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Created on: April 21, 2008
Poor Bastards
I never thought I'd see the day
when I would empathize with
the penis-bearers of the world.
But alas, the time has come,
and I finally understand men's plight.
Forever angry and embittered,
hostile and vengeful, I hated men,
for the most part, a good 30 years.
Witnessing the pain they inflicted
on all the women in my life:
my mother, sister-in-law, friends
and aunts, grandmother, distant relatives,
female strangers from around the world.
And I felt their pain, my heightened
sensitivity testimony to the male
path of destruction. Tonight,
I happened upon a new view
of the too-oft glorified male member.
Every few years, I check out dating
websites just to get an idea who's out
wading in that big hormone-driven
sea, the dating-game version of Darwinism.
I like to have a peak at possible suitors,
size up my competition, perhaps dip
a curious toe to test for nibbles. Tonight,
I chatted with a seemingly interesting
young bloke who decided to send me
a very naked picture of himself my gosh!
He had an elephant trunk sitting between his legs!
Massively thick and long, utterly gargantuan,
its sight led me to wonder what it might be like
to walk around 24-7 with this giant animal,
this added cumbersome appendage, a
perpetually hyper-sexed tumor or benign
growth with a wicked mind of its own
hanging clumsily between my legs.
How uncomfortable it must be,
sticking lopsided in one's pants, down
one leg or the other. And how vexing,
forced to keep one's hormones at bay,
to repress one's subconscious
instinctive reactions, to coax that dick
down while maintaining dignified
eye contact and some semblance of
witty repartee.
And all these years I despised men,
these poor victims of chromosomal
happenstance. I suppose I can now
envision walking a mile in their
pants, forever tugging, pulling and
adjusting restlessly, in a futile attempt
to find comfort Poor bastards, I almost
pity them. I guess no one has it easy.
Learn more about this author, Asia Smyth.
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