Mud Flap Girl on Birth and Venus

His cookie cutter meets a sheet of chrome,
and I'm born to mod Hephaestus, his truck.
Sure, your entrance was sexy-rise from foam,
vamp in Botticelli's shell, best of luck

with your golden apples. Can't make me trade
places, though; revenge plots don't thrill me, your
costumes would kill me, and I wasn't made
to co-star. You go peddle Grecian lore.

As for me and my low profile? Time to
flash this mettle and pluck. Think revelry,
not rivalry; think transcendence. A view
that's new, from nowhere near the top; where three

dimensions is out of the question, and
a metalshop spokesmodel tips her hand.

Mud Flap Girl on Being Hard to Get

isn't easy-I work hard to maintain
your delusions: never grow old, never
be seen with another man. I remain
out of reach, but barely, and forever

promise the impossible: I came here
for you. And what illusions you'll believe-
mirrors that say I'm close. that I'll appear
from a cloud of cigarette smoke. This love

is the easiest ruse: a woman who
exists without need, is perfect for you.

Mud Flap Girl on Farrah Fawcett's
Red Swimsuit Poster

Your body made flesh the male fantasy,
way back when. You outsold me, tv queen;
but royalties don't buy longevity.
Time to think outside the hair, the small screen

stardom. It's all about finding your niche;
so next time you decide to plagiarize,
don't demean my pose-sit up straight, at least.
And quit trying so hard to tantalize.

There's something to be said for mystery-
like nothing's more pleasing han a teasing
silhouette. Your nipples made history,
hands down, but your former fans are chasing

me. Note my indifference; your better bet
is on a well played game of hard to get.