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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 75

By: Rich Cromwell
10 min read

Let us come together with Bigfoot and ride a comet into eternity, baby.

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Rich Cromwell
@rcromwell4
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In the Book of Revelation, there’s a passage about the Metallica song, “The Four Horsemen.” In that passage, when discussing the fourth horseman, the angel reveals: “And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

That’s not what happened this week. Nevertheless, with many signs and wonders and much rage, a plethora of doomsday prophets has emerged to remind us that our global quest for greatness will only be realized by finding and capturing Bigfoot and coronating him as our king. Or maybe the Heaven’s Gate people were right after all—their website is still active, if not being updated. Maybe the key is to leave the planet and hop aboard a comet, one in which gentle sasquatches guide us toward a new, and better, life.

In case I’m wrong, though, there’s always this option.


Maybe she should try a megaphone.


Does it involve intergalactic travel? If so, we should probably combine forces.


Like exploded in zero gravity closed?


Please, just take my informational pamphlet first. I had a lot of these things printed up.


We didn’t fully account for how the earth’s rotation would affect things.


You’re wrong and I’m going to prove it.


This is why Bigfoot doesn’t have an Instagram account.


Fine, we’ll swing by and pick you up.


This is how you determine if someone gets to sit on an exit row.


You need to listen to this presentation from Bigfoot. I think you’re going to like what he has to tell you.


But how will it work on a giant chunk of rock hurtling through outer space?


Sorry, but our pamphlet clearly states this is the least severe response to black licorice.


What do you mean you’re playing fourth horseman, baby?


Fun fact: the Loch Ness Monster, who is also chilling with us, unhinges her jaws when she eats. She’s going to beat your record. Sorry.


Oh my.


Don’t worry. We’re big on demanding satisfaction in space.


Eternal peace awaits you on the asteroid, dog-like creature.


Wait, wait, wait. First have some Kool Aid.


Quick, tell her about our platform while she can’t talk.


Where we’re going, you will be able to achieve this goal.


Maybe try to recruit one or two of them.


What if I told you there were another option, one that involves much more hurtling through the void?


Don’t worry, she’s used to it.


Just don’t squeeze out the extra air. We may need it.


It is rather terrifyingly gratifying when it howls back, “Let me tell you about our cosmic savior.”


That might be because we knocked you out when you started hogging the megaphone.


Excellent. We’re going to need skills such as these where we’re going. Probably.


Have you been paying even a little bit of attention?


But of course. Now intrigue some people into visiting our website.


So, hear me out, there’s this movie that combines what I’m laying down with what you’re laying down. It’s about a tornado or something.


Our program could allow you to unlock your potential with way less study and expense.


Replace “handbasket” with “giant chunk of frozen mineral” and I’m sold.


We need motivated self-starters such as yourself. Please join us in a few chants so you can learn more.


The joke’s on you, buddy, because that’s exactly what we’re after.


A higher love?


In our new, more perfect society, they will be executed.


We’re going to need examples.


Excellent. Please step into this information booth.


Look, man, this is cool, but we’re not going to be able to accept your membership application.


I’d really rather not.


It’s fine.


It’s part of our orientation process.


Bigfoot warned us about you.


We can help you.


As we depart, wide eyed and in amazement, reality begins to set in. Perhaps we’re setting sail on a grand adventure through time and space or perhaps we’re trapped on a giant rock with a loquacious wood ape armed with a shit-ton of pamphlets, a ravenous aquatic creature, and a bunch of really gullible people.

That’s when we stare into the void, which is easy because we’re rocketing across a great vast nothing, and whisper sweet nothings. Of course, the abyss stares back, smiles sweetly, and maybe asks for some flowers.

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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