When I was a kid my psychiatrist diagnosed me with schizophrenia, so you can imagine how I got really paranoid when my brother insisted that I didn't have a psychiatrist. But as it turned out, my brother suffered from a rare case of pre-adolescent Alzheimer's. Also he didn't exist.
I'm better now though, but I'm still uncertain to if my Twitter account is real or a schizophrenic figment of mine.
The problem with friends is their screwed up reward systems. If I've earned the prestigious title of "your best friend" then why would you ask me to help you move? I don't understand why I'm being punished!
Something that'll never ask you to help it move is the Twogag Facebook page. But it'll punish you in other creative ways.
Whenever somebody tells me to guard something with my life I ask what's in the bag, because I'm not staking my life for anything less than an iPod.
My Twitter is a good thing to tell your friends to follow. Maybe not your best friends, but like, that guy that overheard you planing a party and kinda had to invite to not feel like a dick. Those are my people.
In actuality it isn't the cool people that can talk and sip a drink at the exact same time. But those who're willing to spend the time to hone and perfect that difficult skill. ... I've wasted my life.
Something else that's difficult to master, is coming up with new interesting ways of trying to fool you into following my Twitter feed!
My name being Rickard other kids used to tease me by calling me "Picard". But I just thought that was kinda cool. Until I found out it's the name of some bald nerd with a gay spaceship!
The original plan with my Facebook page was to create a small army to overthrow the establishment. But it turns out people don't overthrow stuff just because I make a Facebook post telling them they should. So now I mostly just post my strips on there.