Crowds celebrate the missing dotard. No, wait, this was the Armistice.
The rapture was brief, but real. For 11 hallowed minutes Thursday evening, the Tweeter-in-Chief was silenced when his account went down, relaying a message millions of good people had prayed, hoped, nay yearned for: "@realDonaldTrump does not exist.” Others got a less exhilarating but still rewarding message: "Sorry, that page does not exist." Starting around 7 p.m., "People gathered in the Twitter streets to celebrate." They wondered if an adult had magically materialized in the White House to take away the nasty toddler's toys. They suggested someone put more rubles in the account. They vowed to remember where they were when Trump's Twitter account vanished. They bowed down in thanks. They imagined that "outside my window white nationalists were paying reparations to black people."
And then, noted one story, like herpes, it came back. Several hours later, Twitter explained the account had been “inadvertently deactivated due to human error by a Twitter employee.” A bit later, they amended their initial statement to say an anonymous rogue customer support worker had, in the ultimate fuck-this-job-and-that-dotard declaration, deliberately deleted the account on his or her last day of work. He or she was quickly, gleefully hailed as a hero, a patriot, a contender for the Cross of Lenin or Nobel Peace Prize or something, anything, for giving us all a break. Tweeted former Michigan Rep. John Dingell, “America: Hire this person.” Also, don't forget that for one brief shining moment, blissful reasoned silence reigned. And it will again.