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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 90

By: Rich Cromwell
11 min read

What happens when a stuffed bear and two dogs get a day to themselves? Nothing good, that’s what.

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Rich Cromwell
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While the rest of the family was at home, they all played it cool. Bushy Bear laid around being a stuffed bear; Bindi and Fuzzy lived normal dog lives. This afforded them the opportunity to move a bit more than Bushy since they were recognizably sentient creatures. This may have been what motivated the pink bear.

During the day, though, when the family left to go to work and school, Bushy would pop up and dive off the couch, then go fetch his faithful canine friends.

Bindi, ever the helper, would always get the proceedings started. “What are we gonna do today, fellas?” She always included Fuzzy with her question, but all knew that Bushy would be the one to answer.

On this particular Friday, Bushy had an idea that was a little milder than his normal schemes. He wanted the three of them to go to the playground and fly kites. It was delightfully windy outside and perfect kite-flying weather. Bindi recognized the peril of thinking this was less fraught with danger than Bushy’s normal plans, which usually included activities like grand theft auto and breaking and entering.

“Bushy, this seems like one of your better ideas. And that’s why I’m scared. I’m afraid something will go wrong.” Fuzzy, swing vote of the trio, was on board. “No, this is great. Let’s roll.”

So off they went, with Bushy riding on Bindi’s back as they made their way to the park. Once there, the magnitude of Bushy’s plan began to reveal itself as he began to assemble less of a kite and more of a sail.

“That’s too big,” Bindi cautioned. Fuzzy agreed. “That’s going to carry us away!” Bushy laughed off their remarks, saying, “This is going to be great.”

And for a moment, it was. The trio all held the string together as the giant kite swirled through the sky, the kite dancing against the clouds. Then the unthinkable happened. Bushy tripped and lost his grip, tumbling into Fuzzy, who yelped and lost his hold. Bindi flew off, climbing too rapidly to let go, and drifted above them, being carried about on the wind.

It didn’t end there.


A car cruised by the park, though its occupants were unperturbed by the scene unfolding there.


If only they had brought one of the other animals with them, they might not be in that predicament. George, for example, could have really helped given Bindi’s cruising altitude.


Bindi howled down, demanding Bushy and Fuzzy call for help. They demurred.


Fuzzy, in fact, began to daydream about a way to monetize the adventure.


In the distance, a woman, perhaps one possessing super powers, enjoyed the playground. Would she help? No, it seems not.


Bindi howled down at Bushy, “Figure something out.” Alas, she knew the bear too well.


Bushy, on the other hand, had an entirely different thought.


The audience laughed, knowing that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.


From the edge of the scene, cries broke forth.


Bushy, meanwhile, had a revelation.


Across the street, trees began to crash.


Being dragged around the sky, wondering what would happen should she lose her grip, Bindi contemplated her next steps.


As the ship’s captain came out and began to yell at the trees, Fuzzy’s mind flashed back to a time when he was but a puppy.


Fuzzy’s resolve strengthened. Meanwhile, a small group of onlookers had gathered, as will happen when there’s a large dog dangling from an even larger kite on a Friday afternoon.


Alas, he misunderstood the dog and turned his gaze in a terrifying direction.


A lone woman went sprinting by, slowing for a moment to behold the spectacle.


Fuzzy, haunted but strengthened by his father’s words, knew what he had to do. First, though, he needed to Bushy to get Bindi down from that damn kite.


He yelled at Bushy. “Hey, man, get your head back in the game!” Bushy shook his head away from reminiscing about a previous victory.


Bushy knew what he had to do. First, though, he had to get Bindi down from that damn kite.


Fuzzy looked at Bushy and Bushy nodded knowingly.


The pink bear looked up at Bindi confidently and yelled:


Bindi glared at Bushy.


Meanwhile, the ship had left the cabin and made it back to the sea. One of the crew members didn’t have his head in the game. He should’ve listened to Fuzzy’s father.


Another crew member was busy tearing up the place. The ship would sink soon after this incident.


At least the most feared crew member never got to wreak any havoc upon everyone else.


Back in the park, Bushy steeled himself and prepared to make a bold and daring decision. It was going to be a little crazy, but he had fancy plans … and pants to match.


In the distance, a song began to play. It was “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins.


No, Bindi howled, I’m not.


Back on the ground, Fuzzy proclaimed, “Don’t worry, I can fix it.”


“There’s no way you can fix this, dude,” Fuzzy barked at him. Bushy shook his head. “We discussed this yesterday, with regard to getting pulled over by the cops. I can fix it.”


Bushy then became calm, staid.


If he could solve this situation, he had a job lined up, after all. A delicious job.


Little did he know, the salmon farm was a ruse.


And this particular Friday, no, it was not the Friday for this to happen.


As the crowd grew around them, a man and his bird watched in awe. “Could you help, Sam?,” the man asked. The bird pecked his ear and flew away.


The music from the edges of the scene swelled and Fuzzy began barking orders. Meanwhile, I listened in.


It was at this moment that the rope slipped from Bushy and Fuzzy’s grips. Fortunately, it was also at this moment that the wind slowed, but just a little. Bindi remained at the same cruising altitude, hovering close to a tree.

“Fuzzy, we have to get up that tree!” Fuzzy looked at Bushy because, well, dogs aren’t particularly known for their tree-climbing ability. But the look in the bear’s eyes unlocked something deep within the him, turned everything up to 11. He ran toward the tree and jumped.

Somehow he defied gravity and made it into the limbs. From there, he climbed his way to the top. Bushy, being a bear and naturally more skilled at climbing trees, rapidly followed him.

When they got to the top, Bushy finally revealed his grand plan to “fix it.” “We’re gonna jump the next time she swings close to the branches and we’re going to catch the rope and pull her down.”

It was an idiotic plan, but it was something, so they jumped, like magnificent flying squirrels or monkeys of some flavor. They caught the rope and pulled Bindi down. Bindi kissed the ground and then looked at the sun. “We have to get home! It’s late.”

Off they ran, arriving home and attempting to have a nice snack before the rest of the family came back from work and school. But then, just as they were about to bite into some nice apples smeared with peanut butter, the garage door opened.

Bindi and Fuzzy laid down and pretended to be sleeping and Bushy hurled himself on the couch, where he’d been left that morning. The family walked in, blissfully unaware of what had transpired that day, though Grandma, who also lived there, would soon tell them, repeatedly. I mean it was kind of interesting the first time, but by the 356, it had lost its punch.

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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