just let me cry over your dead dad too
Some days are just days where you need to watch some annoying little twerps mighty dad get trampled to death by wildebeest. No, it’s not about those dumb fucking lions. This is a legitimate thing that happened to my friend growing up. I say friend loosely because it was just some kid that I knew, he lived across the prairie from me and sometimes I would just watch him and his family eat dinner. Simpler times.
I fell in love with his dad’s fluffy mane. He spoke in this roar that was scary but also sexually exciting, which, I mean what isn’t at the ripe age of 17. I wasn’t 17 because I have never been 17, I was born an ageless creature but for this purpose let’s say 17 because I cannot begin to explain to you what being an infinite being means.
Back to the dead dad. When I knew him, he wasn’t dead. And he was a dad before we over glorified and commodified what being a robust and sexually attractive bellowing beautiful beast means. He was a king. He prowled around the place like he owned it, like everything the light touched was his, you know? That’s a hard thing to encapsulate but he held it all in his giants paws. And he was a lion. I lied before when I said this wasn’t about the dumb fucking lions. It absolutely is. I haven’t watched the lion king in a long time because I don’t believe in supporting Shakespeare or any of his endeavours, we must punish his spirit by not engaging in ye olde timey propaganda – sorry but 10 things I hate about you is insufferable and even more insufferable are the people that love it – yeah fucking come for me, tie me to a stake and set me on fire, I’m gonna like it because my sexual awakening was the hunchback of notre dame. Back to the dead dad of it all.
I just paused what I was writing because I actually don’t know where I am going with this and thought I should reread the previous 300 words to give myself some guidance but this actually reads like a furry coming out post, and maybe I have been engaging in some questionable porn activity lately but I don’t think I am a furry, I just really want emotional release and my dad is very much alive and the emotions rising up inside of me can only be tended to by crying over a dead dad. I must watch a dad die and that’s hard to do. You don’t get to keep all your acquaintances by becoming a leech and emotionally masturbating over their dead fathers, they don’t like it! Chatgt isn’t so intelligent that it understands the most socially acceptable way to respond to the ‘talk me through your dads last breaths again, I’m close’ text. So in order to keep the safety of a lacklustre community I cannot ask them to allow me into the hospice anymore. Instead, I must turn to the original daddy, the pioneering papa of dead dad porn, Mufasa. I simply must lubricate my eyeballs with the sorrow of some other child. I need to feel the drip of someone else’s lost childhood roll down my cheeks. I need to wipe away the familial pressure to take over the family business and take down an evil uncle with a cool gash. I’m not going to watch the lion king. I’m actually just going to listen to he lives in you on youtube and read the comments; ‘who’s still here in 2025’ me you fucking nark, we haven’t all got dead dads to cry over so now I have to listen to the soundtrack from the fucking sequel movie because it has better songs and try to conjure up the images of that trampled fucking overstuffed plushie.
The very fact I sat and wrote this down after thinking about it is probably the worst thing I have ever done, and I killed a man last night.
Bye.
