I would like to remind the limp wingers that it is referred to as dissent not "hate". The anxiety for me - and presumably other brave pioneers of Horny Twitter - would not be a milkshake duck, but that I’d make a filthy joke on the net and get named into the corner place of work one particular Monday morning to uncover a disappointed CEO throwing down a print out of my post, demanding to know why I wanted to fuck a breakfast mascot.