Not everyone follows me on Twitter which is cool. But those who aren’t on Twitter are missing out on some of my finer comedy moments So, today I’m posting the best of my Twitter account.

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Wife: Is the WiFi down?

Me: A little. It’s been a tough couple of years.

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I swear to God that the TV weather lady was looking right at me when she said she’s expecting two to three inches later on.

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My wife and I agreed no gifts this year for Valentine’s Day. So I’m online looking for a gift.

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I know exactly what is going to happen after I die.

My wife calls out during a seance: Willie, what’s the WiFi password?

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I finally have to admit that I’ve been lost in an IKEA store for the past 3 days. I hate asking for directions, so I’ve been living on Swedish meatballs and sleeping on a futon. My phone is at 13% so this might it for me.

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My fatal flaw is never seeing the typo until after hitting send.

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My wife is now on Twitter, so I’ll be busy today deleting tweets.

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Last month I received a book royalty payment and the bank called to ask me about an unusual transaction.

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To the people who send “get well” messages after I post selfies, that’s just how I always look.

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I get spam text messages all day long:

“Cheap weed delivered to your door”… BLOCKED

“Claim a $50 Starbucks gift card”… BLOCKED

“Single girls in your neighborhood want to meet”… BLOCKED

“Can you stop off at the grocery store on the way home”… BLOCKED

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I didn’t have a drink for 7 years. 7 whole years! Then my dad gave me a sip of beer on my 8th birthday.

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I entered my symptoms into WebMD and it said I died in the War of 1812.

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Me: I don’t give a shit what you think.

Wife: Watch your language.

Me: Je me fous de ce que tu penses.

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I saw a guy guzzling from a carton of chocolate milk and munching on Doritos in the grocery store before paying for them, but I’d barely gotten the cork out of this wine bottle before the manager confronted me.

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You know what? Just fuck it. Fuck everything.

– me as a Life Coach

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Job Interviewer: What do you like to do outside of work?

Me: I’m a fiction writer.

Job interviewer: Have you published anything?

Me: Oh, yes.

Job Interviewer: Is there anything I would have read?

Me: My resume.

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Starbucks barista: Grande Nitro cold brew for *snicker* Willie Handler. Is there a Willie Handler here? I’m looking for Willie Handler.

Me: *inconspicuously walks out of the cafe*

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I don’t quite understand why my wife gave me monogrammed pyjamas with the initials DNR.

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A woman approached me in the grocery store thinking I worked there. She asked where the quinoa was, and I said no clue. Then I saw her talking to the manager, no doubt trying to get me fired.