A drunken lion asleep in the fields was awoken by a neo-Nazi mouse running over and across his face. Losing his temper, he seized it with his paw and was about to kill it. The mouse crapped itself, and piteously implored him to spare his life. “Achtung, please let me go,” it cried, “and one day I will repay you for your kindness.”

The lion quit paying attention after please, loosening his grip on the mouse, then fell back asleep only to mumble, “Yeah, whatever, karma, yeah, what’s up with that mustache…” he trailed off half laughing and snorting himself to sleep. The mouse ran its paw across its pencil-thin mustache and gulped.

But, the mouse’s chance came, after all. One day the lion got entangled in a net which had been spread for game by some American hunters, and the mouse heard and recognized his roars of anger and ran to the spot. Without more ado it set to work to gnaw the ropes with its teeth and succeeded before long in setting the lion free.

“There!” said the mouse, “you laughed at me when I promised I would repay you. But now you see, even a mouse can help a lion.”

The lion looked confused, burped, not caring nor comprehending the nonsense from the Neo-Nazi’s tiny mouth, and said under his breath, “It’s go time, motherfucker.”

The lion stood up on his rear paws and roared the roar of congregation and battle. It could be heard throughout the jungle, from the spotted toads of the river to the cyber-monkeys of the robot trees, from the pythons of the grassy plains to the metallic birds of the shiny mountains, from the pathetic lazy hippopotamuses of the lake to the half man, half crocodiles, manodiles, of the crystal shores.

Quickly, all the animals within earshot who were not at work, or on an animal tinder date, or in the middle of binge-watching the Netflix, armed themselves to the gill and came running.

Odd story, true, this lion made his rounds with his drunken behavior and spared the lives of over 80% of the jungle denizens.

When all the animals gathered near the trap intended for the lion, they waited. They were going to ambush the shit out of the poachers.

At approximately 7:10 PM, the hunters returned. They were an obnoxious herd of 63 hunters, yammering boisterous nonsense. The apparent leader of the group, the loudest, had the hair of a confused sun, partially yellow, maybe white, and mostly some kind of orange. The neo-Nazi squeaked like Jared Kushner, “Kill him first.”

And like your next breath, the metallic birds took off. One took a kamikaze dive straight through the leader’s forehead, and flew out the back of his head. Brain guts and eyes splattering, as the others speared through the body of the leader, he fell in a heap like a puppet the moment after a puppeteer’s strike, but in a pile of guts and blood.

The lion ran atop the heap of flesh and goo, dipped his paw in the blood, rubbed it on his cheek and Bravehearted (without the Scottish accent), “The first kill is always the most satisfying!”

The hunters tried to arm themselves to no avail. The manodiles had already bitten and ripped their legs off, then started to swing the appendages at the other hunters knocking them down. There were a lot of screams and groans indicating inhuman chaos, and that was a very correct account of the situation.

The spotted frogs jumped into the nostrils and mouths of the hunters, suffocating them. The panic quickening the process, as three hunters’ faces turned blue, then green, followed by the natural conclusion of blood dripping from their eyes. One head imploded.

The cyber-monkeys who just showed up (they are habitually late) mopped up the rest of the hunters with their laser eyes and shotgun tails. Blood, guts, noses, ears and other body parts filled the air dispersing like low-flying fireworks. The crack of bones, the thud of machete on flesh followed by unfinished screams was followed by silence.

By the time the pythons slithered to the field of battle prepared to strangle and squeeze, it was over. 63 corpses strewn about like so much garbage after a frat party, but instead of a Red Solo cup, a brain, instead of cigarette butts, intestines, instead of beer cans, scalps.

The neo-Nazi mouse hummed “Über Alles” as it tossed a match on the leader’s remains, as the rest of the animals glared at him. The mouse shrugged its shoulders thinking and justifying, “What do I know? This is my first thing.” All eyes turned to the lion.

The lion looked at the setting sun and said, “The last kill is just a pause before the next first kill.” A solitary tear rolled down his glistening eye.

All the animals dropped to their knees and bowed, as they raised their paws, they exclaimed, “All hail the King of the jungle.” It sounded so resonant and appropriate, they chanted. “All hail the King of the jungle! All hail the King of the jungle!”

The lion should have been touched by all this praise, but he had fallen asleep immediately after he had spoken.

MORAL: Make new friends, but keep the old. Some are silver and the others gold.

ALTERNATIVE MORAL: Do not fuck with nature, it only leads to this sort of chaotic shit.

#DifferentRumbleInTheJungle, #JamesBrownLion