...that's nice.

My name is Maxine and I hate everything.

Wait, what? I’m sorry, but: can we talk about the point of view here that is actually the scariest? Fuck the children and the single editors, and the teachers at Country Day. Okay? Oh, no, there’s a lion in my neighborhood, it’s messing with my view of all these hedges, it’s making my little Aubergine here miss her gymboree class. What? No. No! Can you imagine being a noble beast, formed over centuries to be lithe and impossibly strong and beautiful and your teeth are sharp as diamonds and you’ve got a huge motherfucking tail and you can crush skulls (all KINDS of skulls!) with your jaw and your natural environment— your everyday, no big deal, take a stroll outside hood —is just miles and miles of sun-dappled rocks and pine trees and crystal lakes, and the only traffic you usually have to deal with is just foxes being slow on forest trails and shit, and then one day you take a few bad turns after eating a particularly rank piece of deer carcass, you mis-trace your steps, and suddenly you look around and you’re in GREENWICH? Are you fucking kidding me. THAT is the nightmare here. That poor fucking lion (who is straight up going to get shot in the ass with a dart full of tranq and then dragged off into the shadows…) that LION got lost and wound up in GREENWICH. Can you imagine how traumatizing that is, even? No, you can’t, it’s impossible. You’d block it out. It’s too horrible. It’s like: okay, imagine walking back from a party on MARS where you are a QUEEN and you drive a SPACE SHIP MADE OF CANDY and your life is basically THE BEST because you are INVINCIBLE but you get a little drunk and you get a little lost and weeks go by and suddenly you wind up in CONNECTICUT and you’re STARVING and there are a million fillet mignon steaks walking around like, OH NO, YOU’RE HERE? DON’T EAT MY DELICIOUS STEAK HEAD, EVEN THOUGH I AM THE WORST, BECAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE MY BOOK CLUB LATER, WE’RE DOING THE HELP. I can’t even…it’s so sad. It’s so, so sad.

Wait, what?

I’m sorry, but: can we talk about the point of view here that is actually the scariest? Fuck the children and the single editors, and the teachers at Country Day. Okay? Oh, no, there’s a lion in my neighborhood, it’s messing with my view of all these hedges, it’s making my little Aubergine here miss her gymboree class. What? No. No! Can you imagine being a noble beast, formed over centuries to be lithe and impossibly strong and beautiful and your teeth are sharp as diamonds and you’ve got a huge motherfucking tail and you can crush skulls (all KINDS of skulls!) with your jaw and your natural environment— your everyday, no big deal, take a stroll outside hood —is just miles and miles of sun-dappled rocks and pine trees and crystal lakes, and the only traffic you usually have to deal with is just foxes being slow on forest trails and shit, and then one day you take a few bad turns after eating a particularly rank piece of deer carcass, you mis-trace your steps, and suddenly you look around and you’re in GREENWICH? Are you fucking kidding me.

THAT is the nightmare here. That poor fucking lion (who is straight up going to get shot in the ass with a dart full of tranq and then dragged off into the shadows…) that LION got lost and wound up in GREENWICH. Can you imagine how traumatizing that is, even? No, you can’t, it’s impossible. You’d block it out. It’s too horrible. It’s like: okay, imagine walking back from a party on MARS where you are a QUEEN and you drive a SPACE SHIP MADE OF CANDY and your life is basically THE BEST because you are INVINCIBLE but you get a little drunk and you get a little lost and weeks go by and suddenly you wind up in CONNECTICUT and you’re STARVING and there are a million fillet mignon steaks walking around like, OH NO, YOU’RE HERE? DON’T EAT MY DELICIOUS STEAK HEAD, EVEN THOUGH I AM THE WORST, BECAUSE I HAVE TO MAKE MY BOOK CLUB LATER, WE’RE DOING THE HELP. I can’t even…it’s so sad. It’s so, so sad.

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