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This Week In Weird Twitter, Volume 129

By: Rich Cromwell
14 min read

It’s fall, which means it’s time to pick apples and steal cars.

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Rich Cromwell
@rcromwell4
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It was a crisp fall day, so the family and I headed out to pick crisp apples in the crisp air. A photographer just happened to accompany us. This was purely coincidental, as were our crisply coordinated outfits. That I’d purchased all the ingredients necessary for preparing a post-picking pie, well that was strategic. My plans were the best laid. The best! Alas, I didn’t plan for Bushy Bear.

No one really knows where he came from. He arrived sometime around the same time as the first daughter, but they never took to one another. He found his partner with the second, although he had to branch out to find a partner in crime. For that, he formed a strategic alliance with the dogs. That alliance proved fateful on that crisp fall day.

As we pulled out of the driveway, Bushy emerged from his seemingly inanimate state and went to talk to Bindi and Fuzzy. He had his own best-laid plans, and it involved borrowing the car. Bindi was against it, being slightly more cautious if not actually cautious in the literal sense. Fuzzy was down for whatever. Bushy promised them they’d go for ice cream “or something,” so they grabbed the keys and off they went.

Things went swimmingly for about two miles. Then the police pulled them over. Bindi was nervous about what the cops would have to say to a trio consisting of two mountain dogs and a stuffed pink bear driving an automobile, but Bushy was calm. No matter the situation, he could handle it and he didn’t like suggestions to the contrary.

As the officer approached the car, Fuzzy asked Bushy what he was going to do. Bushy responded, “Don’t worry, I can fix it.” “How are you going to fix this?! We’re about to get arrested!” Bindi replied. Bushy was resolute. “Don’t worry. I can fix it.”

On the inside, though, he was pondering whether that day was the day to get involved in a high-speed chase.


The officer, sensing that something was off, had her own concerns. She also wondered about her wardrobe choices given her line of work.


Bushy, sensing his own concerns, decided to play it cool.


Although he thought about how the situation would’ve played out had he followed his dreams.


The officer was also thinking about her dreams.


Meanwhile, we were picking apples, oblivious to the shenanigans Bushy, Bindi, and Fuzzy were up to. I was starting to regret my decision to bake a pie.


I began to wonder whether it was all worth it. The crisp fall air, the apples, the outfits, the smiling. There had to be a better way.


Bindi, meanwhile, had other concerns, particularly as the officer was at the door.


Bushy rolled down the window and smiled. You could say he had a plan, but you’d be wrong.


For though he did not have a plan, he did have a mantra.


Fuzzy offered words of encouragement.


Bushy was calm. For one, any backup would have to figure out if they were on the lane, the street, the avenue, or the circle before they could get to the scene.


He rolled down the window and greeted the cop. Before she could ask him what the heck was going on, he dazzled her with an explanation, if one that fell short of a confession.


Then, he turned the investigation back on her.


And he didn’t stop there. Bindi and Fuzzy kept their eyes down, nervous at what was to come next.


Bushy wasn’t done, however, and just kept going after the officer.


The officer attempted to counter his attacks.


Bushy was incredulous. Didn’t she realize who she was talking to?


Then she realized she was arguing with a pink stuffed bear who was driving around with one dog riding shotgun and another dog in the backseat. She got back in her patrol car and headed off. No way was she calling that in. Bindi and Fuzzy breathed sighs of relief while Bushy just smiled.


That’s when Bindi and Fuzzy realized they didn’t know why they’d taken the car in the first place when they had ice cream “and something” at home, so they asked. Bushy was quick with the reply: “We’re going to pick apples!” Bindi and Fuzzy sighed.


The dogly duo implored the bear, “The rest of the family is out picking apples, Bushy! They might see us. Also, they’re bringing apples home. What is wrong with you?”


They continued, “What do you mean ‘lead by example?’ You’re not even really leading, and you’re definitely not an example.” As always, Bushy had a response.

They begged him to be serious. He refused.


He wasn’t listening anyway, he was enjoying the ride.


