Who the fuck died and left @dansinker king of the multi-fucking-verse?
My motherfucking phone followed me over from the fucking parallel universe.
So I can read all the cockbanging Tweets from over there, but none of my fucking replies go through.
But sometimes I can't give a flying fuck about that and I just do it anyway. Because why the fuck not?
Fuck yeah. Honorable Rahm Emanuel, honorary fucking chairman of the @LyricOpera board of directors, bitches.
Motherfucking flute is long, and magical, and brings happiness to mankind. I bet it never got slammed in a Civic door.
You're shitting me, the flute and the bells can find each other anywhere and I can't tweet through this fucking time vortex.
Why the fuck are the subtitles so small? Do they have some fucking 140-character limit?
The sidekicks' kids will be so fucked-up. Dad's suicidal, Mom wears great-grandma's clothes, and their friends are fucking Freemasons.
Pussy Riot, eh? Fucking Russians get the right idea every once in a blue shitty moon.
Wait, what the fuck.
Look, I like scoring runs as much as the next fucker, but De Aza? We've got something special going on.
Maybe don't try to stall Humber and make him any more nervous, you dumb fuck.
Oh that's the way, Morel goes down on three motherfucking pitches. Let's get this over with.
3-and-motherfucking-0? Stalled way too long. Fuck it. These are the motherfucking Mariners, grow a pair and throw it over the damn plate.
Talk about three balls, fuck me running.
Struck him out. What the fuck. We might actually do this thing.
Pinch hitter. Yeah, there's a fucking genius idea. No wonder Seattle has all these high-tech motherfuckers.
But can any of them compete with our motherfucking t-shirts? Yeah, that's what I thought.
Out on three pitches! Fuck yeah.
Strike thr-what the fuck
What the actual shitting fuck
2-3, it got the fuck away from Pierzynski and he had to throw it to first base. PERFECT FUCKING GAME!
First Buerhle and now this. Fuck yes, White Sox!!
I'd have more fucking perfect days at work if the cuntmonkey interns didn't jinx me. Can't brew a single fucking pot of coffee.
They're probably drinking it all themselves, they get a fuckload of work done considering.
Meanwhile, shitty Northsiders give you the exact fucking opposite pitching trajectory.
Kerry Wood: fucking phenom, fucking playoff star, fucking Yankee, fucking washout.
The only eras we skipped were the "fucking winner with the Yankees" stage and the "fucking Zambrano tantrum" stage.
Hairy koala balls.
Hey you fucking @google nerds, get off your assknocking Segways and do something useful for a change.
I need a motherfucking “Avoid Panhandlers” route on my Google fucking Maps.
Well, fuck this shit. @drose
Every fucking time I watch a replay of a sports injury I start wondering how the fuck so many of us survived ballet school.
Pretty sure our pansy-ass instructors had never heard of half these muscles. Double birds to all of this.
Motherfucking 76ers. I should feel grateful to Philadelphia for the Declaration of Inde-fucking-pendence but that's hard.
Seriously, I'll trade you liberty and justice and shit for a point guard who can take the goddamn floor.
Oh, Noah, too? Fuck that up the ass with a diamond-studded wrench.
I'm about ready to take forty days and forty nights of global fucking warming rather than watch this team.
Dan Ryan branch of the Red Line shutting down for five months next year. That's right, South Siders, suck my cock.
President Obama has bigger bungholes to fry, you can ride the motherfucking bus.
Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, because I've already put up with your auto-tuned doucheness too long, so fuck off.
What the doped-up jizz am I watching?
First were all these half-assed smokestacks, then Voldemort drops in, and I'm pretty sure the Queen just jumped out of a fucking helicopter.
Seriously, if there's a time portal on the other side of this thing it could not mess with my fucking head any further.
Going with a semenbucket like Paul Ryan, eh? Could be more hilariously bad, oh well.
I remember when the Wisconsin Democrats in motherfucking exile were ranting about him. Good times.
Wait, you're shitting me, that Wikileaks fucker is still holed up in the Ecuadorian embassy?
Putting the ass back in Assange.
I mean, I'm all for the freedom of the fucking press, but some of the stuff I've seen...should be censored for motherfucking reasons.
More to the point, what the fuck do you do locked in an embassy? Just tweet all day?
Maybe when you max out on your tweet limit they send a fucking time vortex after you. That would explain a lot.
Nothing smells as sweet as coffee, except the sweet smell of shit the Republican Party is digging themselves into.
Just when I thought they could not make things any shittier, along comes this Akin dipshit. Jesus asssniffing Christ.
There's a bunch of other words I'd use here, but apparently some of the shits out there might take me literally, so I should probably stop.
Is there a motherfucking dimension where Clint Eastwood makes sense? Because I have no idea what the fuck is going on.
I'm ready to believe that someone fucked up their time travel, looking for a hip actor, and got this senile piece of shit. What the fuck.
Oh, NOW Barack learns to fucking tweet. Little too late to help me here in this piece of cuntsteak.
Fuck it, Carl, I've put up with your Tweets even in absentia. But you have to recognize, @fivethirtyeight doesn't even know you're alive.
Actually, maybe he does, I don't have a motherfucking idea what the limits are on that man's insight.
But whatever, he's twice your age. A fucking line must be drawn in technicolor pink-pussy ink.
