Naturally, I have to do this sensitively, or I risk being gagged again. And if you've been gagged twice, you'll know it's not a pleasant experience.
(It happened to me at Delilaz once when my regular girl, Xantia, had a fag break just after she'd strapped me to the Humilitron and inserted the gagging ball. The girl who took over, Keshandria, stuck another gagging ball in without looking (I do ask for it to be in total darkness to be fair) so I essentially had a pair of tennis balls jammed down my throat. On the upside, I managed to puke entirely through my nostrils, which made for some frankly amazing photographs.)
Anyway, I'll proceed with caution. You've had Revelation 1. Here's...
In a post last September, I was discussing the rapid growth of Twitter and was analysing its potential as a marketing tool (in short, I was saying it's about as much use as skimmed fucking milk). In the course of that analysis I suggested that...
...How to put this? Hmm...
Well, I suggested that certain Ashton people who are Kutcher very popular on Twitter have the Britney brains of a fucking Spears watermelon and the insight Coldplay of cottage Arnold cheese Shwarzenegger.
Now, you'd think that these Twitterites would be well used to being called shit-cakes, fuck-ups, arse-bags and cuntophiles.
Surprisingly quickly I was threatened with, and I quote, 'the kind of suing we normally reserve for paedophiles, dictators and Bernie Madoff'.
Needless to say, I don't give in to bullies - and I told them so! They replied with the suggestion that they would also give me 'a kicking so severe, your balls will turn to jam and your anus will become part of your spleen'.
At that point, I paused for thought (you know, before really letting them have it), reread my comments and came to the conclusion, completely independently, that I could express them more effectively by not actually saying anything.
So. Narrow escape for them that time. But will they be so lucky again? No fucking chance!
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!