“Alas The Poor Fellow Has DHPS” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

Women prefer good looking men.

But what they really really live for is a “fixer upper”.

YES, Women prefer ‘Simpletons’.

So if you have brains, you better hide it fella!

That is, if you want to get laid.

Which, if you are the average joe schmoe,

You will be willing to lose your life for.

The odd Black Widow aside, this, usually happens metaphorically of course.

That deadening drawn out-ed-ness spiritual death.

of long-term Domestic Hen-Peckery.

This doesn’t all happen out of nowhere, so let me explain.

It all happens like this:

The bloke is so desperate for sex he marries a henpecking bitch,

Who soon enough ends up not shaging him anyway.

Soon enough he’s left only with a Henpecker, that won’t touch his Pecker.

Which is, inarguably so, a fate worse than death.

The only thing left to hope for for these poor fellows, is for a World War to again break out.

For when WW1 & WW2 broke, these henpecked & dusty peckered lot rejoiced heartily!

For they were no longer trapped at home with their wives & children!

Sure they might get their heads blown off by flak or rifle fire at any minute,

But that was a relatively small price to pay in comparison to their Domestic Henpeckery.

This is the problem with most men you see –

They overprice the chances of gleeful marital or defacto sex,

Yet totally underprice their chances of daily freedom.

For a man without a modicum of freedom, is truly not really a man.

He is but a shell of one.

That fact should not be deemed controversial, old fashioned or untrue.

Of course ‘Domestic Henpeckery’s’ got so so much worse nowadays,

As Nazi-like feminism has become as normalised as a deadly WW2 Panzer attack in 1940.

And so after decades upon decades of this phenomenon,

So now men have become women & women men.

And often very literally so.

It is an attrocious state of affairs!

So I have a final message to the modern 21st Century man:

Don’t be stupid,

Don’t marry of even date a Hen Pecker! –

Value your freedom of Association!

Value your freedom of Speech!

Value your freedom of Movement!

Value your Solitude!

Don’t marry a Hen Pecker,

Not Now,

Not Never,

Or on behalf of you Pecker!

Which contrary to working class beliefs,

Has acutely limited executive function.

It’s either that or get trapped & wait for WW3,

To finally set you free.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Although I’m probably kidding myself,

As men who over-trust their peckers, also don’t read books.

And so certainly – not my obscure & curmudgeonly written poems,

Emanating from the Arse-End-Of-The-World.

Luckily for me,

A subset of them might.

Perhaps a few hardened prison inmates might end up read these words,

So I’ll also half-dedicate this Poem to them.

Off course my warning is largely useless for these jailbirds,

For they are already protected by the Deadly Henpeckers by wrought iron bars,

Those Lucky Bastards!

But then again – one day they’ll too rejoin us all in the prison without bars.

But for the rest of the henpecked non book reading dopes out there,

They can only hope that their Putin stands strong & then their Trump retaliates with fire (or vice versa).

And so then,

Once again,

And as always,

A World War can come quietly to set them free,

From that casually murderous misandry,

Known in the near future in the Psychiatrist’s DSM manuals as:

Domestic Hen-Peckery Syndrome.

(Or DHPS for short).

“One day things might just slightly improve” (A Poem)

by Martin Anton Smith

If Earth was a store it would be called:
Bondservants ‘R’ Us! ….(in giant flashing neon letters).
You know it’s TRUE.
What’s That?
But you have a ‘Career’?
Gimme A break.
That’s the thing they told you,
So, you’d produce more crap,
And trade your precious time on earth,
Without even an audible whimper.
Well – ‘at least I have my vices’ you think or say.
You Fool
They own all the vices.
Sex drugs alcohol or whatever.
They wisely designed & advertised those vices.
As both your temporary escape,
And more importantly as your permanent chains.
It’s a devilish scheme.
It makes a man forget that his time & freedom is all he really has.
And be too tired & broken down to fight for it.
Like all good systems they’ve also designed it so you can’t live outside the system.
So that if you do try to leave – you risk total starvation & homelessness & a death on the streets.
So, If your too fearful for that, you only have these menu items:
Bondservant
Bondservant who polices other Bondservants
Bondservant who owns other Bondservants
Bondservants who own other Bondservants who own other Bondservants
These are the only options they give you.
What’s that you say?
“But I can work hard & become one of “them” – y’know, live the ‘American Dream’!”
No No No, You Fool – Can’t you see?

Success in ‘The American Dream’ is climbing the 4-tiered Bondservant system.
Those who I call “them” are the overlords outside the system, the ones that run it.
To be one of “them”, you have to be born into the cabal.
An a-priori predestination, if you will.
And don’t kid yourself – it’s nothing to be proud of or want.
“But if this is true”- I hear you cry “how do I stop myself going crazy or topping myself then?”
Easy – you accept you Bondservant fate with a wry smile,
Because by knowing the Truth then deep down you also know,
This absurdity here on Earth ain’t all there is.
Not by a long stretch.
Unless of course –
Earth is Hell itself.
Then I logically expect we’ll be reborn back into it all.
I agree with you – What a terrible excruciatingly blackening haranguing thought.
But on a more positive note,
Hell on Earth or not, all slaves can sneak a few good moments.
Just as the walking dead of WW1 did in between bouts of certain death.
They were smart enough to have a few laughs & ales between bombshells, shrapnel, & whizzing-past-your-ear bullets.
Yes, it is true my friend,
We can always grab good moments – right out of our polluted airs.
For by definition darkness cannot exist without light.
There has to be at least a few glorious photons to be had at all times.
And If life as a Human on Earth is not hell at all,
Then even a grumpy depressed beer-drinkin’ asshole like you or me has to admit,
One day things might just slightly improve.