuffle and judge each other."
Either there's catnip in my new deodorant, or Mr. Whiskers wants to take our relationship to the next level. Mr. Whiskers is our janitor.
Asked if there was anyway I could charge my phone at Cracker Barrel, and they just brought me a raccoon covered in tin foil.
Side ponytail AND Snooki Poof? Girrrrl, you are making all the right choices.
I was asked for my business card today. I broke down in tears. My parents can be such dicks.
Worst part about living alone: Once your friends go through your medicine cabinet, trying to explain how your cat got erectile dysfunction.
"Dryer, why do you have a Less dry setting? That's the washers job!... These jokes go over great with the vacuum cleaner." ...so alone.
How many stick pokes does it take to determine if this park bench sleeper is officially dead? I'm at 49.
Just found out I'm not man enough to change the TV at the gym from ESPN to Cartoon Network.