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Lorena Bobbitt And Two Misogynists Walk Into A Bar

The MeToo Era tells us all “Time’s Up.” Christyl Rivers

Two misogynists were worn out from blasting and bashing feminists online, and needed a drink.

Whew, said Joe, I really need a drink. John, what are you having?

“Bro,” said John. “I think I am having a nightmare. Isn’t that Lorena Bobbitt at the second table? Get me a whiskey.”

Joe looked over and narrowed his eyes. Yes. It was her. She has been on the news lately, something about promoting the idea that a woman deserves compassion and comprehension, maybe even a second chance.

“Let’s mess with her, John.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Nah, she needs to know her place! No female who slices a real man deserves to walk free!”

“Some people think all the death threats, rape, strangling and assault drove her to do it.”

“Still. She’s right here. Being a woman in full view of the whole world. That ain’t right after what she did.”

“Okay. Hey, Lorena! You piece of trash, slut bitch, Yeah. We’re talking to you, whore!!”

Lorena smiled at her companion, a journalist doing an update on history piece. She ignored both Joe and John.

“John Wayne Bobbitt is her husband’s name. My name is John. Did you know he did some sweet pornos?”

The two man-boys drank. They became giddy with raunchy Lorena Bobbitt and John Wayne Bobbitt jokes.

“Some men are porn great, some men achieve porn, and some men have porn thrust upon them…”

“…And some women have porn thrust within them, Ha!”
“Yeah. I got off on John Wayne Uncut. Why won’t she look this way? Hey, girlie!”

“Some cray bitches just don’t get the severity of the situation,” John laughed. “Ha, ha. Get it: sever. Get it?”

“You’re such a dick,’Joe, “Your stupid jokes are making me shrink. I’m half the man I was, like a discarded weenie in a 7–11 parking lot. Dammit. She’s pissing me off.”

“Did you ever watch John Wayne Bobbitt on Howard Stern?”

“Nah. I hate Howard Stern since I learned he’s a friend to Trump and Trump destroyed my budget with his stupid government shutdown.”

“Yeah, and Trump made it with Stormy Daniels and now I can’t even watch her porn anymore.”

“Ha ha.”

“She still won’t look at us. Who is that she is with? Thinks she is getting away with her crime.”

“Women love her. See her as some vigilante hero, or something.”

“Well. My mom did appreciate the domestic violence help she got from The Lorena Gallo Foundation, against domestic violence.”

“Your dad hit, your mom, dude? Serious?”

“My dad isn’t perfect. He’s just a man, after all, I mean…”
Both were silent for a while.

“They are making a movie about Lorena ya know?”

“As good as the ones John Wayne Bobbitt is in? Big boobs, luscious booty, subjugated babes?”

“Nah, something about reclaiming dignity, finding respect after extreme humiliation.”

“What! Damn. How dare she? How dare she!”

Joe took a huge gulp from his whiskey and signaled for another.

John tried making faces and rude gestures towards Lorena.

He raised his glass, grabbed a knife and gestured toward her.

He grasped at his own throat and made a gurgling noise.

She ignored them both.

John and Joe slowly got wasted. The more they drank, the more they tried to harass Lorena. But she ignored them. Finally, Joe couldn’t take anymore.

“ Do you wanna get outta here, dude?”

“Yeah. I do. This bar sucks. My dick wants revenge on all women for this. I feel like one of the pathetic dildoes at the Bunny Ranch. They used to have these “all dildoes half off, we cut our prices for her pleasure,” sales.

“Effing idiots.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here. Let’s go to the titty bar instead.”

“Yeah. But first, I gotta call my wife.”

“Sheesh. Women. They milk a kid outta ya, then think they own you.”

They paid and got up to leave.

Just as the two touched the door to leave, they noticed Lorena glance up and make steely eye contact.

She didn’t say a word. Her look held power. The power of every Anita Hill, Monica Lewinsky and Christine Blasey Ford. And every one of their supporters. Every suffragette. Every marcher. Every woman.

Heads hanging and faces red with a feeling they could not comprehend, Joe and John looked away, slinking toward the door.

“Do you still want go to the strip club?”

“Nah. I gotta go home and call my mom. She says I never tell her I love her anymore.”




Letting creative juices flow.

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Christyl Rivers, Phd.

Christyl Rivers, Phd.

Ecopsychologist, Writer, Farmer, Defender of reality, and Cat Castle Custodian.

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