I murdered Cecil – Big Frigging Deal!
Get Over it Bunny Huggers – I’m a Dentist, so Shut Your Mouth
In early July, I was feeling sexually inadequate and really damn tired of poking around in the mouths of boring people, so I flew over to Zimbabwe to satisfy my need to kill. The voices inside my noggin were bugging me, repeating over and over, "Nimrod, you’ve got to kill something." I found this outfitter in Zimbabwe who knew the right people to bribe. He said he would handle all the red tape, and thus I need not worry about silly restrictions like National Park boundaries. I had no idea that the lion was a favourite. It’s not like he’s the frigging Lion King for God’s sake. My guide said, hey that’s Cecil, he’s a very famous lion, he’ll look good in your den and what a conversation piece he will be. I thought wow, how many hunters have a trophy kill with a name. Neato.
I had no idea the lion was collared, I thought he was carrying his lunch in a pack on his back. I relied on the expertise of my shifty eyed guides. They told me that they could get this Cecil out of the park by dragging another animal we had just quickly killed. I got a bit of a rush with that but I needed the big rush that only a dead lion could give me.
The bait kill was good foreplay, I was starting to get really excited seeing them drag the bloody carcass across the ground. When I saw this lion they call Cecil, I just knew I had to have him in my den. I took out my bow, you know I once skewered a playing card at a hundred yards, so I’m a pretty damn good shot. I let the arrow fly, felt that delicious feeling in my pants and watched as the arrow penetrated deep inside the lovely beast. He roared. My guide said, “Bwana, you peed your pants.” I snapped back. “Shut the hell up, that’s not pee.” But then the lion was gone leaving a trail of blood.
The lion should have placed a playing card over his heart. He did not, so it was his own fault he was not dead. We trailed him for 40 hours, well not a total of 40 hours. I needed to get some sleep, change my pants and have a few drinks but immediately afterwards we picked up the trail and found him.
Mr. big-shot King of the Beast was whining like a little cub. It was pathetic. I had to put a bullet in him to shut him up. We then took his pelt and cut off his head. That was really thrilling I have to admit. I had to go change my pants again right after. I told the guides to send the head off to me in the mail and I raced to the airport to get home.
Now I hear everyone’s pissed. I don’t see why, I’m a real conservationist. It's men like me who make it possible for animals to have a purpose. All hunters do more for wildlife than the wimpy hippie bunny huggers. I think people are just jealous. And now they’re bringing up all sorts of stuff from my past like that bear I killed illegally or that annoying sexual harassment case. Damn woman, It’s her fault you know, perhaps if she the decency to had put out, I would not have had to go all the way to Africa to murder Cecil. Oh well with this lion bagged I may have a chance with that murderous Jones girl or the one who likes to pose lying next to a dead giraffe.
And hell, now even some of my patients are upset, you would think they would appreciate a dentist who loves the sight of blood and yes I do go a little lenient on the pain-killers. People should not use drugs and it deprives me of the screams. I love the screams. They drown out the voices, at least for awhile until the need to kill rises again in my gut. What is really sad for me is that the Zimbabwean bureaucrats confiscated my lion. Bastards, It’s my lion, I killed it, it’s mine dammit and I want it, I want my precious, I do.
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