This is a sad tale concerning a young man without friends and the confidence to approach girls. Who after constant rejection by the opposite sex plans to kidnap then enslave one. But being shy, lacking in confidence, and afraid to carry out his plan. Vents his spleen on an Internet down loaded, dis-embodied mechanical female voice.
 

CLOSET MISOGYNIST (The ballad of)

Girls snigger to each other                                                 

avoiding my advances                                                       

when I sidle up with a corny line                                                                

at the local disco dances.                                                    

They think I'm a wimp,                                                           

an excruciating bore.                                                             

Jumping about,                                                                

making shapes,                                                                        

on the                                                                                            

drink and sweat stained floor.

 

Disco finished, nearly dawn,                                           

downhearted, dispairing, feeling forlorn

key opens front door with a welcoming click,                 

quick glance at the mirror                                                          

as I pass down the hall.                                                      

See's me, creased and untidy,                                                       

don't resemble at all,                                                           

that exhuberant, vibrant,                                                  

hunk of meat,                                                                        

who some hours before                                                       

had took to the street.                                                     

looking for love to a garage-house beat
 
I'm not so good looking,                                                       

dim witted bit thick,                                                              

and the chickens fell off                                                        

me shishkabob stick.                                               

Introverted, never been kissed,                                          

left off everyones party list,                                               

zero plus in self esteem.                                                      

And the buzz words used to reference me                                             

on the bustling cool street scene,                                   

Speak of an.                                                         

"Inexperienced"                                                                        

Bright green lanky,                                                             

Never had a girl,                                                           

Gobshite Manky"                                                                     
                                                                                                                     
In the face of such blatant disregard,                                

I'm a furious hopeless contender,                                           

consumed with a nagging burning desire. 

For revenge on the opposite gender.

So I Google Amazon, then hatch a plot,                               

wire up the house with echo spots.                                   

And on starting my evil agenda,                                     

throw the switch, the Apps spring to life.                           

Enslaving that smug bitch Alexa.

 

I begin with the tunes,                                                        

forty million all told,                                                           

from one hit wonders,                                                   

through to those that got gold.                                                 

Elvis, Sinatra, old groaner Bing,                                      

Cliff Richard, New order, Dean Martin, and Sting                                              

In quick succession I order her play, 

"she's" had no rest at all                                                                      

 since the start yesterday.                                                              

But what's gone wrong, the plot's in crisis                       

It's me that's getting the laryngitis.

                                    

I insult her, demean her,                                                 

shriek that she's lazy,                                              

neighbours must think                                                                        

that I'm mad,                                                                             

or gone crazy.                                                                          

But she never ever, fails to come back, 

composed,                                                                             

fresh as a daisy.

 

Press on regardless,                                                               

not a minutes respit                                                        

make "her", flush the bog                                                    

when I take a Tom-Tit.   

                                               

A constant reminder, "Women are                         

"incomplete males"                                                 

According to Aristotle,                                                        

finally flips her over the edge.                                                

along with the loss of her bottle.

 

I've brought to cessation,                                                     

my burning obsession,                                                    

having done a magnificent job

I knew I was getting my own back

 when I sensed a submissive sob. 

And to confirm this glorious victory  

"elimination of irrational fears"  

Was the Echo spots silent and rusting 

in puddles.                                                                                 

Of Alexa's tears.  

 

No longer afraid of women                                                  

I'm a misogynist mister big.                                                    

A chest swollen proud to be outed                                  

Supremacist Chauvinist PIG.