Who ya gonna tweet? Contest.

Back by popular demand (and by “demand”  I mean none at all) I am running a contest for my Twitter BFF for the day.

Just leave a comment*.

What will you win?

My tweets.  My tweets will all go to you for the day**.

Exciting right?

Listen, I don’t exactly get offers pounding down my door.

This is what I’ve got.

But wait!  That’s not all.

I will also read and respond to all of your tweets.

Twitter BFF’s.

It sounds cuter than it is.


*I don’t expect anyone to enter

**Warning.  I tweet a lot.  I mostly ramble and make no sense.


Winner will be chosen by me printing out all the comments, cutting them into individual slips, crumbing them in a ball, putting them into a basket and then picking one.

Very scientific.


61 thoughts on “Who ya gonna tweet? Contest.

  1. Oh wow – did I pick the right time to catch up – just in time for a contest. Will the winner be announced by Vlog?- b/c that was possibly the best one ever. The random selection pains me – I mean isn't it time this contest took it up a notch? A haiku throw down? A present wrapping demo? Trader Joe skill testing question? Glad to see you are still racking in the numbers for the fan club. I have missed you…

  2. I am pathetically lacking in friends since I moved to Austin. At some point my online life will overtake reality. It's just weird being out and about and never "bumping in" to anyone I know.

  3. Okay so i have been waiting for this contest to come back (not really but i love contests) and since you are being "scientific" about this I devised a way of beating the system.

    Printing out the comments, rolling them into a ball and then picking them out of a hat. Simple enough. BUT i have figured a way to juke the stats so that I win. How? maximum paper surface area usage.

    How will this be done? Well, I am going to have my good friend Charles Dickens and his great novel "Tale of Two Cities" help my comment be long enough so you are drawn to the larger sized ball of paper in your hat or bucket!


    Chapter I
    The Period

    It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way–in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

    There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.

    It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People, from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane brood.

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