Modern Marketing and Obsession

I was absent mindedly gazing out of the window at the office of the Drum when I spotted Lawwell marching towards us and I was up and into a cupboard in a twinkling.  Everyone else there was wondering what on earth I was up to when the door exploded open and there was Lawwell, face purple with rage, a smoking bazooka at his hip.  "Haggerty," he roared.  "If I wanted some pox-arsed doxy fucking up my latest scheme then I'd call for one - I'm sure Neil Lennon has a few on speed dial.  So what the fucking fuck are you doing sticking your neb into BBC Scotland business?  You think I don't have this under control?  You think we don't know exactly where we stand with the BBC Trust?  Have I been sending all those threatening emails, texts and tweets to Jim Spence for no fucking reason at all?"
"But I thought..." trembled Angela.
"You thought fuck all," screamed Lawwell, putting down the bazooka and letting the riding crop drop from up his sleeve and catching it perfectly by the handle.  "Next time, leave it to the professionals, eh luv?" and he turned without hitting her and walked towards the door.
"Er, Mr Lawwell?" squeaked Angela.  He stopped and without turning, said, "Yes?"
"You left your bazooka."
"I know.  Spiers, be a good boy and pick up my bazooka once you've built up the courage to come out of the closet" and with that he stepped over the burning door and left.

"That's the last time I listen to Phil McBloody Gullivar's Travels or whatever the hell he's called," shrieked Angela, sporting a beamer that could light up the Clyde.

"Blimey, Ang', he really put you in your place there, didn't he?" I suggested, coming out of the closet at last.
"He puts everybody in their place, Spiers.  You know that."
"You're right, and all because you listened to crazy old Phil McGilligan's Island."
"Yeah, well I'll not do that again in a hurry," she seethed, pulling her golden hair back from her face and spitting on the floor.  Then her phone rang and she put it to her ear.  "Hello?  Phil?  What?  You have it on good authority that Rangers will be in administration again within twenty four hours?  Right, leave it with me!"  She turned to me, eyes alight with the journalistic zeal of an HND student from Cardonald College.  "Did you hear that, Spiers?  Rangers are..."
"Aye, right you are Angela, I'll see you in twenty four hours," and I picked up Lawwell's bazooka and left her farting with excitement and tapping something demented onto Twitter.