Today you’re a bunch of trolls, and you’re on strike.
“We want health benefits!” you’ll cry in troll voices, which will actually sound like one giant scream from a group of men being burned alive.
“Never!” the foreman will shout back, but he’ll be a goblin so it’ll be in French and we don’t know French so we don’t really know how to write what he said but you don’t have to be a dick about it.
“Rarrr!” you’ll shout back, which will be both totally appropriate and the actual sound you make when you run at the goblin foreman, full force.
You’ll crash into him full force and start tearing at his flesh hand over fist. You’ll ram it into your filthy crooked teeth and gnash and chew and grunt and masticate your way through his corpse. You’ll gnaw and gnaw and eat him all up. You’ll visit upon any onlookers a scene of horror beyond horror, of pointless and mindless violence visited upon a completely undeserving recipient who, to be honest, wasn’t really that bad a goblin. Then you’ll belch and return to your strike in front of, rather than under, a bridge.
You’ll win your strike a few weeks later when Morgan Stanley finally acknowledges that they need you if they’re ever going to get anyone to make mortgage payments ever again.
Congratulations Bridge Trolls Guild 412!
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