It has come to my attention that some of you are okay with this. I write to tell you that I am not. Who do you think you are to inflict this kind of a monster upon me as I try to go about my existence unmolested? Have it go to where the ugly people go. Make it live under me like a morlock. Let it only emerge from its hole when it conveniences me. Let it whisper nice things. It should sit by fires surrounded by monsters– some with horns and most with pointy teeth– so that the light licks its face, never revealing the whole.