Favstar gets even better if you sign in.
No one has to live-tweet the Golden Globes. It doesn't have to happen. Plenty of time. I repeat: It does not have to happen.
Always a bummer when a woman has a picture of her niece in her online profile because I am not ready to uncle some other guy's kid.
I feel weird gawking at car crashes, so I just walk around the wreckage like I'm looking for my Frisbee.
But what if your friends are even happier than they seem on Facebook and are toning it down to spare you and your heartbreaking life?
Truth be told, I spent jury duty figuring out what eight other people's tickle boundaries were.
I had 12 items in the 12 items or less express lane, but I put one back because it just felt like playing with fire.
Finished working out, commencing power-down of my Reebok Pumps.
The only acceptable comedic payoff would have been if actual Starbucks was behind Dumb Starbucks.
It's weird that they ring a bell at Trader Joe's every time a black person gets a worse sentence than a white for the same crime.
It's called casual sex because you're carrying a surfboard, right?
Oops, I lacked ambition.
Finished Freaks and Geeks. It's overrated junk. One season was one too many.
Kidding! But now you know what a murder impulse feels like.
Every time an angel gets its wings, an existing angel is let go but told he can finish out the week if he wants.
Make the front desk nervous by checking in with 10 buckets of glue and 200 feet of wallpaper.
Saw my new neighbor and thought, "If he doesn't own an albino python, I don't know anything at all."
If you poke the Pillsbury Doughboy anywhere else, he bends your finger back till it snaps.
I can never sit on a bench without an old man dropping plastic forks on my lap and saying they're the real bones of the Lindbergh baby.
Therapist and I both wearing lobster bibs yesterday. Neither of us mentioned it.
Every time prospective tenants come to look at my apartment, I point to the wall and say they can keep the fury holes.
Writer, http://adultswim.com. Former senior writer, The Onion. New Yorker, McSweeney's contributor. Coauthor, Our Bodies, Our Junk.