MLK’s “I have a Dream Speech” as Written by a Feminist


I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for wimmins in the history of our nation.

A long time ago, a cis-het-white-penis-patriarchal-capitalist, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, 19th amendment. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of wimmins who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of oppression.

But many years later, the Vagina is still is not free. Years later, the life of the Vagina is still sadly crippled by the manacles of the Penis and the chains of Patriarchy. One hundred years later, the Vagina lives on a lonely island of affluence in the midst of a vast ocean of poorness. One hundred years later, the Vagina is still languished in the corners of American society and finds herself in exile in her own land. So we have come here today to complain about a shameful condition.

In a sense we’ve come to our nation’s Capital to cash a check. When the evil patriarchs of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every wimmin was entitled.

This note was a promise that all wimmin, yes, black wimmin as well as white wimmin, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and other people’s property through government decree.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of vagina are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Vagina people a bad check; a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.”

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

Now is the time to make real the promises of female supremacy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of vaginal justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of vaginal injustice to the solid rock of sisterhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of Vagina’s daughters.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Vagina’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of complaining and supremacy. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Vagina needed to blow off cobwebs and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Vagina is granted her vaginal supremacy. The whirlwinds of PMS will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my vaginas who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of affluence. In the process of gaining our rightful place, at the top, we must not be seen committing wrongful deeds. Let us seek to satisfy our thirst for power by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of hysterics and shaming. We must allow our insane protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting imaginary physical force with vaginal force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Vaginal community must lead us to a distrust of the penis people, for many of our penis people, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their subjugation is inextricably bound to our supremacy. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of vaginal rights, “When will you be satisfied?”

We can never be satisfied as long as the Vagina is the victim of the imagined horrors of penile brutality.

We can never be satisfied as long as our vaginas, heavy with the fatigue of masturbation, cannot gain free tampons in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.

We cannot be satisfied as long as the Vagina’s basic mobility is from a large suburban house to a mansion.

We can never be satisfied as long as our vaginal turd droppings are stripped of their self hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “Facts only.”

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Vagina in Mississippi cannot complain and a Vagina in New York believes she has nothing for which to complain about.

No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until male tears roll down like waters and female supremacy like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow kitchens. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for supremacy left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of penile brutality. You have been the veterans of creative masturbation. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the upper middle class suburban homes and mansions of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of reality.

I say to you today, my vaginas, so even though we face the imagined difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a wet dream. It is a wet dream deeply rooted in my uterus.

I have a wet dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all vaginas are created equal.”

I have a wet dream that one day on the pubic mounds of Georgia the vaginas of upper middle class wimmin and the daughters of rich white wimmin will be able to sit down together at the table of sisterhood.

I have a wet dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of carnal passion, sweltering with the heat of lust, will be transformed into an oasis of lesbian orgies and castrated males.

I have a wet dream that my clitoris will one day live in a nation where it will not be judged by the size of its clitoral hood but by the content of it’s vaginal discharge.

I have a wet dream today.

I have a wet dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious penises, with its governor having it’s labia lips dripping with the words of lust and passion, that one day right down in Alabama little black wimmin and black girls will be able to rub tacos with little white girls and white wimmin as sisters.

I have a wet dream today.

I have a wet dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every lip and pubic mound shall be made proud, the rough places will be shaven, and the dirty places will be made clean, and the glory of the Vagina shall be revealed, and all wimmins shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the mansion with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our vaginas into a beautiful symphony of sisterhood.

With this faith we will be able to rub together, to finger together, to cry together, to go to bed together, to stand up to complain together, knowing that we will be able to complain one day.

This will be the day when all of Vagina’s daughters will be able to sing with new meaning, “My vagina ’tis of thee, sweet land of orgasm, of thee I sing. Land where my mothers died, land of the Feminism, from every armpit hair, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become penis free. So let freedom ring from the prodigious pubic mounds of New Hampshire. Let vaginas complain from the mighty mountains of New York. Let vaginas complain from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let vaginas complain from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let vaginas complain from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that; let vaginas complain from the Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let vaginas complain from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let vaginas complain from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let vaginas complain.

And when this happens, and when we allow vaginas to complain, when we let it complain from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of Feminism’s daughters, black wimmin and white wimmin, Atheist and Marxist, Communist and Socialist, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Vagina spiritual, “Complain at Will! Complain at Will! Thank Feminism, we can complain at last!”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: