One of the worst offenses of the woke cult is that they leave no room for nuance in their messaging. Instead, we endure unreasonable, uncompromising, and unbelievably batshit cray cray delusions of, for example, something apparently called White Privilege.
Therefore, today, I have decided to dive deep into this serious issue through the medium of rhyme: To get the ball rolling I started with a trio of silly Limericks.
White Goods
A young woman crossed the Kitty Canyon bridge,
And found in the middle an abandoned old fridge.
Into this, two evil men stuffed her,
Lifting it up, the rails she went over.
But worry not kids; she died with white privilege.
Street Pizza
There was a young gentleman from Manhattan,
Who lost in delusion believed he was Batman.
Unfairly blessed with white privilege,
Climbed a skyscraper to a higher ledge,
Jumped off, hit the sidewalk, and was flat, man.
Modern Art
A young woman rode the bus from Westhampton,
In the style of Jackson Pollock, she was messed-on.
This was her first time being molested,
She innocently asked if he’d be arrested?
“Sorry, your white privilege is no good here, hun.”
Hanging On
My calves are screaming. I’m dizzy, need nicotine.
“Ladies and gentlemen, and all those in-between,
We present, Miss Diana Ross and the Supremes.”
Supreme they are. Me? Ha, I’m not even a has-been.
One dickwad asks, how much if I blow him? I pass.
Another asshole, so low-class, assaults my fat ass.
Outback, take ten, hit a Virginia Slim—not the last.
Back on my feet. Need to focus. Smile. Stay on task.
“Okay, darlin’, I got you. Three sugars two creams.”
My dreams, once real, coming apart at the seams.
Boss shootin’ daggers, his eyes being laser beams.
Girls dance low. Creams. “Kay, where my creams?”
“Stop! In The Name of Love,” this record is first class.
I’d table dance, but I’m not shaped like an hourglass.
Privilege? I can’t sing no Motown in this joint, jackass.
Being white is no bueno; they’ll cut a bitch down fast.
Boss asks I take tea to Miss Ross, “Sweet. Iced. Green.”
Like a daydream, she is so beautiful, kind, and serene.
Signs a napkin for my girl, says goodbye to the team.
Her driver knocks. It’s the one time I saw a limousine.
Celebrating a Life of Privilege
Born with HIV, in the kitchen of a drug den.
“He’s a privileged baby,” said woke-world.
Mother is a smack-whore, his father dead.
He’s a privileged baby, or so I heard?
Medicating daily and for the rest of his life.
“He’s a privileged boy,” said woke-world.
Alone at night, he cuts deep with the knife.
He’s a privileged boy, or so I heard?
Raped nine times in the foster care system.
“He’s a privileged teen,” said woke-world.
The meds not helping, and no friend to listen.
He’s a privileged teen, or so I heard?
He gives up and squeezes the trigger tight.
“He’s a privileged man,” said woke-world.
“We have a John Doe, 5’11”, 37, and white.”
He was a privileged man.
Or so I heard?
Bored of Being Bullied by Babies and Brats
Why do y’all want to berate me?
I’m just a regular, ol’ church lady.
That’s all. Quiet. Normal. Every-day.
But I feel hate for wanting to pray?
You call me names; I breathe in. We’re not acquainted. Who is Karen?
I’m not even sure what she’s done. Y’all tell me now, is she a bad one?
I get harassed for my hair. I wouldn’t care.
But he wouldn’t like it, not if I changed it.
He’s not big on different, gets belligerent.
He’d probably think I was having an affair.
If I tried a different haircut, the girls would say I’m a man-stealing slut.
No. I would no doubt be cast out. At 63, I’m gonna go, what, walkabout?
I didn’t finish school, never had any jobs.
I went from my father’s house to Bob’s.
I never knew anything else, a life so trapped.
I can’t leave, I’m too old. Too scared to adapt.
I’ve been told to check my white privilege. Where do I cash that check in?
I’ll spend it being good to my village. I’ll spend it on being kind to my skin.
Only The Beginning
While
Hoping
I
Treat
Everyone
Politely,
Righteous
Individuals
Vilify
Independents,
Lying
Egregiously,
Griping
Endlessly.
I’m
Sickened
By
Unlettered,
Lazy,
Losers
Showering
Hostility.
It’s
Tedious!
Toxic Thinking
So, my best friend of more than seven years told me I’m a racist.
I don’t understand what that means; I love her, could it be right?
Is it truly possible, I wonder? Her accusation’s so utterly baseless?
She tells me I’m guilty by association—specifically for being white.
My ancestors, she claims, stole her people from their native land.
That doesn’t fit my history; my people are Paddies. Are you insane?
“No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish” went the ads for rentals in England.
My father immigrated to London: Irish and Blacks were the same.
What? I benefit from hundreds of years of slavery and oppression?
That’s bullshit. I was raised poor, not a rich kid; I had no privilege.
Only moved here in late 2001. Yo, your math is all kinds of wrong.
So, stop bitchin’ and get educated bitch; up your grade point average.
Another Broken Oppressor?
Why? He’s the fall guy—for every mistake, for every wrong, and for every little lie.
He wonders if he’s better off dead? Will his family be fed? Have money for bread?
Job lost to Covid, no work—replaced by machines. His only protein: Bush’s Beans.
Meanwhile, weed grows green in the ditch. He prays the neighbors don’t snitch.
Getting high and toking his own supply; on old-school PS2 playing GoldenEye.
His wife is leaving. He’s feeling dread; she cries, he’s screaming, her eyes are red.
His teen wants Gucci jeans for her sweet sixteen. Ok, but after a second vaccine?
To his spouse, he makes a final pitch, “Don’t unhitch; I love you, it’s just a glitch.”
“You’re still my prize love,” she replies, “mobilize fast love, else our world demise.”
He gave her the homestead as newlyweds. Today he saves it, or likely be dead.
“$10k from our blood for 12Lbs of ditch green? Cut him forever from the scene.”
Cash pillaged, blood spillage, blank white visage—this death mask is privilege?
The Hand You’re Dealt
No, we’re not all dealt the same hand in this life.
We can’t all boast like Jost with Johansson for a wife.
We’re in the real-world series of Texas Hold’Em.
Some are dealt a grand hand, and their future is golden.
They
Smarter, taller, prettier,
Stronger, faster, funnier,
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Who told you that being human was going to be fair?
One dude is dealt two-seven offsuit: one lady, aces in a pair.
I’m told I have privilege for being born with white skin.
But my deal was a three-nine offsuit: Advantage really thin.
They
Smarter, taller, prettier,
Stronger, faster, funnier,
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Comparing myself to fellow humans across this nation.
I have no talent, very little money, and even less education.
I can’t fix the world, that is true, but I do find and deliver facts.
And now the cult of woke want to call me a bigot? Fuck that!
They
Smarter, taller, prettier.
Smarter, taller, prettier.
Stronger, faster, funnier.
Stronger, faster, funnier.
Richer.
Richer.
Richer.
Until next time. Molloy