Rapey, Sexy Life of E. Jean Carroll

The Rapey, Sexy Life of E. Jean Carroll

 

The rapey, sexy time she had with Trump

Was the best time her body ever had.

The memory’s a tingle in her rump,

The aftermath a let-down, deep and sad.

Oh, he was masterful, that grinning cad!

What’s that?  Resist?  Oh, well, of course she tried.

Aloud, she didn’t call that great beast “dad.”

Still, penetration couldn’t be denied.

Then every cell within, transmogrified,

Sang like a fat bitch at the highest note.

Half of her nerves were roasted, half were fried.

He launched her rocket, and he sank her boat.

It’s hurtful that she had to come awake.

Why can’t dreams ever last, for goodness’ sake?

 

–Tom Riley

 

Down Memory Lane

Down Memory Lane

 

He raped her.  Donald Trump did.  In the past.

And other famous people raped her, too.

But mostly Donald Trump.  Now – now at last—

She tells her frightful tale, and tells it true.

If Robert Mueller’s failure was her cue,

So what?  Don’t judge her.  Hey, she writes for Elle!

You’re simply jealous none of them raped you—

Those guys, plus Donald Trump.  So go to Hell!

Men used to want her ass then.  Pricks would swell

With every indication of desire.

If pants did not come down, still she could tell.

She knew she had the stuff to light a fire.

Now she is in her desiccated phase.

Donald Trump raped her once.  Those were the days!

 

–Tom Riley

 

 

(Elderly Elle writer remembers what she was wearing during Trump encounter.)