I DON'T KNOW WHAT BUSINESS THE EMPRESS THINKS SHE HAS HITTING THE HATE REACT ON ANTI-CROCKER REBELLION POSTERS. DID YOUR PAN MELT OUT OF YOUR FINS? DID SOME OF THE MUSCLE GET CAUGHT UP IN THERE AND TWIST YOUR SYNAPSES INTO LITTLE BOWS? THAT POSTER ISN'T ABOUT YOU. BETTY. BATTERBITCH. BATTERWITCH. WHATEVER PEOPLE WANT TO CALL HER, WE'RE TALKING ABOUT JANE CROCKER. THE POLAR FUCKING OPPOSITE OF THE CONDESCE. THE COBWEB-DRY BABYMAKER BITCH WHO OUTLAWED TROLL REPRODUCTION. THE LONG RED NAILS THAT GRAB THE SKULL OF EVERY TROLL WHO DARES BE THEIR OWN SPECIES AND SINKS SO DEEP INTO THEIR SKIN IT CRACKS THE CHITINOUS LAYER BENEATH IT. THE LONG FORK OF THE LAW WHO PUTS TROLLS IN WHAT WE WOULD CALL OUTGLUT ENCAMPMENTS, BUT SHE CALLS NEIGHBORHOODS -- BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T GIVE THE SLIGHEST INKLING OF WHAT COULD ONE DAY ASSEMBLE AT A SUBATOMIC LEVEL TO BECOME A SHIT ABOUT TROLL TERMINOLOGY, CULTURE, VALUES, TRADITIONS, EVERY SINGLE ASPECT OF OUR WAY OF LIFE MAKES HER TURN THAT TRIPLE LAYERED CHIN UP IN DISGUST. DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND ASK A QUESTION EVERY NOW AND THEN BEFORE YOUR FRONDS GRAVITATE TO THE HATE BUTTON FROM FORCE OF HABIT, OR ELSE I'M GONNA START BELIEVING I WAS WRONG ABOUT *EVERYTHING* THE EMPRESS STOOD FOR.


