In response to this post on X, I wrote a short satire.
In the vast expanses of the Mongolian Empire, where Genghis Khan's rule stretched from the sun-soaked Pacific to the misty mountains of central Europe, a unique event was about to unfold. The rulers of the myriad minor kingdoms under Khan's iron fist sought favor through the time-honored tradition of marriage. But this was no ordinary matrimonial affair; it was to be a beauty contest to find the ultimate Queen for the Khan.
The setup was grand: banners fluttered in the wind, silk tents billowed like sails on the steppe, and the air was thick with the scent of grilled yak and fermented mare's milk. Each kingdom, eager to curry favor, sent their most dazzling daughters. These women, adorned in gold and silk, with hair braided like the complex strategies of Khan's military campaigns, were hopeful. Not just for the crown but for the prestige and lineage that came with being in the Khan's court.
The contest was all about beauty, fertility, and the promise of many warriors and princesses to expand and secure the empire. Khan, with his eyes set on a legacy of blood and conquest, expected his future children to be as numerous as the stars, each playing a role in his grand vision.
Enter the the candidate SHYHEIFER from SheherHerland, a far-off, land where the rivers meandered in meaningless circles, lakes became swampish and lit up the night sky with the deadly iridescence of blue/pink algae.
SHYHEIFER, with a confidence that could rival Khan's own, stepped into the arena to reveal they/themselves and the glory of their atrophied bloodless sausage. “i have come”, SHYHEIFER exclaimed, “to teach cis-men to deal with their own emotions and insecurities without harming or k!lling women about it!”
Khan's court, filled with warriors whose lives were defined by the clash of steel and also now a faint fishy smell, fell into a hush. Except for one who was heard to whisper. “Is that Dumbledore's manky finger?”
Khan, who had faced down charging armies and scaled the walls of countless cities, eyed the shriveled sausage in dumb surprise. Then he drew his sword. His real one.
And this…is the origin of sushi.
Sigh. Would it hurt a guy to speak a few verses of poetry to a girl’s still-hopeful member before striking with his own wants?
I remember a time men would esteem such a structure, bloodlessness and all, as it were her hand meeting his lips.
Double sigh…MEN!