You Come For The Troll Queen, You Best Not Miss

The image you see here is my actual childhood troll collection, it contained 164 trolls when it peaked around the year of our Lord 1994.

Behold! 

Devils, sailors, wizards, surgeons, and inmates! The trolls were a versatile, upwardly mobile bunch. 

Gaze upon my troll 

jumper pattern...

  And know that I was their anointed queen. 

The point of these illustrations is that from an early age, I have known a thing or two about trolls. They are shapeshifters, mischief-makers, and ne'er-do-wells. They want jewels and hair products, but above all, they want the last word. 

But Sharon Kass didn't seem to know this about me when she meandered into my inbox spewing snide bile: 

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You see, The Atlantic had reposted an article I wrote in 2015 earlier in the morning about how it is not unhealthy or unnatural for women to eliminate their periods using hormonal IUDs as birth control as I had done and if they so chose to do as well.

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Like, this is not a big deal. 

Calling me, a full communist, A LIBERAL! What nerve!

Breezy contempt for nature! To be fair, I have a breezy contempt for all sorts of natural phenomena! For example, I don't like body odor or the likelihood of dying in childbirth if left alone for the messy event! I am not a fan of rabies! I never met a small pock I wanted to shake hands with! So sure, I have a breezy contempt for all sorts of things found in nature, including painful and irregular periods. 

But alas, I am not an authoritarian and I did not want my new pen pal Sharon to mistake my personal decision for a public mandate. I replied thusly: 

I hoped that perhaps a shared love of freedom would bring me and Sharon closer together. As is my custom, I was terribly wrong. I proceeded to Google her to see if there were any hints from her digital footprint why she would be so preoccupied with the fact that I choose not to bleed from my organs every month. It turns out, she is something of an email celebrity! 

Her first Google result is for a Change.org petition to get her to stop sending anti-LGBTQ screeds to various people. 

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Including 11-year-olds, apparently. You know, because she's fun and loves God the most and tickets to Heaven are competitively priced these days:

She even has an entry in the illustrious (and possible ableist-titled) Encyclopedia of American Loons!

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I was a wee bit concerned once I saw these results since she now had not my Squarespace contact form but my actual email address. My wee concern was substantiated when four minutes later she forwarded our email exchange to me in A NEW CHAIN TITLED "Go to hell to you, too":

Now it is true that I'm a sick woman, in ways that are well-documented on the internet and in magazines made of trees that will decompose long after I've bid farewell to this brutal, burning orb and am riding a comet bareback to the outer reaches of the multiverse. But none of my sicknesses have symptoms that compel me to send generous, blessings-filled emails to rabid strangers obsessed with my junk and how what comes out of it somehow signals my gender politics. I replied the only way I know how: THE LORD'S WAY:

Show me the lie though.

Now, I must admit that the sin of pride is one I experience when I expertly match compelling biblical texts to breathtaking art. That sin was part of why I made this exquisite work. But it was also to spread The Word back to my pen pal who seems to have forgotten about our shared ailment and He who might heal the shit out of us. 

One cannot just emerge like a frothing sea beast from the lagoons that border the River Styx and bust into the inbox of a Yale  Divinity School grad whose weakest spots are for the Lamb of God and the thrill of a good troll-back.

Sharon has yet to respond.