Once upon a time, there was a small town on the edge of the known cyberworld called Twitterham. It was a jolly town, filled with splendid things and good, friendly people.
Nary a nasty word was to be heard in its streets.
Word spread of this agreeable online hamlet, and soon folk of all sort came to dwell there: some drawn to its air of neighbourly contentment, but others with an eye to profiting in the midst of this trusting community.
Laws were few and far between in a land that relied on common sense and consequence. Nonetheless, a very few in Twitterham, those who had the ear of more of their neighbours than others, began policing the conduct of their fellow tweeters:
> Thou shalt not double tweet the same post!
> Thou shalt not auto-tweet!
> Those shalt use no foul language!
Transgressions of these unwritten codes of conduct began appearing in the public timeline, often cloaked in light tones and accompanied by sideways happy faces and winks to lessen their schoolmarmish tenor.
But the intent was clear. These self-appointed Sheriffs of Twitterham felt that having greater followers and higher Klout scores entitled them to publicly reprimand those who crossed these arbitrary lines.
Soon, Twitterham began to lose its air of neighbourly contentment.
So the townfolk gathered and issued a joint proclamation:
Let the Rule of Consequence determine conduct in our town. Tweet and let tweet.
And they all lived happily ever after.