Oh Where Did Your Balls Go, Paul Ryan?

”Oh Where Did Your Balls Go, Paul Ryan?” might not be the Trump poet’s best poem, but it is hands-down his best title.  To see the previous Trump poem, click here.


Oh where did your balls go, Paul Ryan?
Tell me, where did your testicles go?
Are they near, are they far,
Do you know where they are,
Where oh where did your testicles go?

Tell me where is your manhood, Paul Ryan?
Did you wake up with morals today?
You hate racism, but...
And the Jackass is—what,
Textbook racist, but kind of okay?

Do you long to speak plainly, Paul Ryan—
Call the Jackass a Jackass for once?
Proclaim, look! a creep who
Dodged the draft—taxes, too—
And who grabs any slow-to-dodge cunts?

You keep mum—being practical, Ryan?
Like the smooth and the smiling Mike Pence?
If alternative facts
Help the Paul Ryan acts
Then they’re true in some Paul Ryan sense?  

But then how do you guide yourself, Ryan,
With your conscience-lights all flashing Fail,
And your principles lost!
Would that they were embossed
On your rectum, and you could read braille!

Your bicameral ballsack, Paul Ryan
—Is it held by the Jackass, in trust?
Or perhaps, bereft man,
It’s beneath the divan
Where its wrinkles are gathering dust?

Do you even remember balls, Ryan?
Do you know why God gave you a pair?
Hang them where they belong
And what’s morally wrong
May be faced and be fought. Do you dare?

Well of course not, backboneless Paul Ryan.
You’re a jelly who’s learned how to smile.
When hard questions are asked,
You just let them float past
In can’t-locate-my-testicles style.

Will they ever be found, no-ball Ryan?
Any hope?  Any prayer?  Any chance?  
Other suit?  Or, no, worse:
Kellyanne’s other purse?
Does your dick mope around in your pants?

Have they scattered and hidden, Paul Ryan,
Like Republicans, hither and yon?
Are they near, are they far,
Do we know where they are?
Where oh where have our congressmen gone?

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