The Short Happy Life Of Cecil The Lion

CECIL THE LION

or

THE SHORT HAPPY LIFE OF CECIL MACOMBER

‘Francis Macomber had, half an hour before, been carried to his tent from the edge of the camp in triumph on the arms and shoulders of the cook, the personal boys, the skinner and the porters: . . . ‘You’ve got your lion,’ Robert Wilson said to him, ‘and a damned fine one too.’

From: THE SHORT HAPPY LIFE OF FRANCIS MACOMBER

CECIL: Sniffle. One Shitty Old Lion. If you want a Lion go to The Zoo. I had a Roach problem. Man came in: El Fumigato. One of Trump’s People. Looked like Hemingway when He wrote Death In The Afternoon. Or The Short Happy Life Of Francis Macomber. And that clean little bon mot about The Gimlet, a hand drill@ Poor Francis Macomber shot with a small bore rifle, right between The Eyes@ Gimlets at Sunset@ Tents and large men. Men of increase. Men without whimsy. But El Fumigato. Spanish, short and happy has no Pith Hat. He drinks Fanta from a large bottle. A Kakorrhaphiophobic. He will NOT admit to Failure. He will vote for Trump. He will go to Trump U. now called The Trump Entrepeneur Initiative. El Fumigato with His Ladies Moustache drawn from a Sharpie, wants to study. To get ahead. He will shake Donald Trump’s hand. His Father’s middle name was ‘Christ’. Fred Christ Trump. El Fumigato, a Swirl of Moles is on His Knees like that other Soldier Of The Lord, Jimmy Swaggart Looking under Cabinets and Carpets. ‘I have sinned, Dear Lord, I have sinned.’ He will find out what Trump’s middle name is and surprise Him. Details. El Fumigato told Me ‘Cecil The Lion had no Papers’. Undocumented. A Felonious Feline. And Roaches@ ‘Drug Dealers and Rapists’. ‘Im Legal.’ He said. Eight hours. Blistering Heat from The Serengati sky. El Fumigato killed Eight Trillion Roaches. He paid me 54.000 dollars. He used a Bow and Arrow right between The Mesothorax. John Winced. Not cut out for Mano a Mano Insecticide. Gide said ‘Fish Die Belly Up - Its Their way Of Falling’. Clever Gide. Roaches as well. Like Cecil, it took them two days to die. He shot them. Shotgun blast. Perry and Hickcock. Fingers in Ears. Guns Of Navarone. David Niven had a Sharpie Moustache. El Fumigato said - Keep sugar off the Kitchen Counter. Triglycerides. Bad for The Heart. They will die. There will be no more Cucarachas left. But what about The Fanta, El Capitano@ ‘Gotta Live A Little’. Thats what He said. Gave me His Card: Cavities. Implants. Hygiene. Magazines in The Waiting Room. Guns everywhere. The Electric Chair was invented not by Thomas Edison but by a Dentist: Albert Southwick@ Albert good killing name Albert Hoess: Auschwitz. Albert Pierrepointe: Her Majesty’s Hangman. Dentists. Stalin admitted to being afraid only of His Dentist@ Cecil The Lion. What a bunch of Little Cry Babies. 

 ‘. . . . . he shot again at the wide nostrils and saw the horns jolt again and fragment fly, and he did not see Wilson now and, aiming carefully, shot again with the buffalo’s huge bulk almost on him and his rifle almost level with the on-coming head, nose out, and he could see the little wicked eyes and the head started to lower and he felt a sudden white-hot, blinding flash explode inside his head and that was all he ever felt.’

From: THE SHORT HAPPY LIFE OF FRANCIS MACOMBER

For Cecil

I share my Masterpieces at 2 dollars to a Homeless Person, to contact me johterwil@gmail.com