Report on the Investigation into the Trolls' Interference in the 2019 Hall of Fame Election.
This report is based on extensive research conducted by the Bsh1 Overly Bureaucratic and Loquacious Always Stop the Trolls Research Union Service (OBLASTRUS) in conjunction with Conspiracy Theorists International, the Tal'Shiar, the Massachusetts Creative Writing Collective, and Twink Capture-and-Release Animal Rescue.
Volume I - Spacetime
Space was often bored. He was afflicted by twin curses that rendered his life a vapid hell. First, he lived in a small town. Dallas, Texas, to be specific. A town full of nothing but tumbleweed, sand, and angus cattle, it was a backwater's shithouse. And he hated every minute of it. Second, he was ripped. Being 6'4" and able bench press 350 pounds, his body was so enormous with its rippling muscles, that girls could barely make out his dick. It made it impossible for him to find dates. Sexually frustrated, decided desperate action was called for.
At the annual reaping, where the disheveled, starving townsfolk made their way out into the cornfields to see who the aliens would abduct this harvest season, Spacetime, driven to the brink of insanity by blueballs, volunteered himself as tribute. As he floated up into the air, he could only hope that they would finally, mercifully put him out of his misery.
They blindfolded him as soon as he entered their saucer. In the brief glimpse he had before the dark cloth sent him into visual oblivion, he was surprised by just how fine the china actually was, now that he saw it up close. In the black night of this semi-existence, suspended in midair for weeks on end, he felt the aliens watching him, judging him. He felt them pull out hairs from his head and laughed at his odd proportions. This was the final outrage: he felt a sense of evil growing inside him.
Sometime later, using his skills as a pirate--honed on his long sea voyages with Captain Thett--he managed to escape. Much cutlass-wielding and cannon-firing was involved. The particulars of his escape are too gory to reproduce here in detail, but [redacted]. He learned that the aliens had been cloning him and other minority men and women as part of a dastardly left-wing conspiracy to make the world more diverse! It was truly despicable.
Disgusted by what he saw, he prepared to kill the environmentally green- and LGBTQIAPABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ rainbow-colored alien scientists. But suddenly, a deliciously evil idea came to him. He knew just what to do! He had the aliens make him a clone of his own specifications, imbuing him with the miasma of Trump's orange manliness and the power of Trump's oversize hands.
And when the aliens were done, Spacetime took his clone Tyrone and took some black thread, and tied a MAGA hat on top of his head. And then with a smile most unpleasant, they headed to the voting booth to steal the election. Double voting filled Space with such an cynical, trollish delight, that he finally got off on that election night.
Volume II - TheHammer
Every twink needs his daddy, and Hammer is a twink in need of coal's smokestack. Desperate for the attention that every twink craves, Hammer concocted a half-assed plot to win his would-be daddy's pride. Of course, if the plot has been full-assed, he might have gotten something a bit better, like shale's big fracking drill, wind's huge turbine, or nuclear's explosive reactor shaft. But Hammer decided to settle for coal, and so he made his move. He decided to make a fib. A big, big fib.
Hammer slunk into the DART Forum CoOp one night, and planted evidence (written in pink crayon, because what else would a twink do?) of a plot to get RM elected into the Hall of Fame. Hammer was jealous of all the attention Spacetime had received. Where were his photo ops?! Where were his Vogue spreads?! Spacetime wasn't even pretty! And so he placed the evidence carefully around the office and left, leaving a trail of glitter and anal beads in his wake.
The next morning, upon discovering the lubricated site, investigators were called to the scene, where Hammer gleefully admitted that yes, he had rigged the election! Now his daddy would see him in the tabloids, would know that he could create drama like the best little twinks out there. He had mastered by naughty, now daddy could teach him to be nice.
Dressed in his best yellow mesh briefs, he skipped off to his booking and smiled for his mug shot. But soon his admission was exposed as fake, and he decided to pretend it had been real all along. He was going to live his fantasy, goddamnit. He had impressed his daddy, and got the attention he craved. A few lies here and there would keep the sprinkle train going.
He'd get the ban hammer now and the ass hammer later. As a flunked-out pirate, this was the best he could get, after all. Well, that and a bunch of rubrics cube trophies, which he couldn't even sell for spare parts.