The tiger and the lampshade…

Once there was a little cub known as Simba, and he was quite the impressive one. But little Simba was so used to being lonely, seeing as his dad was dead and all. So all little Simba had to do was eat and play and be merry, and hope one day he could find a friend!

That is, until he met a lampshade!

Sitting on the side of an African alley, the shade was quite red, and blushing with a hue. Quite impressive when it didn’t have a lightbulb to help it glow!

“Why, hello,” said the lampshade, as Simba walked up to it and sniffed one of it’s wrinkles.

Simba shot back with horror and delight, and mused silenty. He had no thought.

“Are you afraid,” asked the lampshade.

Simba, still silent and with no thought, pawed it again and tried to be it’s friend.

“Ouch,” said the lampshade. “That middle claw you have is quite sharp…”

Simba looked at it’s paw and starred and stared to smile.

“So, Mr. little cub, do you have a name?”

“Why yes, sir” said Simba, suddenly full of courage and bravery, “my name is Simba. I’m the Lion King of this block.”

“Quite impressive for a four year old,” said the lampsahde, this time turning brighter red.

“Now see here,” said Simba, puffing out his chest. “I’m older than 4. Why, I’m 17!”

“Could have fooled me,” said the lampshade again.

“Hm,” Simba said, letting out a puff.

“Hm,” Said the lampshade right back.

Simba stared at the lampshade again, still quite confounded.

“Let me guess, you’re wondering how I can talk?”

“Well, it did cross my mind,” said Simba, still looking for it’s lips.

“Look, I’m a magic lampshade kid. We can do these type of things.”

“Oh,” Simba said, still curious, but definitely not afraid.

“Simba, are you really 17 years old?”

“Why yes sir, if I may call you that. I’m the lion king. We can’t wait to be king until we reach 14. This is my third year on the job…”

“Can you prove it?” asked the lampshade…

Simba stood tall, and show his full glory.

“My oh my, Simba, you certainly have passed the age of puberty. Quite the mature cub you are, I should say…”

Simba smiled, and then walked away, gleaming with delight.

“Fools him he,” he said aloud. “I’m under the age of consent.”

“Could have fooled me,” the lampshade said in his head.

Simba stared back at where he had left, dumbfounded that the lamsphade was now gone.

“Don’t worry kid, I’m only a nod to a larger theme…”

To be continued…


About Michael Medlen

My name is Michael and during my free time I avoid having a day job. Strangely enough, this gives me the freedom to run this blog. I write just about anything that can be considered art. I also occasionally post articles that may or may not be relevant to the theme of this site. You’ve been warned.
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