by Mary Parsifal Bitch Shelley
I met a traveler from an Aryan land,
Who said: "Two vast and charmless boobs of stone
Rise from the swamp. Above them, just as grand
In scope, a massive schnozzle juts, and down
That visage rolls a sneer of cold command,
Which tells us that the parasite that bled
White culture made it but a lifeless thing:
The mouth that mocked them bit the hand that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Bettemendacious, queen of Queens,
Welcome those Turks, ye whities, or despair!'
Nothing but kitsch remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Bette, braless and bare,
The muddyculture wastelands stretch away."