This is something a little different. It's been a long time since we attempted bad satirical poetry on this site so why not give it a shot now I say. I'll dedicate this to the two young gents (and one in particular) who should be able to find the true meaning in the following. Although on second thought I won't be insulted if no meaning is actually found, the point to the exercise and the comical message within was sort of lost due to the whole remembering of simple mono-syllabic rhyming words in my ever decreasing vocabulary thing. Anyway, before I ruin the poem even further I'll end this introduction right now!
‘Why Masculine Poetry is an Oxymoronic Construct That Lead To Shrinking Testicles and the Subsequent Downfall of Modern Man’ by Jake J. Jameson.
A long time ago,
Modern man started to grow,
He had his club, his cave and his love for the kill,
He'd have an ugly cave-woman that he would go home to thrill,
But the cave-girl can only be dragged by the hair for so long,
Before the lust, love and availability of sex soon gets the gong.
Girls tired of boys who they know would soon hurt them,
and instead turned their heads to boys who could spurt them,
Lyrics and emotions,
Feelings of devotion,
Talking of fluffy white bunnies,
Wearing weird purple sunnies,
Pretending they know the trees hurt,
While wearing a fancy silk shirt,
Men threw back the club and the wild natural hunt,
and instead picked up flowers, chocolates and took an off punt,
That woman want romance, soft candles and songs done by jewel,
Not big muscles, loud music, and fast cars that looked cool,
The buff, tough, and rough men were dead,
Replaced by soppy and sappy boys, proficient in bed!
Standing tall, defending your bitch to the brink,
Had fucked off down the pub where boys no longer drink,
Because drinking too much beer,
Was then a much greater fear,
As I was told chicks would prefer to bed,
A nice gentlemen who drinks a soft red,
Who writes lyrics of lost love,
Dropping rose petals from above,
Where the smell of perfume,
Now lingers his clean room,
Where dirty socks and underwear were once in bloom.
Carpenters, builders, brickies and truck-drivers,
are now ballerina's, cooks, and 'friendly' hair-dressers,
Chest hair and loud belching no longer a sign of big strength,
Because sensitive men need not worry about their penile length.
They told us that it was better to care,
Then to wolf-whistle and stare,
To be a modern woman's man,
You required at least a 10 year plan.
But no longer does this reign true,
As the day of the S.N.A.G. is finally through,
Men must now reclaim their balls,
and re-learn to stand tall,
As opening car doors,
Buying a CD of The Corrs,
and discussing all the emotions you lack,
Will never ever get you any closer to finding her in the sack.
But of course a few nice-guys still linger,
While the brute-men return them the finger,
and they think knowing bra sizes,
Makes them ooooh so much wiser,
and that writing lyrics makes them mysterious,
Enigmatic, spiritual and conscientious,
But now we all know,
Its nothing but show,
and the touchy-feely men,
Like traditional house-wives of then,
Are no longer the fad of this day,
As most women now write you off as gay.
I used to worry that I needed to be a modern snag,
to care, be concerned, and to dress like a fag.
But obviously those guys are now the unpopular few,
So to them I say stop trying to pretend you know what the woman want on queue,
as its quite clear to me that not you or even them have the slightest of clue!
Its time to be a man as we once stood tall and proud,
With bad hair, beer guts and bad language out loud.
'Fuck You' to all the pretty boy poets out there.
Not all woman now fall for your cunning fair.
-Jake Jameson
