This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 128

This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 128

Tripods are for the weak, not the intrepid. Instead, I rely on my nerves of steel, intrepidly, for my art. It’s not just about the selfies, though they are of paramount importance. There are also the landscapes, the moon, the occasional meal or cocktail.

The main thing to remember, though, is not the landscapes or the meals, it’s the thing about being intrepid. They would call me the statue, except that my moments of complete statue-like stillness are frequently interrupted by bouts of wild movements. I’m like Drax after a few bags of chocolate-coated zarg-nuts, only more plucky.

Similarly, you could say that I’m a hero, as are my cocktails and occasionally my meals. Such heroism often leads me into a panoply of interesting situations, and also into the panopticon. Such is how I came to encounter palace intrigue of the highest order, if also of the lowest common denominator.

It was the Major, he had plans for me. Fancy plans, and pants to match, to quote the greatest of American businessman ever. He was also the greatest when it came to fire extinguishers, but that’s not the issue at hand.

No, my fellow Americans, the issue at hand—and you know what they say about birds and hands—is, well, our hands. They can be huge and we can grab lots of things with them. And the Major needed someone to play solitaire, which also involves hands and grabbing things, albeit lightly.

There was no reason it shouldn’t be me playing the game, except for the fact that I’m terrible at it, not that I let that stop me from being me.


There is also the fact that my vehicle is second only to the A-Team van.


And my resolve, it’s also second only to the A-Team.


As is my dedication to décor.


Plus an outfit for every occasion.


I mean every occasion.


I also have a squad, though it’s prefaced with “hit.”


Forget that, I’ve said too much.


I understand there will be sacrifices.


The important thing is to keep the Major happy, even if I shouldn’t admit that publicly. Forget that I said this, too.


But if you ask questions, I’ll answer them, technically.


Relentless obfuscation is a form of answering.


As is silently nodding while pretending to pay attention.


Until such time that the Q&A session is over.


Because some moments require you to be quiet and me to deliver a rousing speech.


Though I may pretend to be a mere mortal, for the people. It’s an example of my humility.


I’ll even wish you well.


Although the fight against the voices in my head, voices that seem like they may have been planted, can be challenging, matey.


I need to clarify an earlier position lest I get cancelled. When I said my cement mixer is second only to the A-Team van, I also meant it’s second to my other ride, which is also second to the A-Team van, but I’m calling it a tie.


But the cement mixer is clearly in first place. It’s much more utilitarian.


For my ambition is somewhat of a distressing condition. I mean, I do seek power the way a superstitious man looks for a four-leaf clover.


Although there are remedies.


Plus I’m not just going to give in if I hear the trigger phrase, not least of all because I forgot it.


You say pathetic, I say air drumming champion.


And if my resolve wanes, there’s always the warm nourishment of the rubber chicken circuit.


Plus the little fellow that hangs out on my shoulder.


A little fellow who sometimes presents conspiracy theories. Really plausible conspiracy theories, ones which I promise to use the full force of the government to pursue.


It’s an agenda all thinking people can get behind. Alas, I need a majority.


Also, though, I enjoy inciting people. I can’t be totally selfless.


I also can’t be totally innocent. It’s how you know that I’m kind of almost just like you (but better).


It really tied the room together. That is, until the incident.


After the incident, I woke up to a horrible cacophony.


Then I drew a Queen of Diamonds and decided to keep it real.


Really real.


Though I still obfuscated a little.


Getting back to the mission, despite my missing rug, you shouldn’t listen to me. Nonetheless,


When you wrestle a pig, something something something.


For while I do wrestle pigs, it’s still hurtful when you call me out on it. I’m doing it for you!


This, though, I do for myself.


This, too.


Like I said, though, I’ve got resolve.


Resolve and other “positive” traits, to go with my “legitimate” stature.


“Legitimate” “positivity,” that is.


Also legitimate “positivity.”


Not that I don’t intend to keep your attention.


I’m worth it.


And I bring annotated lists to help you prioritize.


That’s not all. I also bring a surprising amount of resiliency. It’s borderline annoying, but I persist, skateboard in place of my left air drumstick.


Mainly the theme song to the A-Team, but a few movies, too. “East Bound and Down” comes to mind, not least of which because it offers some of the same parallels as the A-Team.


We’re going to do it, fam. And it’s going to be lit or 100 or whatever. We’re going to do what they say can’t be done. We’ve got a long way to go, and a short time to get there, just watch us bandits run.

Though the mission is shrouded in a cloud of vagaries, there will probably be beer, some bootlegging, a cowboy hat, maybe a logo resembling a bird in flames on the hood of the cement mixer. We’re in this for the long haul, which is a nebulous term that I intend to take full advantage of.

In any case, this is serious and not just a lapse of reason. You can trust me, I’m a “legitimate” man of the people. So don’t mind them brakes, son. There will be selfies, maybe a few landscapes and shots of my meals.

Also, I think the Major is stuck somewhere en route, so we can forget about him and his trigger phrase, which I think has something to do with Lemmy and the Ace of Spades. Keep your foot hard on the pedal, let’s play solitaire.

Richard Cromwell is a senior contributor to The Federalist. Follow him on Twitter, @rcromwell4.
Photo U.S. Air Force photo by Joshua Rodriguez
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