Holy motherfucking balls, some anklefuckers want me to commentate on election night.
Honestly, the Republicans have fucked themselves up too many times to count, this had better be a fucking easy job.
"Hey, bungholes, next time try and actually pretend you want to represent the 300 million residents of the motherfucking United States."
"If that's too much of a fucking challenge, maybe the motherfucking presidency is not for you."
"Obama's led the polls forever, all this campaign finance is a waste of money that could have gone to worthier causes, like my dick."
Where the fuck do I sign?
Fuck me with a spade, we're cleaning up. And Tammy Duckworth's going to win the fucking Senate seat here.
Asian-American disabled female veteran. I don't know if she's a Senator-elect or some motherfucking Venn diagram of PC bullshit.
Gay marriage in Maine, Maryland, and Washington. Not that it's going to do Carl much good, the little cockantelope.
Also, pot is legal in Colorado and Washington. I don't envy Obama trying to figure out what the fuck to do about that.
And my motherfucking phone's going off like crazy...what the fuck is this shit?
It's Carl and he says they've got me on the motherfucking split-screen!
There's boring-ass Mayor Me who self-censors, but then there's also actual me! Talking over each other? What the fuck!
So of course if there's any way they can hear me, I have to use this chance. "Are we winning in your universe too?" Carl texts yes they are.
I'm so motherfucking excited I can barely remember to swear. I have to make the most of this.
The assholes on this end are now confused that I'm going on about the multiverse and shit. I told them to suck my cock.
Mission fucking accomplished, they've cut me off, so I can just talk to the guys in the other dimension now.
The mayor over there is so confused. But Axelrod promises he's been feeding the duck. Fuck it, I love my friends.
"And, uh, our quants have been doing great work, we were able to predict the demographics of the electorate--" "Where the fuck is Hambone?"
I don't care if you're fucking me, if you can get outshouted by some guy from another fucking universe, it's time to fucking grow a pair.
Fuck yeah, Ohio!!!
Other copy of me totally used me going nuts as an excuse to say the same fucking thing.
Everybody in this universe is getting bored already, wants to know when the fuck Romney is going to concede. Let them wait.
I'm going to keep spewing shit with my parallel-universe friends as long as I fucking can.
So apparently these news shits have dirt on Petraeus they're just trying to save until this fucking election cycle wraps up.
Moral of the fucking story: if you want to write a biography, don't hire a vapid bootlicking fuck to do it, Tweet it 140 characters at a time.
Oh, finally, Romney's onstage. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck has he been doing for the last hour?
Of course, now they want both of us to get off the screen to listen to this cuntsack full of lies.
Blah blah motherfucking blah. Cumquat-sucker is taking his sweet as fuck time.
Now Obama's going to make a fucking victory speech. Other me's in charge of that Chicago, he can slow the roads, give us more time to talk?
Oh, fuck yeah, Axelrod's going to make him go in the motherfucking Civic.
I have no idea what the fuck you say to yourself at this point. Do I even want to know what the fuck is going on in his timeline?
"Are the Blackhawks going to win another Stanley Cup?" "Nope, they're still locked out." "There, too?" Fuck that.
And don't get either of us started on the fucking replacement refs. Or, for that matter, the motherfucking teachers' union.
"Here's Obama, change we can believe in. Four more years?" I don't even know whether I want things to fucking change, in either universe.
If we had a functional Congress, maybe there'd be some chance of anything getting accomplished. No such luck, fuck it.
I mean, at least we have Tammy Duckworth, but she can't do it alone. "Speaking of ducks, are you looking after Quaxelrod?" "What the fuck?"
Dumbfucking other me almost seems to care more about solving the fucking strike than caring for my duck. Cuntish travesty, is what this is.
He also thinks that in the absence of my "enablers" I might have settled down and become more of a statesman. Fat fucking chance.
Now I know I can get through to them if I'm on TV, sure, I'll act statesmanlike so they pick me every time they need a talking fucking head.
But that just means I have to be stealthier about my other plans. Fuck yeah, secrecy.
Oh, here we go, bunch of Obamas in the house. Malia and Sasha are fucking tall.
Four more years. I feel higher than a fucking doped-up llama. Other me just seems relieved.
Carl has this dreamy look and I really fucking hope that it's because Obama won, rather than because his crush saw it all coming a year ago.
It's getting pretty late and they're going to cut this feed soon. Fuck it, I don't want to say goodbye.
On the one hand there's him getting it down to a motherfucking science, and on the other hand there's hope and fucking change.
But what the fuck? We've got the fucking big shoulders and the motherfucking delusional northsiders. It all fucking fits.
I'd say that the motherfucking Red Line binds it all together but as of April that's going to be a fucking lie.
But what the fuck. Bunch of left-wing dipshits were all excited Obama would be some raving progressive and he turns out to be this moderate.
Probably it'll be four more years of fucking gridlock, but who knows, maybe there's a motherfucking middle ground.
Carl says he's going to see if there's a fucking model for using alternate universes to predict fucking election results.
Other me says he'll try and moderate his tone long enough for us to both get on the fucking air again.
I'm the only one who fucking understands what this costs him.
And now the screen's fading out, but you know what, fuck it all, I feel hope.