Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Sin... Twittering...

Shhh. Don't tell anyone, but I'm on Twitter now.

Not that I know my tweet from my elbow, of course. And what an odd name for a social media network (see, I know all the jingo-jango-lingo!). Twitter. And the icon of the bird?

Trust me, I have given people 'the bird' in my time - not least certain psychiatrists -and it's never needed as many as 140 characters. Often far less is required.

I think it's kind of appropriate, though. Being on Twitter when I'm meant to be cuckoo. If only Jack Nicholson had a computer back in the day, hmmm?

Of course I can't tell anyone. If Connors found out, he'd go... erm... crazy. He'd be wondering what sort of secrets and revelations I had been revealing to the world. Not that, of course, I'd have any. Not when he's whiter than the walls and his halo shines brighter than the incandescent lightbulbs that are recessed into the ceiling (I think the heat from them made them sink - if it's possible to sink upwards...).

Why on Earth would I have anything bad to say?

I mean... As if...

Anywho-be-do. Twitter me this, Twitter me that, don't let the bird get eaten by the cat.

And we all know who the cat, fat or not, is, don't we? So, like I say, shhhhh....


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