Twitter gives the world access to people’s most mundane details and it’s amazing how many women love to announce to the world that, yes, they’re on the rag. Here are today’s brave, bloated over-sharers.

Rigatoni alla mestruazioni, anyone?

You see, here’s the problem with dudes named Scott: they have the worst timing, EVER!!! I had this friend/dormmate when I was a freshmen in college named Scott — me and the others in our circle called him Paw-Paw because he was such a lame tool — and he was the guy with THE car in our little group. It was a piece of shit, an Oldsmobile circa 1985 or so that his grandma had passed down to him, but hey, it was a car, which was something I didn’t happen to have at the time. So one night Scott’s off at a bonfire or something and he left his car behind at the dorm. At some point, this girl I’d been hoping to make sweet love to came by, kinda drunk, expressing a desire to hit up Taco Bell. I noticed Scott had left his car keys behind, so I volunteered his car up to take me and the little wasted filly to pick up a couple of Meximelts and a Nacho Bell Grande. When we got back to the dorm, we sat in Scott’s car talking for a minute or two, and the next thing you know we’re making out, BIG TIME, and then the next thing you know, her head is in my lap. So I leaned the seat back to fully enjoy the performance, when suddenly someone starts beating on the window. It was Scott! “What the hell are you doing in my car,” he asks. “I’m getting a fucking blow job, what the hell does it look like I’m doing,” I say. Prick motherfucker then makes me and the little lady get out of his car, just as I could feel myself inching towards a spectacular climax.

So yeah, dudes named Scott have the worst timing.

HAHAHAH…yeah, I hate when that happens. But you know what probably doesn’t help the whole matter Patricia Lynn? Fucking tweeting about it!