Our communications technology department here at QU has picked up some strange transmissions in the ethernet. There is apparently a hot new etherapp called “Twitter” that is interfering with our mind-control transmission signals. I have included below a couple of the transmissions we intercepted. It seems each post is limited to 140 characters, which has inspired contests and bursts of creativity not seen since back when I time-travelled to ancient Japan and invented Haikus.
Twitters from the Immortal Club Men’s Room
As transcribed by Randall Scott Henderson
Twitter Avatar: Twitter 9.0 Transreality Communications online. Welcome ImmortalClubJanitor. [WHAT ARE YOU DOING?]
Testing. Is this thing working? Hi. My name is Ed. I clean the “male” restroom at the Immortal Club. Thought I’d try this Twitter thing.
Damn zombies. One let his bowels loose in the hall. Literally. I’m cleaning bowels from the carpet. New zombie rule – diapers or no entry
Saw Betty, she cleans the “female” restroom. One of Hestia’s brood. Fine woman, great hips. But the bosses dislike us workers fraternizing.
Damn. Eaters of Souls and Corruption Bingo night. Corruption don’t smell like roses to start; but crapped out corruption? Fuggedaboutit.
My 137th birthday today. Bosses got me a cake and a card. Big boss called me Fred. Awkward. Betty wasn’t there. Seems she quit. Damn.
Dark gods don’t even try to aim, evil bastards. I mean really, on the ceiling? Come on! I put cute bunny targets in toilet, but didn’t work.
The good gods might eat sweet smellin love, but their poo smells like a dead rat floating in rotten milk. It’s the stress. Bad for digestion
Hey Ed! Didn’t know you twittered. Remember, at least good deities are quiet and clean in the stalls. Their bowels move in mysterious ways.
Hi Bett! True. And I’d rather have Good God stink than clean digested hatred off ceramic tile once it’s dried and hardened. So where you at?
[YOUR DIRECT MESSAGES]
[Direct Message] BathroomBetty:I’m working for a wealthy jinn whose looking for another palace janitor. Hint, hint.
[Direct Message] ImmortalClubJanitor: Wow. Leaving this job would be hard. Been here 87 years. Job security and all. And once I burn that rainbow bridge, ain’t no going back.
[Direct Message] BathroomBetty: Yeah, well, I thought you liked my hips, big boy?
[Direct Message] ImmortalClubJanitor: You read that?
[Direct Message] BathroomBetty: And liked it 🙂 Your hips ain’t bad either. And FYI – the jinn doesn’t discourage fraternization. Just sayin. Think about it.
[Direct Message] ImmortalClubJanitor: I will. Thanks. And if you’re ever back in this dimension, look me up.
[WHAT ARE YOU DOING?]ImmortalClubJanitor:
Why do good gods make bad customers? They never give tips, just sad smiles & advice to forsake the need for worldly goods. Yeah, thanks bud.
Vamps. Act all royal & snotty. But ever smelled blood digested thru dead guts? Redefines ‘something crawled inside and died.’ I need a raise
Bosses laughed about the raise. And they’re making us pay for our own coffee now. Company cost cutting. Bastards.
[YOUR DIRECT MESSAGES] [Direct Message] ImmortalClubJanitor:
Betty, get them hips ready, ’cause here I come.
ImmortalClubJanitor session terminated.
Share any interesting twitters you’ve intercepted to assist our technicians in analyzing this phenomenon, or your thoughts on the twitter craze in general.