STATUS

A customer enters a pet shop.

Mr. Praline: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.

(The owner does not respond.)

Mr. Praline: 'Ello, Miss?

Shopkeeper: What do you mean "miss"?

Mr. Praline: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!

Shopkeeper: We're closin' for lunch.

Mr. Praline: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this Twitter what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very boutique.

Shopkeeper: Oh yes, the social media platform. What's wrong with it?

Praline: I'll tell you what's wrong with it. It's dead, that's what's wrong with it.

Shopkeeper: No, no it's resting, look!

Praline: Look my lad, I know a dead Twitter when I see one and I'm looking at one right now.

Shopkeeper: No, no sir, it's not dead. It's resting.

Praline: Resting?

Shopkeeper: Yeah, remarkable site the social media platform, beautiful graphics, isn't it?

Praline: The graphics don't enter into it: it's stone dead.

Shopkeeper: No, no: it's just resting.

Praline: All right then, if it's resting I'll wake it up. (shouts into cage) Hello Tweeters! I've got a nice Independent Comic Book Artist for you to cancel when you wake up, Twitter Tweeters!

Shopkeeper: (Mashing the keyboard) There it moved.

Praline: No he didn't. That was you typing gibberish.

Shopkeeper: I did not.

Praline: Yes, you did. (takes Twitter out of cage, shouts) Hello Twitter, Twitter (bangs it against counter) Twitter Tweeters, wake up. Twitter. (throws it in the air and lets it fall to the floor) Now that's what I call a dead Twitter.

Shopkeeper: No, no it's stunned.

Praline: Look my lad, I've had just about enough of this. That Twitter is definitely deceased. And when I bought it not half an hour ago, you assured me that its lack of movement was due to it being tired and shagged out after a long cancel.

Shopkeeper: It's probably pining for the fjords.

Praline: Pining for the fjords, what kind of talk is that? Look, why didn't it argue about old cartoon characters being racist the moment I got it home?

Shopkeeper: The social media platform prefers arguing about whether common, everyday words are racist. Beautiful site, lovely graphics.

Praline: Look, I took the liberty of examining that Twitter, and I discovered that the only reason that it had been showing on the monitor in the first place was because Elon was manipulating accounts with puppet strings.

Shopkeeper: Well of course it needed puppet strings. Otherwise it would muscle up to that monitor and voom through the screen!

Praline: Look matey (picks up Twitter) this Twitter wouldn't voom if I put four thousand volts through it. It's bleeding demised.

Shopkeeper: It's not, it's pining.

Praline: It's not pining, it's passed on. This Twitter is no more. It has ceased to be. It's expired and gone to meet its maker. This is a late Twitter. It's a stiff. Bereft of life, it rests in peace. If you hadn't strung it up like a puppet, it would be pushing up the daisies. It's rung down the curtain and joined the choir invisible. This is an X-Twitter.

Shopkeeper: Well, I'd better replace it then.

Praline: (to camera) If you want to get anything done in this country you've got to complain till you're blue in the mouth.

Shopkeeper: Sorry guv, we're right out of Twitters.

Praline: I see. I see. I get the picture.

Shopkeeper: I've got a slug.

Praline: Does it cancel studios for hiring black actors that aren't dark enough?

Shopkeeper: Not really, no.

Praline: Well, it's scarcely a replacement, then is it?

Shopkeeper: Listen, I'll tell you what, (handing over a card) tell you what, if you go to my brother's pet shop in Bolton he'll replace your Twitter for you.

Praline: Bolton eh?

Shopkeeper: Yeah.

Praline: All right, then. He leaves, holding the Twitter.

Here is a song called X.
Performed by a band called X.
It was used as the opening theme for a show called X.

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