When I burst forth from Earth’s molten core into downtown Manhattan, I had one intention: to destroy every living thing on Earth. “I will turn the world into my dominion of shadows, a barren wasteland of chaos.” The humans shrugged, unfazed by my horrific threat. “Also, I’m a lesbian.”

The humans screamed, their faces twisted in disgust. “Oh God, it’s going to make us design websites for its gay wedding!”

As I picked up my first victim in my serrated claws, I expected him to beg for his life. But instead, he said, “I think you just haven’t been with the right guy yet.” As I approached a school, ready to vaporize it with my eyes, humans shrieked, “No, that monster will teach the children how to scissor!” When I wrapped my thirty-foot-long tail around a woman’s neck, she wheezed, “It’s really cool you’re killing me, actually. Representation matters.”

I foolishly believed being a lesbian was just another part of me, like my ability to breathe a noxious gas that turns human organs into slurry. But these humans didn’t care that I was destroying them. They just wondered which character I most identified with on The L Word.

I’m a creature of pure malevolent destruction. Of course, I’m a Jenny.

As I rampaged my way south, I finally thought I’d met my match. A human who truly saw me for the menace I was. Ron DeSantis held a press conference discussing the mortal danger I posed to Florida. He deployed National Guard helicopters to shoot me with missiles. He encouraged citizens to take up arms to combat my savage fury. But I soon discovered this is what he does whenever he hears about a lesbian.

He also created a Naval blockade around a Key West resort to repel Portia de Rossi.

It simply wasn’t fair. Other monsters were feared for their inhuman strength or their atomic breath. No one cared that I’m twelve feet tall, covered in razor-sharp spikes, with four prehensile tongues that taste the air to track human fear. They only speculated about what I did with those tongues in my personal life.

And sure, maybe I do fit some lesbian stereotypes. If I need a good cry, I listen to Tegan and Sara. Though, I’m crying acid that can wither acres of crops with a single drop. I use a carabiner to hold my keys. The keys that will unlock a portal of darkness so absolute, to gaze upon it is to be driven mad. And I admit in my last relationship, we U-Hauled after a week. But it made sense. She had a sunny two-bedroom, and I had a sepulchral abyss.

I can only hope my trail of death will help blaze a trail for other queer monsters. So someday they can be feared for their brutality, not their sexuality. But until that day, I’ll have to be satisfied with hunting down Ron DeSantis, dipping him into a vat of chocolate pudding, and devouring him whole.