The Wussy Boy Manifesto
by Eric Ott (Big Poppa E)

my name is big poppa e
and i am a wussy boy.

it’s taken me a long time to admit it…

i remember shouting in high school,
“no, dad, I’m not gay!
I’m just… sensitive.
i tried to like hot rods and jet planes
and football and budweiser poster girls,
but i never got the hang of it!
i don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

then, i saw him,
there on the silver screen,
bigger than life and unafraid
of earrings and hair dye
and rejoicing in the music
of the cure and morrissey and
siouxsie and the banshees,
talking loud and walking proud
my wussy boy icon:
duckie in pretty in pink.

and i realized i wasn’t alone.

and i looked around
and saw other wussy boys
living large and proud of who they were:
ralph macchio, wussy boy;
matthew broderick, wussy boy;
and lord god king
of the wussy boy movement,
john cusack in say anything,
unafraid to prove to the world
that sensitive guys much kick ass.

now i am no longer ashamed
of my wussiness, hell no,
I’m empowered by it.

when I’m at a stoplight and
some testosterone redneck
methamphetamine
jock fratboy asshole dumb fuck
pulls up beside me
blasting his trans am’s stereo
with power chord anthems to big tits
and date rape,
i no longer avoid his eyesight, hell no,
i just crank all 12 watts of my car stereo
and i rock out right into his face:
(devil sign and morrissey’s voice)
“i am human and i need to be loved
just like everybody else does!”

i am wussy boy, hear me roar
(meow).

bar fight? pshaw!
you think you can take me, huh?
just because i like poetry
better than sports illustrated?
well, allow me to caution you,
I’m not the average every day
run-of-the-mill wussy boy you
beat up in high school, punk,
i am wuss core!
(flash “wc” gang sign)

don’t make me get renaissance
on your ass because i will
write a poem about you,
a poem that tears your psyche
limb from limb,
that exposes your selfish insecurities,
that will wound you deeper
and more severely
than knives and chains and gats
and baseball bats
could ever hope to do…

you may see 65 inches of wussy boy
standing in front of you,
but my steel-toed soul is
ten foot tall and bullet proof!

bring the pain, punk,
beat the shit out of me,
show all the people in this bar
what a real man can do
to a shit-talking wussy boy like me

but you’d better remember
my bruises will fade
my cuts will heal,
my scars will shrink and disappear,
but my poem
about the pitiful, small, helpless
cock-man oppressor you really are
will last
forever.

______________________________________________________

First  of all, thanks to PQS who celebrates with me and (and possibly now even transcends) my love for poetry.  I wish you could have heard his rendition of this poem (he reads aloud to me often and it is pure heaven) … I am still smiling.

Since PQS calls me and not you, your next best bet is to see the poet himself, the simply fab Big Poppa E, perform this poem on HBO’s Def Poetry Slam:  CLICK HERE.

Then you can read his Wikipedia page and, of course, buy his book.

xo, Angela

Hey!  I didn’t say it.  The fellow who typed it into Google’s search engine said it (see red text below).  But I sure do wonder what he was specifically trying to hunt down.  I dunno.  Is there such a thing as a love bug in the animal kingdom?  Was he looking for a hot and steamy twist on bestiality?  Something like an arthropodous idee fixe?  A fetish for romantic vermin that will crawl all over his cock and suck it at the same time? 

I haven’t a clue and, quite honestly, I’m not sure I even want to know.

Anyway, as I’ve noted before, I do occasionally gather the initiative to take a look at my website stats.  Most of the time, I could care less.  I’m a poet at heart — the frippery of data bores me to absolutely no end.  Blah, blah, blah, blah.  I’ve neither the time nor inclination to extricate, investigate, evaluate or differentiate. 

I just don’t see a need to over-complicate this.  After all, everything is working just fine the way it is:  You find me, I find you, it’s love-at-first-site and we live happily ever after. That is, at least until I kick you to the curb.  So …  why mess with a good thing?

BUT …

As a RESPONSIBLE business woman I should be paying attention.  So once in a blue moon, I take a gander.  Which I did.  And now I’m done looking for another few months.  Or two.  Or three.  Maybe four or five.  What am I going to do with this info?  Absolutely nothing.  Except let you take a peek, too:

• fetish girl with sneakers
• phone sex
• teased and taunted milf
• watch fetish
• Mistress Angela faceslapping
• phone sex quotes (a blog piece about this soon)
  
• small penis humiliation thumbs (think he was looking for pics)
• bdsm slap face
• eating her cunt and asshole
• phone sex goddess
• eats my cunt (good idea, huh girls?)
  
• teasing mistress
• wife getting fucked (so many men love this)
  
• phone femdom
• femdom
• zen fetish (you lookin’ at me?)
  
• woman´s fetish with small penis (i don’t think so)
  
• fetish sweat in my clothes
• snatch
• cuckold phone sex (again with the cuckold thing)
  
• goddess, mistress phone
• mistress humiliates
• getting fucked while people watch
• cock leash  (can i hear an amen?)
  
• femdom wedding
• humiliation "small penis" story
• cuckold story
• haircut fetish xxx
• zen fetish (come to angie, baby)
• phone sex
• cock sucking love bugs
• types of cuckold
• phonesex
• tease denial (u know i love it)
  
• cuckold
• real cuck
• erotic hair cut fetish
• cum on my pussy (don’t even try it)
  
• on your knees boy femdom
• cuckold type relationship
• zen fetish (he knew exactly what he wanted)
  
• sneaker porn
• tease denial
• zen fetish (a stalker perhaps?)
• ass kissing cuckold
• "small penis humiliation"
• oh cum all ye faithful

Shocked?  Intrigued?  Disgusted?  All I did was copy and paste.  YOU found ME here.  I was just blogging away, minding my own business.  What a naughty bunch of bad, bad boys you are.  Now you’re here and just what am I supposed to do with you?  Maybe I should force you to pick something from your own list?  Or maybe I should have fudged the list and added things I’d decidedly like you to do.  Let me think about that and get back to you. 

And for the record, I’m not into bestiality.  Particularly of the sort involving creepy-crawly arachnids of an sort.   So disgusting. I mean I’m the girl who screams when I see an ants.

Then again, if your into be squashed like a bug …. call me!  *wink*

xo, Angela

 God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh. 

Voltaire

via Bizarro