This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 97

This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 97

The alarm shrieked through an otherwise quiet evening, rousing the neighborhood to the flames slowly engulfing the old Whirly place. The Whirlys hadn’t lived there in years, but they still visited from time to time. Such visits, as well as upkeep, were vastly better with running water and power.

In the backyard, Luna, who looked after the place, burst forth from her quarters to see what all the noise was about. She lived there full-time while the Whirlys traveled the world, spreading love and teaching people how to do that thing Mr. Miyagi did to Daniel’s leg in “The Karate Kid.” Fire was definitely not one of the tasks she’d been charged with before they last left.

She headed into the house and found the fire mostly isolated to the kitchen and storeroom. It was then that the firemen ran in and dragged her out as they dragged out the fire hose and began pumping water through it. Ash and soot splattered the walls.

Luna watched as they worked, holding her pet rabbit Bunnito in her arms. Then the bunny pooped on her. Her cat, Mr. Meowvalous, never would have done such a thing.

Luna shouted at the firemen, her voice rising over the scream of the alarms. “Why is your truck not equipped with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars?”

Captain Teach was incredulous. “The Whirly place is on fire and you’re asking about s’mores? Are you serious right now?” Luna replied that she was. The captain made another plea for sanity; it did not go well.


Luna stopped paying attention. She was thinking about what pet she might get next.


In front of the house, a car came to a screeching halt. The driver grabbed her phone and told Siri to call her agent.


Captain Teach yelled at Luna, who had produced her own ingredients and was making s’mores, to get out of the way, but her mind was elsewhere.


We’re getting there, man.


Meanwhile, a burglar with the worst sense of timing ever made his way into the third-floor window. He quickly found himself on the second floor.


Next door, Jefferson worked on a project, one that just might save the day.


Except he never finished it, thanks to Newton.


Our burglar found another burglar, though she was relaxing at the moment. And planning to steal all the perfume.


The burglar tried to get her to explain the situation, but she refused.


Probably because both those things are necessary for burglary.


Mr. Meowvalous, who had observed the entire conversation as he enjoyed a constitutional using the toilet across the room, hopped down, flushed, and walked with purpose toward the tub.


The bathing burglar complained to the tumbling burglar. The cat began loosening the feet of the tub.


Not everyone was impressed with the increasingly convoluted scene unfolding before them.


Luna, munching on a s’more, had words for Captain Teach. She was spitting crumbs, but also hot fire.


Across the street, Annie had questions regarding her own groundskeeper, particularly as he wasn’t the live-in variety.


While in the kitchen, Tiffany pondered what might come after the fire.


Not that she was completely free of enemies.


The tumbling burglar remembered why he was in the house and finished his mission. Mr. Meowvalous continued loosening the tub.


Luna, embracing the Bob Ross ethos of happy accidents, considered what she might do when making repairs.


That’s why you keep your knives sharpened.


Back in Jefferson’s house, Ally nurtured a fledgling pastime.


Jenny was not a fan.


Meanwhile, Julia discovered she needed a new real estate agent.


That’s when she decided to give another Jenny a ride.


As the pair sped away, they noticed a gentleman on the sidewalk.


While a pair in a car sat and watched them attempt to navigate the newest traffic feature in the neighborhood.


Luna was back to thinking about animals.


While the bathing burglar called out to Mr. Meowvalous.


She couldn’t help but notice his weapons, but he had different plans.

He jumped on the side of the tub, flipping it over as he’d loosened all the feet. Water and burglar went everywhere, crashing through the floor. Luna added another job to her list.


She wished she’d saved the trip to the hardware store for tomorrow.


She finished her s’mores, cleared her throat, and made an announcement. As the broken tub, and concomitant water, had extinguished the fire, the firemen actually listened.


First, she made them a little something to nosh on, though.


Then she said:


As the words left her mouth, the scene began swirling away as Mr. Meowvalous sat on Luna’s chest, whining for her to wake and feed him breakfast. She rubbed her eyes and looked about, realizing that nothing had been real and the house was fine. A tattered collection of Graham Greene’s short stories rested on the nightstand.

She wasn’t relieved, though a fire wouldn’t have been good for her continued employment, but instead a little sad. Not only were there no s’mores, there was no Captain Teach, no tumbling burglar, no bathing burglar, none of the rest who had strolled around her dream. Bunnito hopped about and Luna realized that maybe it was time to live her dreams. She pulled out a notebook and started a grocery list, beginning with a blowtorch and some graham crackers.

Richard Cromwell is a senior contributor to The Federalist. Follow him on Twitter, @rcromwell4.
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