Continuing the expeditions of Jeff MacNelly, James Kilpatrick, and Eugene McCarthy, with apologies.

The Tweet

The Tweet species traces its lineage back to forebears of friendly disposition, bent only on including their neighbors in all of the happy moments of existence. Of late, however, the bend has become increasingly more severe, toward animosity, and, in some holding the highest of offices, toward self-incrimination. Researchers have not reached consensus on why this happens, but there is some evidence that that the Tweet may not actually know that it has turned its weapons on itself; there seems to be a level of innate ignorance that cannot be breached. Moreover, the Tweet, in malevalent form, often magnifies its damage to self by binding together with others of the species, forming a flock of misspent emotional energy, bent on humiliation, and called a Tweet Storm. Look for this flurry of crazed activity in the early morning hours of days when certain high government officials have no official events planned.

 

-Danny Grosso

Continuing the expeditions of Jeff MacNelly, James Kilpatrick, and Eugene McCarthy, with apologies.

The Garland

The Garland is an efficient, honest, and dutiful creature of exemplary character. Unassuming in appearance, yet often possessing a keen intellect, the Garland is usually found perched on federal appeals courts, honing its sense of reason among other accomplished beings. For most of its life, the Garland lives in the rarefied habitat of bipartisan adoration, receiving innumerable accolades, which, in turn, the creature dismisses as inappropriate. Here, however, begins the mystery of the Garland. Inevitably, notwithstanding is high station, the Garland is always and forever stunted and stymied. The attempts of its benefactors to elevate the Garland seem to be subject to rules so arcane as to be unverifiable, or to rules otherwise just made up by myopic majority leaders. The effect of all this is to leave the Garland in a state of suspended regard, still receiving the best wishes of all interested parties, but unable to ride the hot air of good will to rise to the highest judicial perch.

Still, wings clipped, it soldiers on, working its way through life each day, seemingly oblivious to the injustice of its story. Sometimes though, at night, along the Potomac, one can hear the creature discreetly chirp its song,  the uncanny “Call the vote, Call the vote…”.

 

–Danny Grosso