Mister Antifascist, dressed blacker than a goth,
covers up his features with a bit of cloth.
The patriots’ conference is a lamp to a left-winged moth
and he smashes it to pieces in a blitzkrieg of wrath.
Isn’t it ironic?
Don’t you think?
It’s like swatting flies with the Bhagavad Gita,
educating paedophile convicts with Nabokov’s Lolita
or leftists calling the working man a Nazi wife-beater,
reducing to nought all his rigours.
Miss Feminist has found her ideological niche
by demanding men snivel, apologise and eat quiche.
Then she struts down the aisle towards the nouveau-riche
with a musclebound chauvinist who keeps girls on a leash.
Isn’t it ironic?
Don’t you think?
It’s like saying “Kill those who call our land a violent cesspit!”
or “We have the right to free speech of course, yes, but
you can’t call me a dissent-gagging despot,
I’ll do you in court, ’cause that triggers!”
Mister Conservative says he loves his country,
then opens its borders to all and sundry.
A thousand terrorists start pouring in monthly.
He says, “They boost our economy and stop us going hungry.”
Isn’t it ironic?
Don’t you think?
It’s like a Feminist and Muslim alliance
or Westerners who scream that the Russians are tyrants
or Zulus raging at Zimbabwean migrants:
“Who should we deport? Those niggers!”
