This is a rubbish title.

I like things. And stuff.

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Crisis on Infinite Earths had a point. A purpose. A reason for being written. 

Just randomly cribbing ideas from it—without worrying about whether or not you have a point in doing so—is not, in my humble opinion, good writing. (See, for example, every other event book DC published with the word “Crisis” in the title.) 

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You know what I’m not going to do? Defend my right to not like something that you like. We’re not the things we like. We’re bigger than that. Better than that.

Let’s all be adults and play nice.