¡Hole mole! Chris Clarke has written me a corrido. It is, I believe, the world’s first and finest patrinarco-corrido.
The chorus:
Oh the sun it shines like oil upon the mole
And the dogs they beg and whine, they’re getting barky
And the sexist trolls are thicker than pozole
Everybody dance, and blame the patriarchy!
I’m sure yall’ll join me in urging Chris to quit his day job.
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I’m sure yall’ll join me in urging Chris to quit his day job.
Like I need any more encouragement to do that.
Such a heartfelt and poetic tribute should speed your obstreperal/wazoo system on its way to recovery. In the meantime, as a fellow spinster aunt, I would be happy to shoulder some of the patriarchy-blaming duties, but I am not so articulate as you. If it would help at all, I could glare menacingly at the patriarchy (on a more regular basis than I have been.)