Sometime in the future, Twitter, after years of steadily decreasing traffic, finally winds up pulling the plug. The kinks have all been worked out of autocorrect, and it now functions flawlessly, no more of those embarrassing typos. Hayden Black, losing all meaning in life, cries into a half-drunk bottle of rum, his tears falling unevenly thanks to his cock-eyed sloping eyes. That night, he goes all out in a desperate attempt to cheer himself up, he buys as many transvestite prostitutes as he can, finally fulfilling his dream of having the FIRST EVER orgy to feature transgender prostitutes as the LEAD ROLLS.
The wild night does little to pull him out of his slump, however. Finally, at the end of his rope, he goes to the shop and purchases a single item. "Paper, plastic, or douche?" the cashier inquires of him.
Upon arriving home, he leans back against his tattered and worn Leelah Alcorn poster, sobbing miserably as he removes the item from its bag. He felt worse than *INSERT REPUBLICAN HERE* did the time when *INSERT LIBERAL TALKING POINT HERE* happened! He ran his fingers along the cool metal of the gun, and placed it to his temple.
Pressing down on the trigger, he finally left the world. Life without Twitter being too much for his heart to take. And, as the bullet pierced him, he was able to hear but one more sound as he slowly drifted away. What sound was that, you ask? Well, dear kiwis, it was the sound of the gun. A brief, simple
Pew pew.
