Hey Tom. I'm bat-shit crazy. I am compelled to attack you for perceived slights against fictional characters who I have deemed unworthy of your blemished touch. Why won't you just admit that you hate all the things I love, that you're out to destroy my childhood, and that your stubborn refusal to meet my every entitled whim due to a secret poisonous conspiracy you have with your corporate overlords? Why are you destroying the X-Men, Tom? I read on-line that you're doing that. And I believe it.

It’s a living.