This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 100

This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 100

99 sped off and headed south. His mind growing cloudy, he reached over to the passenger seat to see if anything there might rouse him. All he found was a sippy cup half-full of apple juice. The apple juice was of an indeterminate vintage, so he passed.

Looking in the backseat, he spotted a bag of caramel popcorn and decided to risk it. It was a little stale, but passable. He ruminated upon whether that was caramel corn’s natural state and continued flying down the road, no more awake than he’d been before the snack. It was then that an explosion burst across his windshield. One never knows what to expect on a desolate stretch of road, but 99 certainly hadn’t expected confetti.

He slammed on the brakes and slid into the shoulder, breathing hard and rubbing his eyes. As the bursts of lights and last remnants of the paper bomb drifted away, he saw a neon sign. Though he’d never considered himself a gentleman, on that night and in that moment, a venue specifically for gentlemen held a certain allure.

He got back in the car and headed toward his destination. Road signs suggested he was farther south than he had originally planned. While Viva Mexico had never called to him, he was still a bit peckish, thirsty. A Dairy Queen sign came in; it was calling to him.

99 took the exit and pulled into the drive-thru. It was then that things again got muddy. The last thing he remembered was demanding dairy-free options and the Dairy Queen employee dropping a random fact on him. After that, the lights went out.


The wind rustled in his ears, blowing a pile of pamphlets under which he’d been sleeping. That’s when he heard the other noises. Unholy noises.


He knew he needed to get back on the move, but first he pulled a tattered notebook from his pocket.


As the air removed the last of the pamphlets from him, he pondered if he perhaps should have read one of them. Obviously, someone had something to say.


Standing up, he remembered his destination. There was a second neon sign, though it looked different than the first. He looked about to see if there was anyone else. There wasn’t. 99 headed into the doorway.


He opened the door to a stairwell. A man rushed past him and out into the night.


His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw it was an email, though not a particularly useful one.


On the other hand, it was a useful reminder.


He burst across the top of the stairs and made a proclamation. Perhaps he was still a bit peckish. Did he actually bother to eat at Dairy Queen? He couldn’t remember.


It was then that he encountered the book club and realized he was quite the disruption. He attempted to apologize.


Not that it wasn’t charming and a tad endearing.


Another member of the club spoke up. No one was sure if she was describing a book she’d read or describing her life.


The woman to her left offered words of encouragement.


99 realized it might be time for him to beat a retreat. Fortunately, he was always prepared for contingencies.


As he rushed out, he heard the club’s final word about his interruption, though he suspected it was a bluff.


He was also curious about what his alibi thought about everything.


Eh, whatever the puppet had to say was probably inconsequential anyway. He straightened himself up and headed back out into the night.


In fact, he headed out with such ferocity, that he lost track of his destination and just sort of plowed ahead.


At first he tried to pass himself off as a professional. It didn’t go well.


Though initially tense, the situation quickly de-escalated and 99 was treated to a story.


Seizing opportunity, he backed out of the hole he’d created and into the driver’s seat of his car. Along the way, he passed a ladder.


99 took solace in the fact that the dog that came crashing through the top of his car was a St. Bernard. If he was to have a canine copilot delivered from the skies for the next leg of his journey, he preferred a chill rather than reflective one.


He looked at the tag on the dog’s collar. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw.


A commercial came on the radio. His copilot reached up and turned off the radio.


Then they both looked out the window. Something happened.


The jogger had a response.


Though it meandered a bit from the original subject.


Speaking of discursive, 99 paused to study. One can never be too prepared.


As he considered all the possibilities he’d learned of in the past few hours, he slipped back into the driver’s seat. His chariot? Vintage.


So vintage he planned to keep it forever.


Along with a few other choice items.


First, though, 99 had plans.


Some of them nefarious.


It was then that it hit him, again.


He pulled over and saw a group of men in a scuffle. He wished he was prepared, but was anxious for the fray


Alas, it was not a vicious battle, but a bachelor party. 99 slipped into the party bus with the revelers and tossed back a few Jell-O shots. They churned in his stomach and he again found himself wishing he’d gotten something to eat at DQ instead of arguing with the staff.


The man, or “man,” wearing said T-shirt was oddly unperturbed. He stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Brent. 99 wasn’t having it and got in his face.


Brent was impressed with 99’s challenge and decided not to kill him. He didn’t want him hanging around the party either. They were almost to the gentleman portion of the evening and 99 was not dressed for such an affair. Brent was, despite having metal legs. And arms.


99 knew what he had to do. He had to finish what he had started, so he headed off in search of answers, in search of closure. Also, perhaps, in search of a snack.


His hunger finally sated, he emerged from the store and began planning his next adventure. A noise caught his attention; as he turned his head, he scowled.


99 knew where the store was, but he decided to head out for a cold one instead. He was a man with a plan, and some time to kill.


Back in the car, 99 popped in the soundtrack for the next leg of his journey. Alan gave an approving bark before presenting 99 with a small barrel of brandy. 99 tipped his head back and took a wee sip before putting the Fiero in gear.

He hit the gas and the pair headed down the road, pamphlets flying from the windows and coming to rest on a man who had stopped on the side of the road and laid down for a nap. The pair didn’t notice the man, though, for they had their eyes on a new opportunity.

They pulled into the parking lot. Alan stayed behind to guard the Fiero while 99 confidently strode into the sanctuary. He wasn’t sure what would happen next, which was a large part of the allure. It was also why he had his emergency sock puppet and a knife ready to go. He took a deep breath and began to speak, his lips moving ever so slightly, while Alan climbed into the driver’s seat and readied the getaway car.

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