Another Fun-Off with Sam

Oh, for God's sake. My repeated warnings have fallen on deaf ears. Granting you operational leeway has produced nothing but dung in my lap. And my abusive e-mails have clearly gone unheeded (or otherwise docked undeclared in your spam folder, adding a cherry gob of spit to the caking dung). CONSIDER THIS YOUR FIRST OFFICIAL WARNING. I shan't clarify how many steps constitute this disciplinary procedure. Could be two. Could be five. You must dwell in t'unknown. Sweat. Panic. Develop an ulcer. Perhaps now you will understand the prevailing flavour of the Kettle-sphere, as I weekly await your chronicled guff, blisslessly unaware of the depths to which your sub-lithic drill will this time descend. Don't be so arrogant as to assume I can't find three deadbeats so gagging for "airtime" they'll comply with every edict. ONLY I AM IRREPLACEABLE. Discounting the stints in which you did in fact replace me. But not REALLY. I'll always be here. You hear me?!