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The original tweeters had to retweet manually. Barefoot in the snow, uphill both ways.
Baby's new high chair has wheels. She makes me push her around the house while she pretends she's Stephen Hawking.
Sure, go ahead and have your "sex." I'll have just as much fun jumping up and down on my mattress trying to spill this wine glass.
I hate to point it out but ... people used to get paid to write material as creative and funny as the stuff you people post on here.
My wife said she was in the mood for sex tonight. It's 11pm and she's still not home yet. Must be stuck in traffic.
How To Crash Twitter: I thank you for following me. Then you thank me for thanking you. Then I thank you for thanking me for thanking you...
Twitter is so ... distant. I want to meet you people. Hang out, drink, and yuck it up. Make each other soup when we're sick. Crap like that.