A little bit ago, like a couple of nighttimes past or so, Baby Marie-Antoinette, the second Bambi Muse baby despot, sent me Gang Rape Me Now Please, a tiny story she composed.
She sent it through mail, not the kind that everybody today uses, but the kind that Lorine Niedecker and Louis Zukofsky used.
Being a boy, gang rape isn’t really applicable to me. So I sent the tiny story to a girl, or, to be more precise, a ghostly girl, as the girl was Helen Burns, Jane Eyre’s BFF.
Helen said that the tiny story unveils the utter unpleasantness of autonomy, consent, individuality, basic human rights, and so on.
Helen went on to say that Baby Marie-Antoinette’s story was much more Godly than America will ever be, and it’d be wonderful to share it, as 2013 earth needs God.
Heeding Helen’s counsel, here is Baby Marie-Antoinette’s tiny story, Gang Rape Me Now Please:
Once upon a time there was a French princess named Baby Marie-Antoinette.
Baby Marie-Antoinette liked mice, cherry cream cheese croissants, Disney princesses, and Christianity.
Baby Marie-Antoinette also liked boys.
The boys in the Disney movies are heroic and dashing. They sail the seas (like Eric) and they save each other from impending doom (like Buzz Lightyear and Woody).
But the boys on 2013 earth were the opposite. They were nice, accommodating, and laid back. These average attributes caused Baby Marie-Antoinette to scream, “Ugh!”
One day Baby Marie-Antoinette was able to escape the clutches of her mommy, Empress Maria Theresa, and venture out into the Big Apple, searching for grandeur, extremeness, gang rape.
Baby Marie-Antoinette approached a bald boy with a big nose. She asked him if he’d gang rape her.
The boy declined, politely introduced himself (it turns out his name was Lloyd Blankfein), and asked Baby Marie-Antoinette if her mommy would be interested in purchasing some collateral debt obligations (CDOs).
Baby Marie-Antoinette shook her head. Then she approached another boy. The boy paired pink jeans with an ironic sweater. Baby Marie-Antoinette asked him if he’d gang rape her.
This boy declined as well, explaining that he was a feminist in the middle of shooting a Kickstarter-backed documentary about gender inequality.
Baby Marie-Antoinette sighed. Realizing that the chances of her meeting a big, bold, bullying boy were highly unlikely, she found her way back home, crawled under her Tinker Bell blanket, and cried.
Jane Eyre is one of the best books ever composed by a girl or boy. Charlotte’s eponymous heroine encapsulates many of the traits that I admire the most. Jane is sassy. She’s not afraid to give a little lip. When her cruel aunt tells her that she’s not fit to associate with her own cousins Jane retorts, “They are not fit to associate with me!” Jane is also cleverly violent. She deforms a deceptive boy (Rochester) and kills her competition (Bertha) without lifting a pinky finger. Mary Tudor never had to lay a hand on the Protestants that she burned and neither did Jane. Jane is a queen. A queen requires a fabulous wardrobe. Here are outfits that will sustain Jane through each of the five stages of her royal trajectory.