Aug 28 2014
In Which Pinkley Warbly Squawks
Nearly six weeks had passed since the chicks were born and Pinkley had managed to wiggle out of chick chores. He’d had it with changing diapers — and a good thing too — because Chris, the airport paramedic, was completely out of band-aids!
But now what? Playing tiddlywinks was old hat. The job as the general aviation office was too hard. The gig with Santa was OK, but strictly seasonal.
What’s a bored, obstreperous, self-important bird to do?
“You could be a pundit!” said Chris.
“Well sure, anyone can do it … all you need is a Twitter account!”
”You know … a Twitter account. You can tweet all day.”
“Chris! Flamingos don’t tweet, we warbly squawk,” Pinkley replied in a huff.
So anyhow …
Chris set Pinkley up with a Twitter account. “Tweeting is easy,” said Chris. “You can say anything you want as long as you don’t use more than 140 characters!”
“Count to 140?! Oh, sure … I can do that!”
At this point Pinkley realized that counting was the least of his problems — how was he going to type?!
Chris thought a moment. “You could hunt and peck!”
Pinkley was terrible at hunting and pecking so Chris typed the first few tweets for him. Now it was Pinkley’s turn …
The space bar was a problem.
Franchesca had the solution (as per usual). She had just traded her flip phone for one that was smart. It was so smart that it was inhabited by an electronic gnome by the name of Siri. All Pinkley had to do was tell Siri what to tweet!
Pinkley gave it a go ….
"Siri! 6 pepperoni pizzas and a pink wine cooler to go!”
“I’m sorry, Pinkley, but that is not a tweet. Would you like to try again?”
“Fur cryin’ out loud…Tweet!”
“I’m sorry, Pinkley, but fur cannot Tweet.”
Pinkley started pecking …
Alas, poor Pinkley had run out of characters!