Hey you! In the vagina-hat,
frumpy feminist dressed in pink;
we men (what do you make of that)
would love to know just what you think.
We’ve heard of “ass-hats”, anyway.
But we can see the other side:
it’s orificial bombs away
as bridegrooms now behold the bride.
Gynecology on parade:
how weird. You think it makes your point?
It’s more a vaginal charade,
and promises to disappoint.
You say your cap evokes your pussy;
feline foolishness, I say.
It’s cat in bag when fems get fussy
showing patriarchs the way.
Show us yours and we’ll show our own.
Well, actually—it’s kind of cold
to whip it out right here downtown…
We’ll grant you this: you chicks are bold.
Your choice-aborted progeny,
disposed of in the clinic’s trash,
might blame you for misogyny—
though spared the curse of diaper rash.
We’ll keep abreast of all you do,
chanting, marching, fists in air…
yet still, you seem a silly crew
aflush with zeal (and pubic hair).
But must it always come to this:
biology devoid of God ?
Exteriorizing, hit and miss,
the secrets of your aging bod…
♀ ♀ ♀
It would be interesting to know how many of the useful idiots donning “pussy hats” at Saturday’s massive “Women’s March on Washington” had any idea—or even cared to know—who the principal organizers of the event were. The answer is undoubtedly close to zero, since the purpose of the entire charade—like all leftist charades—was merely to give the participants an opportunity to publicly signal their own moral superiority while smearing—as racists and fascists—anyone who doesn’t accept socialism, identity politics, and perpetual grievance mongering as the ultimate expressions of the American Dream.