Hey, kids: writing drunk makes you thinkz up mroe stuffs
It’s six o’clock. Do you know where this voice is coming from?
Thought I was meeting with an orthopedist, turned out to be an orthoepist. Am articulate now, but my foot still hurts.
Networking by search term is like eating by dry weight. Not exactly the whole story.
This is like the opposite of a committed relationship: I reveal all my craziness right away, and it doesn’t matter.
Behold the “pro blogger”: half blogger, half pro’.
Does anyone know a desktop widget that lets you count down from a number? Not a timed countdown, a manual one. (?)
Middle ages, middle passage, middle earth, middle man, midfielder, midnight.
Oh, don’t worry. That was only the most important moment if your life. Seriously, don’t sweat it.
Oh, stop. Don’t give me those retweet eyes.
Barack Obamalamabobama. Sorry, couldn’t resist.
Twitter search & derivatives thereof have become my first stop for breaking news.
Paid $10.66 again at the supermarket. Expecting eye-gouging any day now.
Twitter is the counterinsurgency.
Tools are boring. If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them awl.