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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 99

By: Rich Cromwell
10 min read

99 Problems? No, the 99th element.

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Rich Cromwell
@rcromwell4
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The element awoke, unsure of what was going on. The bystanders scattered from their perches, those who had been gifted with mutant powers by the blast unaware of the changes taking place inside them.
Dandelion fuzz danced in the wind. The chosen few who had witnessed the event attempted to salvage their ears, ringing as though they’d been assaulted with the piercing howls of angry and vocal monkeys. A man with a white afro stood alongside the crowd, frowning.

Though his creation had succeeded, it was also to have lasting repercussions, ones that existed on an atomic scale. As the element stumbled around amongst the dust bunnies, struggling to find his place as the 99th, a voice cut through the silence. It uttered a single phrase.

“You shall know me, for my name is Richard.”


Though the element was new, and a synthetic element, he was determined to languish.


But he wasn’t to languish that much.


For the prophesy was soon to be realized.


So the element set forth, placing wheels on the ground.


But not without doing necessary testing first.


Periodic elements never die.


99 walked along, hoping to find another. The life of a synthetic element was proving lonely.


He had a song in his heart, though.


Jay Z was also in there.


It was then met someone who asserted that being borne in a nuclear blast wasn’t really that big of a deal.


But 99 quickly brushed off that claim.


Then, he decided, it was time for a break.


A solid nap will do that for an element.


99 ruminated upon his ancestors, evaluating how he’d ended up in this spot.


He was particularly focused on his great aunt Vorza.


Not that she was all bad.


Though his great uncle had also been quite an interesting character. Too bad he vanished.


He continued his journey, through locations rough and locations nice.


Sometimes, people thought they recognized him.


Given that he was a byproduct of a nuclear explosion, he wondered about his career options. Would he find somewhere that offered training?


Or would he unleash his entrepreneurial spirit?


Perhaps using tricks from the family business.


Then, he met a spirit animal, and her animals.


He sought council from a friend.


Then he went to Grandma’s house for a relaxing meal. The situation was much tenser than he’d expected.


Though her pets were full of whimsy.


99 set back out. He knew his journey was about to take a turn. Maybe not a crazy one, but a turn nonetheless.


He couldn’t believe what happened next.


99 knew the powers that had created him could once again be used. Maybe for good, but not necessarily.


It was then that he happened upon an unlikely ally.


And a project.


The screaming woman decided she was done.


99 wasn’t surprised. He could be a bit much for some.


There was a reason for this.


But also…


He wondered if perhaps he should choose a less adventurous, and time consuming, path.


Though he also wanted to explore the possibilities offered by being a renegade artist.


Alas, people were not in love with his concepts and were fairly savage in their critiques.


99 reclined with his crew and formulated a plan.


It involved a little bit of poetry.


And the knowledge that this meandering mess would soon be over.


He decided to take drastic action.


Except for one problem: his level of motivation.


He knew there was a better way.


Sometimes that didn’t go exactly according to plan.


There was also the aforementioned repository of effort he had on hand.


So, he modulated.


Though he briefly got distracted and let his plans get lofty and bend toward world domination.


99 paused and took a moment to enjoy some light recreation.


And to plan some hijinks.


Then he remembered what had brought him to this point. Besides the nuclear explosion, that was.


He pondered his own mortality.


As he did so, he lay down on the side of the road, pausing his journey for a moment and attempted sleep.


And that’s when it hit him.


From there, well…


Our hero drifted off to sleep. When he woke, he found his mind clear, though he wondered about the mutants that were borne in the same blast from which he arose. He stood up, stole a car, and headed down the road for a little

He turned on the radio. Alanis Morissette came pouring through the speakers, saying something about how he oughta know. He wasn’t sure what, but he did know he was free for a moment, so he counted it. He also knew that, as for Michael Corleone, there might be investment opportunities in Cuba. That was an adventure for another day, though.

99 mashed the pedal to the floor and headed off in an unknown direction, turning off the tunes and enjoying the silent game. He wasn’t to be gone forever, but perhaps a little holiday was in order.

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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