Pessimistic Politics: An Incredibly Offensive Nursery Rhyme

Once upon once, in old times, there was trouble.

The men worked in the field; the women worked double.

Their place was the kitchen, or so it's been said,

Doing the cleaning and baking the bread.

They popped out the children in litters and packs

Then they changed dirty diapers in stacks upon stacks.

One female child looked up with a glow,

"May I go to school? My brother is slow."

So she went to the schoolhouse, amid much surprise

And questioned the rules before everyone's eyes.

"Why must we go barefoot, with babies and such?

I want to be useful, I want just that much."

In World War II, when the men were all dying,

Her request was granted, and so she stopped crying.

Yet we still put her down and we paid her much less,

Which we thought still made sense since she worked in a dress.

Blacks got the vote, and the women soon after

And that was the moment that started their laughter.

"We're so much more smarter!" said one of these chicks,

"You boys are all losers, you think with your _ _ _ _"

The men then complained at the women's composure.

We saw them wear PANTS! (what indecent exposure!)

"They demand equal treatment and money and time,

It makes us so mad that we can't even rhyme... it with anything."

But the girls were not finished, they took no defeats,

And soon they were running amok in the streets.

They said we offend them, we needed to go.

By making sick comments that use the word "blow."

Still, this made sense, in a weird sort of way

If you were a women, were whipped or were gay.

So then men were cautious when speaking at work,

Lest somebody hear them and call them a jerk.

It decreased our profits, but that's just as well,

As long as we're equal, let that go to hell.

And one fateful day, a young male looked up

He said "Don't even think it." He'd turned into a yup.

In private, in secret, joke telling remained.

It helped build morale and it helped keep us sane.

But now we were battled inside our own thoughts;

Which just made girls snicker, advancing their plots.

Some suits were on policy, some on perception,

The fact we did nothing was just a deception.

Though misogyny fled, there were leagues yet to fight

In destroying our spirits and dealing us bites.

The men got the bad end, we usually do,

But if someone said it, a woman would sue.

If we opened our mouth, someone could be offended,

So mostly we didn’t, but the wound wasn’t mended.

It just made the women bolder in attack,

Because I was hairy, they called me a yak.

The reverse wasn’t true, as I certainly know,

We had tipped past the balance, I knew it was so.

My opinion was laughed at and I had to hide,

While my friends were beaten and torn from their hide.

The women got torches and marched down the street.

“Wives and mothers unite! Now the men, they are beat!”

They barred us from working, they said we were bad.

Hillary became President, and men were all sad.

With nowhere to go, we retreated back home

As, unable to leave, we felt trapped in a tomb.

Now the men did the cooking and cleaning and such,

Leaving women to brawl and turn brains into mush.

“Does my butt look big? You took too long to say…

That comment was sexist, now do things my way!”

Yet there is a hope for the future, I know.

For a young golden boy and a sister who’s slow.

He’ll look to the heavens and say with a sigh.

“Can I go to school, please love me, please try…”