Vote TrumpCruzClintonSandersCarsonBush ’16

Donald Trump says build a wall
some frenzied fans say ‘Kill them all!’
it doesn’t matter on the creed
the words
the place
the thoughts
or deeds
as long as there’s a shouting fight,
a big ass brawl
then it’s alright

Old Hillary’s got another stance
grab the money
do the dance
Tango, Foxtrot, Whine and Grind
she’ll even Twerk
with Bill behind
just don’t listen
to the voices
who pay the bucks
and make her choices
they don’t count
if you don’t see
and money’s better
than Democracy

Big Ted Cruz?
He speaks to God
though Jesus thinks he’s mighty odd
he holds his tongue
and walks away
but he’s a Commie anyway
Ted don’t care,
he knows the truth,
guns and Founders are his proof
the Bible says what it should say
and Obamacare’s the Devil’s way
so stick to all the Holy scripture
and turn a buck for each prescription

Feel the Bern
Red for life
Che Bernie’s here
to ruin your life
under your bed
and in your house
with Lenin’s ghost somewhere about
here to purge your 1%,
break up the banks,
re-build the spent

But before the vapors send you screaming
remember that Obama feeling
‘Yes we can’
‘Yes we will’
until the Repubs closed the Hill
and even Mammon would lament
at all the greed
with no dissent
So let old Bernie have his shot
he sure as hell can’t do a lot

Plenty more just fade away,
humiliated in their own way
Jeb’s the loser of the clan
he can blame the Georges,
or perhaps Saddam
and Carson lost it way back when
amidst the Pyramids
and a confused plan

But who knows what comes next?
Bloomberg may just take the test,
Kanye West may grab the mic,
Ted Nugent might just start to snipe,
Seany Penn could hit the streets,
the Reagan route
to no defeat

It doesn’t matter all that much
the free world has long since gone clear bust
and no one person can or would
fix the nation as they should
No, it’s on the rest of you
to bring about the change that’s due
all together
all alike

Yes, we can
and yes…
we might

Be sure to check out my new book No Cure for Shell Shock.



Wear your manhood on your sleeve
those women can’t be your disease
you’ve read the books and bought the shirt,
the Vagina Demons have no way to hurt
You know you’re macho,
know you’re brave
your fortress is your phallic cave
no Betas, Gammas, dykes or girls
can undermine your manly world
You’ll laugh at them and walk away
Fedora waved along the way
‘Cos MRAs are serious stuff
and of the pussy you’ve had enough
until that late night twinge occurs,
when you start to doubt that Holy Word
that girls are bad and boys are best,
so why should you feel so depressed?
Alone so late with no one there
your manhood just laid cold and bare
‘Til morning comes and you realise
these girls are all for other guys
those FemiNazis, dykes and dogs
Gammas, Betas, fags and hogs
‘Cos you’re the un-reconstructed male
and God designed you not to fail
so wave your MRA manhood high
and wait ’til late at night to cry

Written in the aftermath of the more or less inconsequential threats by ‘neomasculanist’/wanker Roosh V to visit the UK this is a bit of a double edged sword. The whole MRA thing is riddled with some pretty disgusting views, a lot of confusion, seemingly self-involved issues and rampant sexism but it’s also completely absurd. Like Britain First with their armoured Land Rovers, or Tommy Robinson with his entire life there’s definitely something not good resting at the heart of it but, for now at least, it seems so stupid that it’s hard to do much beyond taking the piss. Especially as Roosh’s meetings were all cancelled when they realised that, regardless of political affiliation, quite a lot of people would turn out to run them off. Anyway, a bit of rhyming is my response and I’ll leave the analysis for the day when these types can openly advocate their nonsense without everyone from female Boxers to the EDL offering them out.

Be sure to check out my new book No Cure for Shell Shock.


Pretty Thing

Tell me this,
pretty thing,
where does your beauty lie?
Because underneath that fine veneer
I think it may have died

Overdosed on stimulants
to give your eyes that shine
then washed away
when they wore off
to leave something false and dry

So tell me this,
pretty thing,
where does your beauty lie?
Or if you can’t
just rest at ease
it wasn’t you that died

Be sure to check out my new book No Cure for Shell Shock.


Author Dylan Orchard's Site/Notebook