As predicted, my association with Twitter has lasted but 48 hours.  It’s like I’m Miss Cleo that way, only without that fake Jamaican accent.  (Bitch was born in L.A. for God’s sake.)

I felt dirty enough just going to the website for the first time, but figured what the Hell, I already post a shitload on Huffington Post under “Hardyman1966”, so what’s clicking a box going to hurt?  That’s where the fun didn’t begin.

So they forward you to this wee box that already has the link you were babbling about and has deducted the appropriate number of characters from the 140 that are allowed.  So basically, you sound like you have Tourette’s without the pleasure of seeing people around you go to pieces as they suddenly become fascinated with the ceiling tile, praying you’ll be taken away before saying something about penises.

Obviously (see above if you need a clue) 140 characters won’t do, therefore, there is no other course of action but to deactivate and kill your bird so I can see just how effective those 3-flush low-bloody-flow toilets really are.

Besides, I don’t really know anyone who uses such a thing, and the people I know hear enough of my shit on my limited use of Facebook as it is.  I guess what really sealed the deal was knowing in the back of my mind, somewhere out there, Sarah Palin and Newt Gingrich were using the very website I was on at that moment.

That’s an eye opener when you have those thoughts.  It’s kind of like when you use the wrong search words online and all of the sudden there’s an enormous women on all fours wearing a horse hair mane on her head with a matching tail in her ass.

It’s like that.

"Nineteen Witnesses and No One Saw a THING!"