Scrolling past those tweets up there is like stepping around the same pile of dog shit on the sidewalk every day.

Thank you.

I’m sorry to hear this. Cookies.

Oh, Jesus. YES.

Good luck trying to make sense out of this endless mess.

The only Johnson & Johnson stimulant the world will ever need is this one right here:

Wait - did anyone else know that the Gatekeeper to the alternate universe was Buddy Ebsen? Because I did not know that.

I have a friend who is an entrepreneur (and also might have a bit of a meth problem) who wants to know if snakes eat bedbugs.

Tell us the story of the Golden Tablets, TheGentildouche.

In summary: Tiny Penises would be a good name for an Entourage sequel.

That would be a fitting end for this place, once the investigation concludes. Is Elon Musk still selling flamethrowers?

“Pedophile Island,” as locals called it,

Wheee!!

Call me crazy, but when your father has done something completely indefensible like, say, I dunno, calling black people monkeys, maybe the best plan would be to just shut the fuck up?

HAHAHAHAHA !!!!

Oh, I could sit on that couch. After a 14-hour day of running wiring through attics in August, you better believe I could park my dirty, sweaty, fiberglass-covered work jeans on that fucking couch.

My little dream is that every rebuttal to this guy, spoken or written, would end with, “...And no, Dr. Carson, every mouse does NOT have a weenie.”

Really. Just looking at a picture of the outside of that place makes me want to call in sick tomorrow morning.

Can confirm.

I just really want to see all of them strap on some skates and roller-boogie around that shiny stage, Thelma Houston blasting, mirror ball sparkling. I don’t know why.