Compared to this piece of utter shit, everything Miller has ever written in his entire career is The Feminine Mystique crossed with The Vindication of the Rights of Women, with a dash of SPARTAAAA! Compared to this, Carlton's run is gold, and the weirdest parts of pfieffers are threatenedplottwistbabytastic, and when I think to myself there's a bad Catwoman story, I remember that this existed. It doesn't help me, it just reminds me that while I'm staring into another abyss, I once stared into the Marianas Trench of Horror, and it looked back into me and a part of my soul died.
And that's all I can even bring myself to say about it that isn't garbled swearing.