Good evening, pale males and wanna-bes. It's 7:22 in San Francisco, I'm eating peanut peanut butter from a bowl, writing lyric poetry about My First Time. She's been on my mind ever since while driving to work this morning in my four door sedan I passed under that wonderful St. Pauli's Girl billboard near the 80 onramp and I thought, those were the days. Nowdays we've got man-hating feminists ruling the world and Lady Poets referring to themselves simply as Poets. By the time I clocked in (this is a narrative) I'd gotten my Dockers in a tussle, my crotch in a blaze, my head all gasp emotional, etc. Soon therafter (this is a narrative) I composed myself like a Man and his Directed Mind should. I was just about to fight the good fight for Us Under-Privileged when I realized Everything is Fine. Order was in order, in no small thanks to all my cronies Holding Down the Fort.

Now, girls may be itching for a piece of our infallible Pie, and while they might look cute doing everything in their silly little power to have-at-it (via ruthless, childish and unreasonable means, mind you), they'll never get actually *accomplish* anything, not if Natural Law and Anthologies have anything to say about it. "Victimhood needs to take a shower," y'heard? While there's hardly a reason to devote an iota of Critical Power away from our Daily Drive to Dominate Them & Each Other, don't go all light-hearted on me, White Male Poets of the Internet. Don't be a weepy bitch, neither. Don't Relent on Pillaging Dialogue and Female Subjectivity where and how ever you see fit. They are images, these women, and that is all. For Us By Us (FUBU).


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