Did he live under a bridge, becoming vastly offended whenever a goat showed up and didn't have exact change?
Is he a member of a proud Scandinavian race with his own traditions, heritage, and way of life that no one truly respects?
Does he have a brain based on silicon, becoming progressively stupider with the heat and smarter in the cold?
Could he be some random monster to stick in a dungeon for no reason anyone will ever be able to figure out?
Has he been showing up at every reality discussion site on the Internet with a head full of hatred and a server full of PayPal schemes?
Or does it even matter?
Some time back, I said this to a representative of Category #5:
'Well, to be completely honest here -- it's not really one of my favorite dishes. For starters, you have to deal with the fact that while trolls always come fresh, the packaging is guaranteed to be incredibly stale, which doesn't exactly help the flavor. Oh, and trolls are really stringy. There's no real meat to anything in the package: just some torn ligaments wrapped around hollow bone, desperately trying to hold the illusion of a whole creation in place and not making it by roughly one hundred percent. (Perhaps needless to say, there's no organs anywhere in a serving of troll, so if you like hearts and brains, you're better off getting just about anything else.) When you get that kind of raw material, the only thing to do is tenderize it. Which means hitting it. And you hit it over and over and over for hours on end and you always reach this point where you realize that while hitting the troll has given you a pretty good workout, what you've got is still stringy and completely hollow and tastes like dust bunnies. Dust bunnies filled with sewage. But that's when you hit my favorite part of the recipe. Someone with taste and discretion and a really big hammer comes along, and guess what they do? They throw the troll away. And then everyone goes out for pizza instead.
...oh, would I love a pizza right about now... '
Randy's gone. We won't hear from him until the finals.
In the immortal words of HistoryDetective, 'Pizza please!'