A ride which came to a halt, thanks to a flat tire. The trio got out and got the car on the jack, but the lug nuts wouldn’t budge. Time was running out. If they didn’t get the wheel changed, they’d be caught. That’s when Bushy got an idea about how to get the tire iron turning.


Meanwhile, back at the orchard, the family and I decided to check out the horses. Not just for the photo ops, but also to mingle with the people.


Alas the apples reminded me of hard apple cider and I again started pondering what my next move would be if I had to give up supping at the public trough.


I also filled out some forms online so my backup plan had a backup plan.


While making sure that my family remained crisply photogenic in the crisp fall air.


Not everyone at the orchard had received the memo.


Back by the side of the road, Bushy prepared to whack the tire iron with the big hammer. Bindi and Fuzzy expressed reservations, but Bushy had a response.


While I was having second thoughts about baking.


Bushy got the wheel off, but Bindi and Fuzzy pointed out that a spare would be rather noticeable to us when we arrived back home. Bushy had a response to that, too.


Some members of the voting public started to express a preference for Bushy at that moment.


Back behind the wheel, Bushy found a message saying, “Your ideas always end in disaster.”


Not that he cared. His plans may have always ended adjacent to disaster, but never actually as disasters. When he said “I can fix it,” he was always correct. Although he wondered how the flipped over sugar truck would play into that day’s adventures.


I remained blissfully unaware of the potential PR nightmare going on with my dogs and the highest-ranking stuffed animal in the house. I also remained blissfully unaware of other pitfalls potentially awaiting me.


While Bushy was avoiding the potential PR nightmare of us returning home to a car that had obviously been borrowed. He decided to pick up the phone. He had plenty to offer as payment, especially as his pockets were overflowing with the sugar he’d picked up from the overturned truck.


As we headed home, the family suggested another photo op I mean activity, but I just couldn’t get excited about it.


If I was being honest, I would’ve had to admit that the reason was that I couldn’t compete with local theater.


Besides, I had some photogenic projects to attend to around the homestead.


Nevertheless, I decided to consult with my advisor first.


No one but Bushy knows who he called, but whoever he called delivered. The car again had four real tires on it. The smattering of feathers around the driveway was a bit curious, though. We can only assume the interloper told his story to someone.


Given his success, Bushy started working on his next crazy scheme.


While forgetting another clue as to what had actually transpired.


What Bushy didn’t mention to Bindi and Fuzzy was how perilous the situation had actually been. They’d gone inside to resume the quiet life of dogs that don’t go out on ridiculous quests, and to hopefully get some apple pie, while Bushy waited outside. As such, they missed Belvedere, who arrived wearing a tuxedo and driving an Acura NSX.

Belvedere was as incredulous as Bindi and Fuzzy had been, and as Bushy had been when they first ran afoul of the fuzz. But he was equipped with a tire and an air pump. What he wasn’t equipped with was the tools necessary to putting the tire back on the wheel. Bushy persisted. “The old man has an ultimate set of tools. I can fix it.” Somehow, he did.

With the evidence safely obscured‒or so they thought‒Bindi, Fuzzy, and Bushy decided it was time for a snack. They’d given up on the possibility of apple pie, so apple slices and peanut butter would have to suffice. They got the apples sliced and the peanut butter out, but that’s when they heard the car pull into the driveway.

Bindi and Fuzzy raced downstairs to pretend they’d been asleep the entire time. Bushy took his place on the couch, pretending to be an inanimate stuffed bear. They’d covered all their tracks, save one. The jar of peanut butter was still on the counter. Bushy trusted that would be blamed on one of the kids. It was not to be.

I could tell that something was amiss, though I wasn’t to discover exactly what on that crisp fall day. I didn’t know that the crisp scandals resulting from our various adventures would spell the end of my campaign and the beginning of one of my fallback careers.

I wasn’t apoplectic, yet. In hindsight, I should have been. But you know what they say about hindsight. It’s an opportunity to realize how angry you should have been. As a famous political strategist once said, “Use your aggressive feelings, boy. Let the hate flow through you.”

On that day, though, I was feeling magnanimous.

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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