The worst part about having a broken finger is that fist bumps are– for the first time ever– painful now.

The joke in the last tweet is that I hate high fives. You probably didn’t get that. But if you did, we should totally fist bump.

The worst part about having a broken finger is that high fives are slightly more painful now.

Is it impolite to crash a honeymoon?

“Act as if long enough and eventually you become.” – Fran Fuller, my 9th grade drama teacher. Just heard it again in my Plato class.

NO FINAL PAPER FOR MY INDEPENDENT STUDY!! HUZZAH!! HUZZAH!! Take THAT people that do work for your classes!

There was a time when I could have claimed to have read every work in turtle evolution. But then again, I used to be a pathological liar.

Looking forward to doing some classical jazz for karaoke this week.

It reads like a book you just can’t (wait to) put down.

Just saw Boondock Saints II. I should have just rewatched the first one so that I could have gotten something new out of it

I’m also just about the only guy I know who’d be willing to date a girl taller than himself. Of course that’s basically just WNBA players.

She’s got more red flags than the Spanish Armada.

Day 3: finger still purple and fat, but I can bend it 60 degrees now without passing out. So I’d say it’s a lot better now.

Sometimes I hate being alone with myself. I get in my own head & fill it with lies. I want to get away, but can’t: He knows where I live.

Turns out if someone with a blocked profile @’s you, you’ll never hear about it. This… This makes me so happy.

If you tweet in a secret twitter account with protected tweets and no followers, does it make a sound? No. Of course not.

She’s the kind of person you go home with, not the kind of person you go home to.

She’s the kind of person you take home, not the kind of person you bring home.