Welcome to Twitter. It’s like cooking spaghetti: Throw your noodle at the wall to see if something sticks.
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[hamster construction site]
“Colin, you seen Dave?”
I left him manning the concrete mixer
“Oh no”
[cut to Dave having the time of his life]
(Teaching a Kid to Ride a Bike)
ME: Ready?
KID: *angry bleating*
Yet the one time I did, I got banned
real
Don’t forget to wear your lip gloss so you can constantly pick hair out of it and any flying debris you may collect throughout the day.
I wonder if sometimes when a serial killer is digging a new hole in his backyard he ever runs into an old project and thinks wistfully, “oh yeah… that guy.”
Amazon packaging #BlowsMyMind
I’m unpredictable. Like a dad on a field trip.
Daughter: dad, will you sign up for the fun run?
Me: I don’t understand your question. Those words don’t belong together.
You know what really gets my goat? Chupacabras.
“Londoners need to be more afraid”
Nah, we’re British, we only panic about a light snow or finding out we’re out of milk.
Sorry I called you “sexy” and didn’t really mean it, but I was hungry and you were a mirage of pizza.
[steps off crosstrainer]
“Hey girl [out of breath, hands on knee] you like f-fitness? Cos I’m fitn–”
“Shall I call an ambulance?”
“Please.”
a band called LinkedIn Park that’s just a bunch of accountants having a midlife crisis
Looking for someone willing to kill a man who has wronged me. Unfortunately I can’t pay but would be good exposure for an emerging murderer
I’m going to make a secret pornography organization called The Illuminaughty.
Re-reading Wuthering Heights is a great reminder that 150 years ago, if you, say, sprained an ankle at a neighbor’s house, you just lived there for five weeks until it healed.
Don’t move, I know what I’m doing.
*takes a nap
“Bob is coming over for dinner.”
Bob from work or Bob the giraffe?
*there’s a knock at the upstairs window*
I thought that I heard you laughing.
I thought that I heard you sing.
I think I thought I saw you try to parallel park for twenty minutes.
me: I liked your memoir. Not sure why it ended with a recipe though
food blogger:
*standing next to a wheelbarrow full of BBQ sauce*
Look, no one is arguing that the zoo fire isn’t a horrible tragedy.
[phone]
H: What’s for dinner?
M: I’m having vodka. As for you, I have no idea.
H: Should I stop and get something?
M: Yes, more vodka.
Every time you get dressed remember that, if you die, that’s your ghost outfit forever.
At some point, a guy looked at an onion that was clearly purple & called it red. AND WE’RE JUST SITTING HERE LETTING IT HAPPEN.
My toddler had a meltdown at bedtime because her pajamas were “too comfortable.”
It’s a rough life.
Me: Is anyone gonna eat this?
Them: That’s a baby.
Me: *rolling my eyes* that’s why I asked first.
I want my boyfriend to get a tattoo on his neck so I won’t have to worry about him getting a job and not having time to hang out with me.
“You know, your ex-wife was trash! I never liked her.”
“We’re still married, Grandma.”
“She’s such a lovely girl.”
Power is like wine coolers. Both sound fun, but nobody drunk on either one has ever made a good decision