I did not tell you in my New York Times response anything about the delight of peeing on the tree killers below me. The New York Times would cane me. You can’t even write the word pee. The Gatekeepers will fuck you if they can. It’s what they do. Tree cutters have no reason to live. I was nine. I am a tree hugger. I would never spike a tree. I would never spike a tree. I would never spike a tree with fourteen inch Rebar spikes. I highly, highly recommend that if you want to inform yourself, read: Peter Wohlleben’s THE LIFE OF TREES. They say a book (created from trees) can change your life. I do not believe that anymore than I am able to believe some god-origin hero myth. I’m stupid, but I am not that stupid. Nevertheless, that book did change my life. They cut the tree down with me in it. These men will slit your throat if they can. Have some candy. Have some candy. No one ever told me about men with candy. I already knew enough to not get in cars with candy or men. I broke my leg. I had to wear a cast, and use crutches made from wood. I would never spike a tree. Never.