Skip to content
Biden DOJ Says Droning American Citizens Is Totally Fine Because Obama’s DOJ Said So
Humor

This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 110

By: Rich Cromwell
11 min read

If you’re going to take over the eastern seaboard, you’ll need two things: crème eggs, and a flamethrower.

Author Rich Cromwell profile
Rich Cromwell
@rcromwell4
More Articles
Share

Gerard the Jerboa had no idea how he’d landed in such a predicament. The bunny, the obscurely named Conejito, was possessed both of exemplary persuasive powers and of the ability to produce delicious chocolate eggs filled with fondant. Not only that, the fondant was creamy and sumptuous instead of the normal hard and flavorless expression thereof. Gerard was unsure of his next step. Maybe his next hop.

For there, next to the decorative fern, he’d agreed to a seemingly impossible mission. He was to take over the eastern seaboard. Also, he was supposed to deliver some treats or something. Mostly, though, he was to claim the eastern seaboard in the name of fondant. Since he couldn’t produce sumptuous eggs filled with that fondant, he was left with but one choice: the flamethrower.

He didn’t want to find himself hauling around crème eggs and a flamethrower any more than he wanted to be adorned with the mantle of responsibility with which Conejito had shackled him. He had a lovely day bed and plate of crudités awaiting him. They did not require a flamethrower.

This whole hero’s journey was an obstacle to reclining with his snacks, but a deal is a deal, even one made with an exceptionally persuasive bunny. Plus, he remembered the lessons his cousin Jedidiah taught him about proper planning. He lowered his chin and set off.


Though he remained cognizant of the foul play afoot. And rim shots.


A would-be interlocutor attempted to interrupt. Gerard had a response.


He was angry. Not just because of his surroundings, though they were playing an outsized part.


Nonetheless, Gerard checked his motivations. As he suspected, they were on point.


Though he wondered about his life, and if he was the hero on a hero’s journey. There was a chance he was the villain.


There was this predilection to grapple with.


There was also his resolve.


And his various superpowers.


There were also his side gigs.


Alas, Gerard’s path wasn’t free of decorum and the demands of the royals.


Nor was it free of memories of times past.


Simpler times, when fun was to be had with simpler pursuits.


Not all of the memories were positive. Gerard thought back on his cousin Jedidiah and his untimely demise.


That moment of reflection gave Gerard the opportunity to notice something, something peculiar.


It also gave him the opportunity to reminisce.


Upon doing so, though, he found himself given to pontification.


The dossier he was keeping in his hip pocket helped.


Even if its creation had been invigorating and messy while not overly concerned with things like accuracy or common-sense caution.


It was all part of his strategy.


Especially as he wasn’t above sowing discord.


Or behaving selfishly.


Or even having a point.


Gerard was sure of one thing. That was that data mining is, as Martha Stewart would say, a good thing.


He was curious if he needed an accomplice. He was feeling a bit peckish, as it were.


Unfortunately, would-be accomplices weren’t just making themselves known.


Though they did offer moxie.


And a reason to be optimistic.


Gerard, nonetheless, wasn’t without his doubts. Being a supervillain who also delivered candy he couldn’t produce was a very tiring endeavor.


And the music in the air wasn’t helping.


Though the atmosphere, and the terror, was.


Not that he was especially introspective.


He was overflowing with curiosity, however.


And fancy plans … and pants to match.


Plus, some foolish ones … and pants to match.


They were lounge wear, to be honest.


I mean, everyone, and everything, needs to recline once in a while.


For without reclining, certain truths will never be discovered.


And certain skills cannot be practiced and thus improved upon.


Particularly ones that require a bit of stillness.


And a cleaning crew.


As well as pushing him toward constant improvement.


While also imbuing him with the verve to fight the power, no matter the circumstances.


It helped that he was fully familiar with the enemy.


Though not everyone appreciated his southern dedication to etiquette.


Thus, Gerard the Jerboa continued, mentally steeling himself for his coming conquest. A friend offered words of, well, not encouragement, but they were words.


He was somewhat concerned about how he’d find nourishment on his hero’s journey, as we’ve established he couldn’t make the eggs.


He made a promise to himself. He was starting to suspect he was a glutton for punishment and that maybe Conejito wasn’t all that persuasive.


Plus, this was his resting state.


Also, he was still concerned about locating sustenance.


He wondered if his morning routine would make things better, or worse. He was hoping for worse.


All this thinking left Gerard distracted and not focused on his surroundings. Otherwise, he would have noticed he had found a base from which to launch his opening salvo.


Gerard picked himself up and dusted himself off, unsure of how he’d gotten from there to here, more sure that he’d accomplished very little in the process. He did find himself the new owner of a set of fireplace pokers and a slightly used trampoline, so there was that, even if he couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten them from. Being a roving jerboa wasn’t without its charms, and it wasn’t without its perks, either.

He spread the maps out on the table and began thinking about how ill-fated this entire endeavor was. Conejito swung open the screen door and joined him, reminding him that a deal is a deal and providing him with a second flamethrower. Though it didn’t make sense to Gerard, and he was tempted to say “screw it” and head home to his day bed and crudités, he spotted something from the corner of his eye. He never was one to turn down an antagonist.

Conejito smiled, knowing full-well that the journey wasn’t over.

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.

More from Humor

View All

Latest

View All