At 6:45 pm on Thursday, November 2, 2017, Donald Twump’s Twitter account was suspended for approximately 11 minutes. At this writing the faux pas is being blamed on the deliberate actions of a disgruntled Twitter employee on his last day of work. Twump was awake when the deal went down.
Inside sources say that within one minute of the twitterbackle the Donald was enraged. After numerous frantic attempts to post he threw his cell phone against the wall of the Oval Office, making a huge thud and shattering it to pieces. The impact on the wall triggered alarms in the White House and fifteen Secret Service agents rushed into action.
Twump had locked the doors to the Oval Office. When the agents couldn’t get in they used a bust of George Washington as a battering ram. They rushed in, guns ablaze, ready to stop a would-be assassin from taking Donald down. They quickly learned that there was no intruder.
Twump was fuming. “You’re gonna put up a new door and I’m gonna make YOU pay for it,” he shouted. “Gimme your phone,” he ordered one of the agents. The agent winced. The Commandeer-in-Tweet commandeered the phone. He attempted to get into his Twitter account to no avail. He slammed the phone down on his desk and it broke to smithereens. Twump turned to another agent and demanded his phone. The same thing happened. One by one, the Secret Service agents gave the Donald their cell phones, only to have them stomped, smashed, screamed at, and shattered.
Hearing all the commotion, a security guard called in a national emergency to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff who immediately had the police, Air Force, Army, Navy, Coast Guard, and Marines activated. Within seconds cop cars, helicopters, and tanks were on the scene. A warship filled with Navy Seals deployed in the Potomac River.
With his main mode of communication shut down, the Pwesident of the United Tweets of America violently paced the room. He kicked over tables, threw a lamp out of a window, and ripped apart the couches. Twump jumped up on his desk and began stomping his feet and screaming. His eyes rolled back upon his head and his cuticles dilated. He put his hands in his armpits like a child pretending to be a bird and started dancing a gigue on the broken phones. Twump the Tweeter threw his head back and shouted over and over and over again, “I am a tweet twitter, I twit tweets. I’m the best tweet twitter that ever twit a tweet!” At his command the Secret Service agents screamed along with him, producing a chorus of tongue twisters in four-part harmony. Twump made the agents throw their broken phones in the fireplace. He turned on the gas which lit the fire that incinerated the cell phones.
About that time the Army Rangers came crashing through the windows and took a bead on the agents who screamed at the top of their lungs, “We didn’t start the fire! We didn’t start the fire!” A shell from a tank struck the Pwesidential living quarters. Melania raced out screaming, “Rocket Boy is coming! Rocket Boy is coming!” She tripped over the bottom of her flannel night gown, falling headlong into a bust of Hillary Clinton, triggering and jumbling the recorded messages in Hillary’s own voice, “It takes a village to raise my Bill. It takes a village to raise my Bill . . .”
Meanwhile, Geraldo Rivera showed up in a wet suit demanding to see the Pwesident. He’d swim, swam, swum the Potomac to get there. Twump yelled, “You’re all wet and you’ve got a Mexican name. Get thee behind the wall, Geraldo! Get thee behind the wall!”
All of a sudden the ghost of Marlin Perkins from Wild Kingdom past appeared with his able assistant, Jim Fowler, who was carrying a dart gun. Perkins barked, “Down the twit, Jim! Put Twump down!” Jim, being the obedient second banana that he was, shot a tranquilizer dart in Twump’s buttocks. Within seconds the twit went down to sleep tweet dreams in his twitty chair.
A few hours later Twump awoke with a start. He cried out, “NO!” then took a desperately deep breath. “Oh, twit!” he said. “I just had a nightmare. I was following Melania and I grabbed her privates from behind. Things didn’t feel right. She stopped and slowly turned her face toward me. It was not Melania. It was Conway Twitty. He grinned and said, Hello, darlin’.”
Twump resumed his tweets with no memory of the events of the morning other than his Twitty dream. That night and every night since, Melania says he tosses and turns for a while, then gets perfectly still, smiles sheepishly, and whisper-sings ever so quietly, Hello, darlin’. Nice to see you. It’s been a long time . . .”
And that’s the view from The Balcony. 
