Andrew’s right. I give in. How can I ever have been so stupid to think that I could have attracted even a zillionth of his vast popularity. Truly Bolty is the voice of the people. I am entirely insignificant. I tug at his hem. I grovel at his heel. I exist only to breathe the dust of his passing. He is the toast of the zodiac. I am as nothing. I die now.

4 Comments
Don’t do it Jonathan – drop the gun; step away from the window; put down the cyanide. Bolt attracts a staunch, strange array of devotees. I assume they are involved in secret shakes, dark hoodies and the slaughter of lambs. In Bolt’s comments one poor guy was slammed because he asked for a link to your blog; another said he only checks Crikey for the ‘Moon Dogs.’ Evidently he is not a regular reader….
Luke is right. Don’t even think such thoughts. Since I joined Twitter-two days ago. I discovered yet another and, if possible, the worst side of his nature. He’s what I’ve always called a ‘feel and squeal’ merchant. The minute he speaks to anyone the moment is blasted out on quadraphonic sound throughout the blogosphere . Always with a snidely suggestive verbal leer. As if he’d found you in his bed.
This morning he solemnly posted the following Einsteinian pronouncement. ‘A few months ago I stopped wearing pants’. If he meant jocks, the mind reels. Stinkypants. Or he has taken to wearing a sarong or a Kaftan. Big freakin’ deal. But he’s impelled to inform the world about it. Why?
Put a $2 coin into bowl for everytime you don’t want to speak to him. You’ll end up with a Mercedes sports by next Christmas. Trust me.
The world must indeed be a lonely place without the love of all those bald kids from Stormfront.
My condolences.
Bolt’s Twitter feed sure is alarming.