Sunday, December 21, 2014

Oy! 100 Weeks of Tweeting Can Give You Such a Crick in the Neck!! — Tweeted Mystery "The Golden Parachute" Continues

Here are Week 100 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!

I say "Easy boys. There's plenty of me to go around." The Concierge pushes in front of the crowd and says "You can't take their money."

"As their boss it wouldn't look right." "But borrowing $1000 from you at high interest would?" "You're really borrowing from yourself."

"No Concierge, I'm not! As your new boss, I'm issuing new marching orders. By that I mean billing orders. By that I mean you're fired!"

He says "You can't fire me! I run this place!" I take Dot's $20. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can." "No hurry. I know where you live."

As I head out I say "Concierge! To keep your job, find another way to run things besides price gouging and loansharking. We'll talk later."

"Tell me one thing. I know you as the Concierge. Do you have a real name?" "Yes it's..." Before he answers I am out the door, hailing a cab.

It's a short cab ride to mother's Beeviary. The loud humming noise comes from malfunctioning air conditioning. The bees are still missing.

As I walk in I call "Mom?" No reply. I hear someone in the bathroom. I walk over and knock. "Hey I'm back!" The door opens and out comes B.

"RG? Wht th fck d y wnt?" B asks. "Good to see you too Uncle B" I reply. I should explain that B speaks in consonants. I will translate.

B is his name. His parents named him and his 25 siblings after letters of the alphabet after an artificial insemination laboratory mixup.

Dad's business partner at Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly, B is credited with running LBDD into the ground while Dad was busy getting cloned.

I once asked him why he speaks in consonants. "t's mr ffcnt. Svs tm." "But no one understands what you say!" "Thy nd t gt wth th prgrm."

"B, why are you here? Where's Mom?" "Mmm. Sh's rnd." "Are you saying 'she's round'?" "N. Sh's rnd." "This is ridiculous. Talk normally!"

"Fck y." "Seriously. No one is around. I won't tell anyone." "Yr mthr's rnd." My mother's around?" "Ys." "Not 'round', but 'around'?" "Ys."

"Do you see what I mean?" "N. Wht r y dng wth tht phn?" "Arkaby asked me to tweet for him." "Tht sshl? Why?" "Isn't a 'y' a vowel?" "Smtms."

"Why cnt h twt fr hmslf?" "He's in jail." "Arkaby? What did he do?" "Oh, with everything going on, I forgot to tell you. Farley's dead."

"Farley's dead?" "Not just dead, horribly murdered. Arkaby is the prime suspect." "Arkaby is a cop." "I know." "Did he arrest himself?"

"No. His boss." B laughs. "He didn't do it." Between breaths he says "Probably not." "You're not speaking in consonants anymore." "I know!"

He laughs harder. "Oh crap! You're sleeping with my mother." He stops laughing. "Wht gv m wy?" "What gave you away is you're acting weird."

"Tlkng n cnsnnts sn't wrd ngh?" "I mean weird even for you." "S wht? Yr slpng wth tht sshl rkb." "How did you know?" "I fllw hm n Twttr."

"You were following Arkaby?" "Ys." "So you read how we…ahem, in the hospital?" "Tht's why stppd fllwng hm, Sm thngs shldn't b Twttd."

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at 

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