Sotto Voce

Donald Trump was puzzled,

A frown on his stony face.

Why did he have to deal again

With the weaker half of the human race?

He checked the teleprompter

(annoying—but they said

He had now on to stick to scripts

When he’d rather do improv instead),

But didn’t check the microphone:

It was live and quickly caught

Not what was written in the script,

But what he really thought.

 

“What are women good for?

I have to tell you, folks,

From all that I can see of them,

They’re one of Nature’s jokes.

Their brains are tiny

And they have that high-pitched, whiny voice,

But, when it comes to pleasure,

No real man has a choice.”

 

He checked his hand-made Rolex

Against the studio clocks

And hoped they’d dumped that stupid bitch

Who did interviews for his favorite, Fox.

He drank a glass of water.

(Just water? Not Perrier?

When he saw the network’s president,

He’d have a thing to say!)

They all were late—when he arrived,

It was time for them to start.

So rather than waste his precious time,

He opened up his heart:

 

“What are women good for?

It’s just a feminist hoax

That they have personalities

And thoughts, I tell you, folks.

What are women good for?

I’ve asked this again and again,

And the only answer I can find

Is just to make more men.”

 

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