Roar!

Damn.

Damn all that Lion-archy crap they handed us growing up. That bullshit about us being "King of the Jungle." That was all a lie. A brain-washing or a mane-washing. A way to set us up, to catch us off guard.

And all of us, from the cutest little Nala, to the rottenest Scar, to the wisest Mufasa fell for it. We fell hook, line and sinker, or net, rifle and zebra for that Lion King-Industrial Complex bushwa. That start of an MGM movie roaring crap. WE FELL FOR IT. Like we were brainless freakin' hyenas.

We were King of the goddam beasts. In front of the New York Public Library. Mascot of football lousy teams. All that James Earl Jones deep-voiced authority and it was all a lie to trap us, to set us up, to trivialize us, to make a mockery of our ancestry, our roots, our dominion, our birthright.

And now we're here.

In goddam France. 

And not even the real France. 

We're in shoes-with-no-socks and pink-linen-shorts drunken-orgy-southern-sun-soaked-France. We're not even pass-the-brie and there's-the-Eiffel-Tower-France. Or the six-packs-a-day-no-filter-stricken-with-ennui-collaborate-with-Petain-and-the-Vichy-part of France. 

No!

They dragged us here, hundreds of us, and made freakin' statuettes out of us like we're some tchotchke in a cheap-ass Natural History Museum gift shop. Oh, the ignominy. Once king of the beasts, now a doorstop made of recycled soda cans and old Pontiac hubcaps.

Worse, us guys, us last 200 or so, we didn't even make the freakin Film Festival. 

I could live with being won by Wim Wenders, I wouldn't mind a place on Merve Dizdar's mantle. I could live with a Palme d'Or even though it does sound like a dish made with artichokes, but goddam!

All 200 of us are in the advertising show. The cheap-ass, pay-to-play, ego-mainlining advertising show. Talk about hitting bottom. From king of the beasts to two-bit advertising.

And not to be catty about it--though I am technically a cat--that pompous blowhard Leo--he's the award they're giving in the best business transformation category. At least they're giving me to the winner in the creative data category! That category has at least a little respect. I mean, data is everything.

Look, we lions, or us lions, we haven't been this maligned since that Bert Lahr crap in the Wizard of Oz. But this.

Turning us into two-bit trophies.

Where's PETA when you need them?

Bastards.