It’s just past midnight, you haven’t had a cheeseburger in six hours, your blood-grease levels are dangerously low, and your rage against the fake media is building. So you whip out your tweeting machine, eat that loose pickle laying on your pillow, and use your sounding-out skills to type despite the constant negative press ker-fuff-le. Except you spell like a moron.
[Author's note - I know I'm really stretching the theme of this month to anything that can be called a noun. Sorry.]