Guys. GUYS.

I found the end of the Internet!!!!!



It's called reality.

I went to text "hope you're doing ok", but it came out to "hope you're doing OJ."

I do NOT hope you're doing OJ.

My favorite part of Twitter is telling you all my darkest and worst secrets, and then you RT'ing them like they are a punchline.

2 things I learned today:

1. Late night Burger King = early morning diarrhea.
2. Late night Burger King = afternoon diarrhea.

I hope this tweet catches your attention. Even just for a moment. Cause in that moment? I mattered.

Dark humor allows one to publically say what they secretly feel.

This ambien hasn't fulfilled its promise. Not only am I *NOT* asleep, but that goddamn purple giraffe just drank the last of my beer.

The forced supression of sexuality will always lead to bad things.

703 tweets and only 44 followers. Twitter's going to dump me. I know it.

I kind of wish Twitter was scratch and sniff.

Is it wrong that I know you're always wrong? The correct answer is that it's not wrong. You're wrong. YOU'RE WRONG.

I promise you I'm not looking at your boobs.









*looks at your boobs*

If you say a stereotype in the woods, is it still a false belief mapped to a generic commonality based on your own fear and ineptitude?

Real learning should never be easy.

When your therapist slumps down in disbelief and says, "Jesus Christ!". That.

Yes. I like sex and candy.

No. I am not quoting a song.

Those who profess that they need to be taken care of the least, are often the ones who need to be taken care of the most.

Sometimes I star just to say hello. :)

If I stalk you online, it's only because I've gotten tired of sitting in your backyard all night waiting for you to look at the window.

You're living the dream when the last item on your to-do list reads, "Burn this to-do list."