Three famous poems, as if written by MRAs
Over at Manboobz, David summarizes a Spearhead discussion which concludes that women simply can't write poetry as well as men.
In the thread, some commenters began writing poetry about MRA ideologies. I decided to take it a step further and pen a few famous poems as if they had been written by MRAs.
The Red Indignity
so much depends
upon
a lonely boy
inside
a rising elevator
damp
from girl's disdainful
spit
This is just to say
we have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
we wanted
so we took
'cuz that's how girls
roll
Beta
Because I could not stop for Beta,
He kindly stopped for me;
That's what a girl expects from men–
Consummate chivalry.
He gave a rose, he bought my lunch,
And showered me with cash.
My days became sweet leisure, too,
Bon-bons and watching MASH.
We passed date one, that night he strove
to rein in his desire;
We passed date two, though yearning built
to remove my underwire.
I was a ware he'd purchased,
yet his sampling was delayed.
He ached to strip my flimsy gown,
to at last get fucking laid.
Third date, we paused before his door,
his swelling clearly ripe;
He'd done with waiting gently for
my lips to smoke his pipe.
Upon the ground, we wrangled
til he overcame my moue.
But victory belonged to me:
his child support is due.
In the thread, some commenters began writing poetry about MRA ideologies. I decided to take it a step further and pen a few famous poems as if they had been written by MRAs.
The Red Indignity
so much depends
upon
a lonely boy
inside
a rising elevator
damp
from girl's disdainful
spit
This is just to say
we have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
we wanted
so we took
'cuz that's how girls
roll
Beta
Because I could not stop for Beta,
He kindly stopped for me;
That's what a girl expects from men–
Consummate chivalry.
He gave a rose, he bought my lunch,
And showered me with cash.
My days became sweet leisure, too,
Bon-bons and watching MASH.
We passed date one, that night he strove
to rein in his desire;
We passed date two, though yearning built
to remove my underwire.
I was a ware he'd purchased,
yet his sampling was delayed.
He ached to strip my flimsy gown,
to at last get fucking laid.
Third date, we paused before his door,
his swelling clearly ripe;
He'd done with waiting gently for
my lips to smoke his pipe.
Upon the ground, we wrangled
til he overcame my moue.
But victory belonged to me:
his child support is due.
Published on June 04, 2011 21:38
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