There’s a little bit of whore in every Nancy Reagan

(No thanks to you, prick! Ronnie!)

Hi sad-sack-sister-less sisters, how’s your sex life?

By the look of your shoes I’d say, well why don’t we let your penny loafers speak for themselves while I go find me a hole for some man to get sick in.

Oh, wait, that would be you, wouldn’t it, cunt?

She’s a self-hating woman that Robin Plan.

Yah, unlike you I managed to get one thing half-right.

Repression is a surefire absolute, deny hatred and you kill love,

repress misery, you get no joy, none, whatsoever.

courage, valor, I stay together.

Stand up/fall down

half-love, half- hate

true as an

American redwood tree.

Don’t fuck with my bedrock source of truth:

my cunt-tree tis of me.

Feelin seductive, Sex Object?

Perfume ads. Lingerie. His trophy. Your airbrushed

perfection used to sell everything from tractors to toothpaste,

I’m not makin this shit up, ever notice, Victoria’s Secret?

And yet, you remain, how shall I put this? Ignorant, clueless, cement, but I thought you were supposed to be all about sex so um, help me out here, how did you snag your man, how did you come to be

such a sweet and womanly Eden of erotic delight, in a world that says

you don’t get to be, but it’s all you’ll really ever be, ha ha ha.

He hopes deep inside, you’re sex,

what he demands on the outside is un-sex,

a good woman by day and a tiger in bed,

in other words, let’s buy into the lie,

her breeding ground for faking orgasms fellahs,

nice quiet composed and, most significantly closed

his-n-her private lunatic system, just you and me babe while

the world around us turns to shit, how can you live without, the price you

pay is to ignore the fact you are going without, pretend you are not a result of the environment that surrounds you, pretend you have no choice but to knuckle under to the good, sexless, money-grubbin leaders, pretend you have no influence and are not collaborating, pretend your way of being in the world is not some thinly veiled and tedious complaint.

Passivity is a green light, individualist.

I’ll just lay here while you have your fun, and get my revenge by filing bankruptcy.

American citizen: fucks like a woman.

Why won’t you let ordinary men have one thing right, bitch, don’t you see

what they are doing?

They need us. We need them. Men know this. They are base creatures.

They are obsessed with sex b/c you won’t give it up, they’re not stupid,

they know which sex belongs on its knees in utter submission, how can you insult the very fucking idea of sex by denying the

honorific inherent in abject desire?

Don’t you know what desire feels like?

Admit it, Lottie, I want to

feel the earth move under my bed,

I want

orgasm

and I want it vigourously.

You can thank me now.

But you’re scared to disobey the cultural imperatives, much less

examine how many you blindly adhere to, the damage they do

to the freest people on earth.

I’m scared too, the terrified part of me is what drives

around the block 210 times because she doesn’t recognize the house she lives in, then ends up in the hospital the following day from an inability to stand up on her own two feet.

Could you,

fend for yourself,

if you were me?

Think so, huh?

You go now, and don’t come back

til you’ve read my work.

Terrified? Of what? We are a civilized nation.

She must be crazy.

Well. If it isn’t our good friend Rapeman, howdy ass-hole pig,

robin-stopper, trouble here to get your sick-o emotional problems straightened out, as in, before conquering the wench, try not to make her wretch, seriously, there are more fun ways to hurt me.

Hot.

Is it me, or is it getting hot in here?

Whatta you know

IT IS ME YAY!!

You think it’s for you? Seriously?

You think the sex you see in me is about you?!

Ha ha ha, don’t take it personally dude, it’s really and truly not about you, yoo-hoo, remember me, the monkey wrench, swaying hips and clitoris and downy-soft peter-HA-HA-belly, it’s all mine and goes on forever, oh, did I happen to mention it’s all about ME?

Oh for godsakes, this is giving you a hard-on isn’t it?

The more un-obtainable the more desirable the goods huh. Being so hung up on access is what makes you so bad in bed boys, once you have access you forget what comes next. That’s what happens when you need to put your college degree into gaining entry into a fuckin woman.

Resentment works both ways.

Except you resent women twice what we resent you,

all the effort you put into *just* getting laid, doubled of course by

all the effort you put into just

what the fuck?!

Not getting laid.

Uh-oh, smash up.

Oh by the way, that whole conquering mentality I referred to earlier?

Please try to notice when I am mocking you, thanks.

NICE REPLY, SIMPLETON, STANDING OVATION,

WHAT A FUCKIN STRATEGIST, COME ON OVER AND

BUILD ANOTHER SKYSCRAPER ON MY FRONT LAWN,

THAT’LL GET THE POINT ACROSS!

No respect, no restraint, no proper she-worship, but smart, right, you know I want to cum all over you, but can’t, no, world says no

(your world, thanx, idiot), hm. Now what?

Force.

I know you’re out there.

Ergo,

I’ve learned to fight back.

This is not fun. Go fight your brothers, that’s not what I’m here for.

True girls have taught me how to fight back.

I keep myself to myself, heap ridicule upon the easily-unmasked-before-it’s too-late-3-minute-dream-date-ship-that-passes-at-half-mast-quick-hurry-up- and-fuck-her-while-you-got-her-in-the-nighttime-stealers.

This could have been some night, bib boy.

Sorry, my time here is limited.

Right, think about that.

This is what I had to learn on my own:

Men protect women from men.

It is indeed a competition.

Fight for my right to sovereignty.

Makes me want to reward my champion.

Calling all Romeos,

it’s

midnight in the garden of Eden,

time to

raise my window high.

love,

Harlot is not a Template

Home.