Hello to you! This is the Daily Twitter Story. You tweet it. I make it literature. Glory ensues.
Today's Twitter story comes from @levendis, who wants a story about "bald animals." Levendis, your tweet is my command.
In a world much like our own but set in the far future, democracy reigns supreme. All organisms, from paramecia to the floating gas giants of Deneb IV, are able to vote. Somehow the Conservatives are still in power. Because the Conservatives have been in power for 5,000 years, the Earth is a toxic hellhole, an anoxic wasteland where dirt farmers farm dirt and the naked lady saloons are empty (the naked ladies moved away) (but the Barenaked Ladies still exist, which, holy cow this world sucks).
In the last verdant spot on the planet, the animals gather and decide to form a guitar rock supergroup playing the hits of the '70s, '80s and 22nd century neo-prog. These animals, it should be noted, are bald, because of the radiation and bad food, except for the bald eagle, whose head is crowned with feathers and is extinct. That is to say, it has feathers on its extinct head.
(Sorry, this requires some explanation. In the infinitely compartmentalized far future, body parts of species face extinction as creatures incresingly opt for biomechanical artiforgs and cybernetic heads. So there's a bald eagle there, but it's got a fake head. With feathers on it. Are you with me? It plays a sweet Fender Telecaster.)
FAREWELL CONCERT, read the fliers. COME ROCK THE PLANET'S FACE OFF. AND THEN WE'LL LEAVE AND BLOW THIS GODFORSAKEN PIECE OF CRAP THE HELL UP. Then they practice and practice: K-Forge the Bald Orangutan on drums; Gorlamo the Bald Beaver (I know, I know) on jazz flute (I know, I know) and Moog synth; Jim the Bald Human on rhythm guitar; and Mr. Jennifer the Bald Eagle on lead guitar and vocals. They learn the entire discography of Styx because they mean to rock everyone's faces off, more or less as the flier promised.
On the night of the concert, five farmers and a gas giant alien show up. They seem to enjoy themselves. The gas giant, it turns out, is a big fan of early Yes.
They play and play and drink punch all night long. The next morning, they're too tired to blow up the planet. Earth is saved!
Thanks to all who read today's Twitter story. Tomorrow's entry comes from @lauriewrites, who wants to hear about popsicles.