DrLove
Diamond Member
Regarding those glorious 11 minutes, the departing employee who deleted Trump's Twit account should be awarded a Freedom Medal!
Continued:
Opinion | 11 minutes in heaven: When Trump disappeared from Twitter
President Trump disappeared from Twitter in the autumn. The night was warm, the Internet almost deserted. The mercury rose in the mouth of the dying year. All the instruments we have agreed that the evening of his disappearance was vanishing pleasant and mild.
He was gone for 11 minutes, a little before 7 p.m. on a Thursday.
The first minute, people could scarcely believe that it had happened. Suddenly, the news seemed realer. Everyone ran to the newspapers and marveled at all the actual facts that they contained.
Everywhere on Capitol Hill, people who had been turned into abject, writhing puddles felt their spines grow back. The enchantment at last was broken. A sad antique clock that had been presiding over the Senate resumed its human shape. People who for months had only gone by “Crazy Bernie” or “Liddle’ Bob” remembered their true names. The last petal that had been about to fall from the rose of democracy halted, mid-air.
By the second minute, people had begun to plan new lives. Mouths that had not smiled since sometime in 2015 experienced strange twitches at their corners. Leaves sprouted. The birds began to sing again — not to tweet, but really to sing. (I apologize about that last sentence; it could not be helped.)
By the fifth minute it was spring, everywhere spring.
Bells began ringing. Angels who had not even finished helping people learn that their lives had purpose unexpectedly got their wings. The State Department grew three sizes. Lions and lambs lay down together. Donkeys and elephants lay down together. Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton embraced. Lindsey Graham was released from the bunker beneath the eighth hole of some golf course where he has been dwelling for the past several months and allowed to see the sunshine again.
He was gone for 11 minutes, a little before 7 p.m. on a Thursday.
The first minute, people could scarcely believe that it had happened. Suddenly, the news seemed realer. Everyone ran to the newspapers and marveled at all the actual facts that they contained.
Everywhere on Capitol Hill, people who had been turned into abject, writhing puddles felt their spines grow back. The enchantment at last was broken. A sad antique clock that had been presiding over the Senate resumed its human shape. People who for months had only gone by “Crazy Bernie” or “Liddle’ Bob” remembered their true names. The last petal that had been about to fall from the rose of democracy halted, mid-air.
By the second minute, people had begun to plan new lives. Mouths that had not smiled since sometime in 2015 experienced strange twitches at their corners. Leaves sprouted. The birds began to sing again — not to tweet, but really to sing. (I apologize about that last sentence; it could not be helped.)
By the fifth minute it was spring, everywhere spring.
Bells began ringing. Angels who had not even finished helping people learn that their lives had purpose unexpectedly got their wings. The State Department grew three sizes. Lions and lambs lay down together. Donkeys and elephants lay down together. Bernie Sanders and Hillary Clinton embraced. Lindsey Graham was released from the bunker beneath the eighth hole of some golf course where he has been dwelling for the past several months and allowed to see the sunshine again.
Continued:
Opinion | 11 minutes in heaven: When Trump disappeared from Twitter
