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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 56

By: Rich Cromwell
11 min read

What better way to celebrate your country than blowing up a small piece of it?

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Rich Cromwell
@rcromwell4
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In just a few days, the hills will be alive with the sound of explosions. The flatlands, too. That’s right, it’s almost Independence Day, and what better way to celebrate our love of our country than blowing up a small piece of it.

The problem, besides a small amount of danger for those who don’t understand how to properly detonate occasionally erratic explosives, is that some paternal types have made it impossible for people to purchase said explosives. They passed laws and regulations and thus we ended up with sparkler bombs, which are much more dangerous and erratic.

As such, it’s only a matter of time before sparklers, nay all forms of fire, are regulated out of existence. Never fear, though, for we are an industrious people.


This is how the first ban on fireworks was started.


Like the time I reminded you to sign my petition.


Then she took out her quill and added her signature. The referendum on pre-made sparkler bombs would get a vote.


I’m going to have to say no to this request.


And makes artisanal Shrinky Dinks.


Especially if that’s where you hide your fireworks and vintage arts and crafts supplies.


You can also give them explosives and other weapons.

Which is why you turn on the death metal and hand them a few blunderbusses.


Stupid water, putting out all the fireworks.


You’ll also need refreshments if you want to celebrate in style. Or sort of in style.


A flying one with lots of firepower and a suit to protect against chainsaws.


But what about the aforementioned chainmail?


He jumped the shark shortly thereafter.


I wonder where you get one.


Canadians don’t know anything about properly celebrating Independence Day.


This guy, on the other hand, gets it.


‘Cause baby you’re a star, you are.


Another good use of fire.


When making decisions like whether or not to jump out of a plane, it’s important to consider all the angles.


Remember that you’re already wearing a robe and just sit down and relax. It’s got grain in it. That’ll suffice.


It really adds flare to the robe.


You had a chance to have a really cool tombstone and you blew it.


I think this is another word for “bottle rockets.”


Or the sparkler bomb did what sparkler bombs often do.


*Sets the roof on fire with a rogue sparkler*


He exhausted his security deposit.


An alternative means of paying for college.


This is true.


She’s her own accessory.


What is the sound of one hand falling in a forest?


Arby’s: the Official Sponsor of 2016.


He is running for president.


Get up again and the evil clown will get you. Night, honey!


Another example of how real life and television don’t quite mirror one another.


Trick question because the answer is all of them.


The little dude in the tuxedo does have a point.


Go big or go home.


Just don’t order pizza.


Does she want him to go pick up groceries or nah?


After closing the lid, he started talking about Keynesian economics again.


It’s Big Bird’s favorite vintner.


This is another opulent option.


Revenge is a dish best served in a glass at cellar temperature?


For obvious reasons. Pants optional.


I think Jimi Hendrix wrote a song about this.


Said song included a reference to this, too.


They do hang out around sand, though they don’t build castles. Yet.


They can eat goth land lobsters if worse comes to worse.


Yeah, right. Goldfish, even goth ones, don’t live on farms. Jeez.


I think the fisherman got the better end of this deal.


You don’t have to be an American to get it. She gets it.


Step 1: Start a fire.


Soon, he’ll be wearing cargo shorts and grilling burgers.


“I told you to stop grilling!”


Better than facing the glove.


Couldn’t you just stab us instead?


Have it your way.


More butter, dear?


Because it’s awesome, that’s why.


Now get out there and make some noise. Start fires, cook with fire, light fireworks with fire, and generally give thanks to Prometheus and whichever Greek deity it was who stole beer and brought that to man. For without fire and beer, we couldn’t celebrate our independence with panache and vigor. We also couldn’t scare the bejesus out of various small animals and children for miles all around us. But we can and we will. We strut around with that shit on a leash.

Richard Cromwell is a writer and senior contributor at The Federalist. He lives in Northwest Arkansas with his wife, three daughters, and two crazy dogs. Co-host of the podcast Coffee & Cochon, you can find him on Facebook and Twitter, though you should probably avoid using social media.

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