All You Rapists

All You Rapists

You beasts! You’ve gone and raped her yet again!
Her victimhood you’ve foully victimized
To serve your selfish pleasure! She has been
Targeted – and she doesn’t seem surprised.
You dare to claim you never realized
That you were raping her? That makes it worse.
Your blank incomprehension, supersized,
Has thus become her sad, recurring curse.
A life as victim how can she reverse
When none of her tormentors will confess?
The pepper spray she carries in her purse
Against your kind means ever less and less.
You rape her with your eyes and filthy minds.
You rape her when you read these nasty lines.

–Tom Riley

(The Pezzulo reports further rape fantasies.)

A Way Out

A Way Out

Social justice rep needs quick repair?
Independent thought thick like bad air
All around your poor head?
Don’t despair! Act instead!
Simply watch and agree with Colbert!

–Tom Riley

Cleanup Crew

Cleanup Crew

Shea is bad: an absurd, bulbous twit
Who pretends to be wise and a wit.
What a hopeless gestalt!
Worse is Scott Eric Alt—
Who, as follower, feasts on Shea’s shit.

–Tom Riley

Philo-Semitica

Philo-Semitica

Philo-Semitic Shea hates all such Jews
As claim Jerusalem as capital.
They’re hailing Donald Trump! It’s pitiful!
Shea wails to see such items in the news
Because they contradict his brilliant views.
How many morons can the Donald gull
By keeping promises? The Donald’s bull
Unceasingly relights Shea’s fiery fuse.
You see, Shea knows Trump’s secret motivation
For seeming to respect Jew after Jew.
Shea’s penetrated all the obfuscation.
Shea’s pieced together clue on subtle clue.
By virtue of his genius cerebration,
Shea knows that Trump’s a Nazi through and through!

–Tom Riley

Abandonment

Abandonment

Time at last to disown the Emerald Isle,
St. Patrick. Time to let the snakes return
And lead the traitor multitudes to burn.
Abandonment, I know, is not your style—
But those that you converted weren’t this vile.
For soullessness they didn’t really yearn.
Upon their faces you could well discern
Loftier aspirations all the while.
Not these. They’re thinking only of their groins.
Orgasm is the god that they adore—
And not fertility. Two-sided coins
Bear reverse sides – but, in this giant’s store
Of treasure, there is nothing but thrilled loins.
The snakes themselves disdain this pimp, this whore.

–Tom Riley

Omnia Illam Rapiunt

Omnia Illam Rapiunt

To the Pezzulo, everything is rape.
By virtue of her penetrative name,
She shapes a vision only she could shape.
Fierce male aggression conscience cannot tame
Surrounds her gorgeousness and has one aim:
To subjugate her femininity!
Her sweetness is the treasure it would claim.
It threatens underparts incessantly.
Yes, in reality, this cannot be.
She’s as attractive as a hog’s behind.
If blind folks smell what you and I can see,
They will concur – and truth is what they’ll find.
No manhood in the whole wide world is rising.
(But should this stop a gal from fantasizing?)

–Tom Riley

Something Dumb

Something Dumb

 

Scott Eric Alt has something dumb to say.

I know because the sky is overhead.

Sunny or cloudy, brilliant blue or gray,

Loaded with solar promise or the dread

Of thunder, why, it’s all the same!  Instead

Of empty air, it’s all a sign most clear

That Alt upon the mouthy path is sped,

Conventional and mindless.  And sincere?

That’s not for me to judge – not now, not here.

I merely recognize stupidity

Belched up throughout the seasons of the year

And sold to idiots apt to agree.

The sheep, illiterate, bleat their amen.

Scott Eric Alt is yakking once again.

 

–Tom Riley

Emission Control

Emission Control

 

Bill Nye suggests we tax the farts of cows.

Instead, we need to tax the farts of Shea.

Shea generates more gas in every way

Than any bovine beast.  That’s how he wows

His crew of pathics and of vocal sows.

It’s the one game that he knows how to play:

Emit, emit, emit all through the day—

And with the scent thrill little Ches and Maos.

His vast, immobile bulk consumes, pollutes,

And then consumes yet more while poor brown folk

Around the world go hungry.  To its roots,

The World Tree shudders.  Shea cries:  “Hey, I’m broke!

Send me cash for my flatulent pursuits!”

None of his suckers understands the joke.

 

–Tom Riley

Without Sleep

Without Sleep

 

Without sleep, you poor slob, you have done.

Your eyes torpid, you now dread the sun.

Don’t be sad!  Don’t be sick!

Just hallucinate – quick!

That alone can make sleeplessness fun.

 

–Tom Riley

Source of His Strength

Source of His Strength

 

Psychological weakness?  You’ll find

He has none – if to facts you’re not blind.

Disregard all mystique!

If a guy’s to be weak

In the psyche, he must have a mind.

 

–Tom Riley