Plain Jane Gets Dragged To A Club

Plain Jane Gets Dragged To A Club

Out of heaven's body shop,
I fell into a biased universe,
where looks were doled out,
by one with a selective purse.

Why did I let them bring me?
I hate pick-up joints like this.
My gal pals all went to go pee,
and my Coke has lost it's fizz.

I suppose I'll just never fit in.
I never did fit the popular mold,
not a super model, tall or thin,
at least that's what I've been told.

Like a balloon in a cactus desert,
I'm careful not to move about.
While the plastic girls all flirt,
I'm popping mints into my mouth.

If only we were all just a brain,
there would be no contest,
Out of everyone in this place,
I'm the one who'd look the best.

Why can't I ever look good,
to guys without beer-glasses?
Maybe perhaps I should,
take those pole dancing classes.

Get a fake bake and dye my hair,
inflate my C boobs to double D's,
glue on nails, tattoo my derierre,
then I'll be what every man needs.

It's funny how the grossest fellas,
with B.O., thinning hair and belly fat
hit on Glamazon Barbarellas,
with a face that got hit with a bat.

What they don't know is the "cuties",
only want to take them to the bank.
Just laying back doing their duties,
like every other gold-digging skank.

Do all men think with their ding-dongs?
Do any real gentleman yet remain?
Nice guys, not Tarzans or King-Kongs,
who can romance this poor Plain Jane?

While my pals continue to drink
I say goodnight and call a cab.
Glad that I remembered to think,
I'm Plain Jane, not someone's trash bag.

by: Kimarie Manhart-Freeman