By David Futrelle
I get a lot of, well, less-than-complimentary emails from dudes who aren’t what you’d call big fans of this site. But I don’t get a lot of poems.
So imagine my surprise when I checked my email this morning and found this. Enjoy!
You, sir. are an absolute Knave
By G—— R——
David Foo-troll, you son of a bitch.
If journalism were art, you’d not even be kitsch.
You riffle through trash, and you dig in the ditch
When you look for your subjects, and you give your pitch.
Your writing is garbage, your ideas are trite,
Not even a pro could set your blog right.
The fix is in, it must be set alight
While flames of justice glow in the night.
The call of the real men, the bark of the wild
Will show you the faces of those you’ve reviled
Male disposability is not a subject mild
All of civilization is on men’s backs piled.
Come to your senses, I beseech you to change;
You’ll find that Men’s Rights are not at all strange,
And feminists your ally badge shall exchange
The moment you see men’s needs on the range.
Give aid to the harpies, give aid, if you dare
But a happy man who did so, never was there
I advise you in such company to take care,
Of their pack-minded bloodlust, I warn you, beware.
The approval of women, these ephemeral things,
Can’t give you the happiness that men’s rights brings
Well, it doesn’t always scan, and some of the rhymes are a little rough. But I have to applaud the effort.