After I posted that link to my latest podcast with Rene Ritchie, several folks alerted me via Twitter that all my colorful metaphors had been “bleeped” on the audio.

I didn’t realize that because I hadn’t listened to the recording myself. And I don’t normally listen to my own podcasts because… that’s just sort of creepy, isn’t it?

Obviously, that means I don’t mix the audio either. I don’t do that because 1) I don’t have relevant experience at it, 2) I’m really lazy and 3) fine folks elsewhere do all the hard work for me.

My apologies if you didn’t get the whole “Melton” experience you were expecting. Rene tells me that episode was an accident and our next podcast won’t be censored. “Let Melton be Melton,” as he likes to say. Plus, we might just release an explicit version of the current show.

Has everyone calmed the fuck down now?1

OK, here’s the thing—I was not upset at all about being censored.

The show might be called “Melton” but that’s only because 1) Rene Ritchie is a generous man, 2) I’m vain and 3) we couldn’t think of a better name after we recorded the first episode.

I consider the whole enterprise as something Rene and I do together. It’s our show. Not my show. If anything, I’m the co-host. This is exactly why I call Rene (and Kelly Guimont for our “Westworld” podcast) “boss.” I’m not trying to be funny, ironic or insult them. I’m reminding myself who really is in charge. And who does all the hard work.

Seriously, I just talk into a microphone, folks. And it’s a microphone that Rene gave me! A really nice Røde Podcaster model, too.

Talking is easy and I continue to be amazed that anyone out there cares about listening to what I have to say. I’m honored that all these nice people enable me to broadcast my various musings, opinions and rants.

So if Rene and anyone else at iMore—or Jason Snell and anyone else at The Incomparable—decide to censor my many and frequent vulgarities, it’s their call. They’re the publishers.

And being censored won’t damage my “brand”—whatever the hell that means. (Actually, it scares me thinking about what that means.)

Yes, words matter. Exact words even. But the truth is that some people—whether they admit being offended or not—have difficulty listening to vulgarities. Especially at the pace I spew them. A friend of mine told me he’s sad that he can’t listen to my podcasts in his car anymore now that he has kids. I get it. There are valid reasons to hit the buzzer.

As anyone who’s adventurous enough to follow me on Twitter knows, I’m saltier than most sailors. I don’t plan on changing that there or on this website. But if someone needs to filter me a bit elsewhere, I’m fine with that.

  1. A tired catchphrase which really needs retirement. I should know.