How the Trump Stole Feminism

                                    By Nasty Velvet


Every Her down in Her-ville liked feminism a lot…

But the Trump, who lived just north of Her-ville, Did NOT!

The Trump hated feminists! The whole feminist reason!

In his white male mind, women in control was treason.

It could be, his head wasn’t screwed on just right.

It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all

May have been that his brain was two sizes too small.


But whatever the reason, his brain or his shoes,

He stood there on inauguration eve, hating the Hers,

Staring down from his penthouse with a sour Trumpy frown

At the warm lighted windows below in Her-town.

For he knew every Her down in Her-ville below

Was planning a feminist march, just for show.

“And they’re wearing their pantsuits!” he snarled with a sneer.

“Tomorrow I’m inaugurated! It’s practically here.”

Then he growled with his orange fingers nervously drumming.

“I MUST find some way to stop feminists from coming!”

For tomorrow he knew all the Hers and Her-Allies

Would wake bright and early and rush for their rallies.

And then, Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!

That’s one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!


Then the Hers, young and old, would sit down and speech

And they’d speech! And they’d speech! And they’d SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!

They would speech on Her-rights and more on Her-equalities,

When Trump only wanted to know “Were there Hotties!”

And then they’d do something he liked least of all.

Every Her down in Her-ville, the tall and the small

Would stand close together with guitars and bells ringing.

They’d stand, hand-in-hand and the Hers would start singing.

They’d sing! And they’d sing!


And the more that Trump thought of this feminist sing,

The more that Trump thought, “I must stop this whole thing!”

“Why for so many years I’ve put up with it now!

I MUST stop these feminists from coming! … But HOW?”

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

The Trump got a bad hombre awful idea.

“I know just what to do!” The Trump laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick Abe Lincoln hat and a coat.

And he chuckled and clucked “What a great escapade!

With the coat and this hat I look like old Honest Abe!”

“All I need is a horse…” And Trump looked around.

But, since he was in a penthouse, there was none to be found.

Did that stop old Trump? No! The Trump simply said,

“If I can’t find a horse, I will make one instead!”

So he called VP Pence, grabbed a mop with a strut

And he tied a mop tail to the crown of Pence’s butt.

Then he loaded some bags and some stockings he’d rinsed

On a huge roller suitcase that he hitched up to Pence.

Then the Trump said, “Giddap!” The Roller bag started down

Toward the homes where the Hers lay a snooze in Her-town.


All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.

All the Hers were all dreaming about women who dare.

When he came to the first little house on the square.

“This is stop number one,” the old Trumpy Abe hissed.

And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney, rather tight for the grump.

But in Abe’s stove pipe hat it seemed fitting, thought Trump.

He got stuck only once for a moment or two

Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.

He saw little Her-pantsuits lined up in a row.

“Those pantsuits,” Trump grinned, “are the first things to go!”

Then he slithered and slunk with a smile most unpleasant

Around the small house which befitted a peasant.

He took everything he thought Hers found essential!

High heels! Dresses! Curlers and bath oil!

Then he stuffed them in bags, then the Trump, very numbly,

Stuffed all the bags one-by-one up the chumbly.

He slunk to the bathroom. He took the Hers blush.

He put all the birth control in the toilet to flush.

He cleaned out that bathroom as quick as a flash.

Why that Trump even took the last bit of bath splash.

Then he stuffed all that goop up the chimney unseen.

“And now!” grinned the Trump, “I’ll take the washing machine!”

The Trump grabbed the machine and he started to shove

When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.

He turned around fast and he saw a small Her!

Little Jennifer-Her who was two and demure.

The Trump had been caught by this tiny Her daughter

Who’d got out of bed for a cup of cold water.

She stared at the Trump and said “Honest Abe, why?

Why are you taking our washing machine? WHY?”

But you know that old Trump was so twisted and sick

He thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.

“Why my sweet little tot,” the fake Abe Lincoln lied,

“There’s a buzz on this machine that won’t buzz on one side.

So I’m taking it out to a repair shop, my dear.

They will fix it up there. Then I’ll bring it back here.”

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head

And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.

And when Jennifer-Her went to bed with her cup.

He took the machine to the chimney and up.

Then the last thing he took was a pencil for writing.

He felt they’d have nothing and in that was delighting.

The one speck of hair spray that he left in the house

Was a tad too tiny to style the bangs on a mouse.

Then he did the same thing to the other Her houses

Leaving hairs spray too little for the other Her mouses.


It was a quarter past dawn… all the Hers, still a-bed

All the Hers, still a-snooze as he piled stuff up to Pence’s head.

Packed the suitcase with their pantsuits! The lipstick! The hairspray!

The birth control pills that the women took each day!

Thirty-three flights up on the glass elevator

He rode to his penthouse, feeling like a savior.

“Pooh-Pooh to the Hers!” he was Trump-ishly humming.

“They’re finding out now that no women are coming!”

“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!”

“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two

Then the Hers down in Her-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!”


“That’s a noise,” grinned the Trump,

“That I simply MUST hear!”

So he paused. And the Trump put a hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.

It started in low. Then it started to grow…

But the sound wasn’t sad!

Why this sound was EMPOWERING!

It couldn’t be so!

Hers should be crying and cowering!

He stared down at Her-ville! The Trump popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Her down in Her-ville, the tall and the small,

Was singing! Without any pantsuits at all!

He HADN’T stopped feminism from coming!

IT CAME! Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Trump, with his Trump hair flying to and fro,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: “How could it be so?”

“It came without pantsuits! It came without hairspray!

It came without birth controls pills Hers took each day!”

And he puzzled three hours, ‘til his puzzler was sore.

Then the Trump thought of something he hadn’t before!

“Maybe feminism,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a suit.

Maybe feminism… perhaps… could there be more to it?”

And what happened then? … Well, in Her-ville they say

That the Trump’s hombre balls Shrunk three sizes that day!

And the minute his pants didn’t feel quite so tight,

He worried about his own four-year plight.

He was not prepared for the presidential stress.

He worried about how he’d manage this mess,

One he was unprepared to handle… if he… HE HIMSELF…!

The Trump must confess!