There was a time, not so far in the past, when we didn’t have to think about Lena Dunham. Before that, we did nothing but think of her.

When “Girls” was still on TV, the millennial showrunner was everywhere: she was online, defending her famous friends or writing New Yorker essays or adopting dogs. She was onscreen, living the most improbable version of a freelance writer’s life since Piper Chapman’s boyfriend Larry on “Orange is the New Black.” And, perhaps most importantly, she was in New York, singlehandedly gentrifying Williamsburg and making even Bushwick impossible for normal people to afford.

And then, for a time, we heard nothing. She was doing her own thing, getting married, adopting more dogs, and writing the occasional essay. For a time, we could all peacefully coexist with Lena Dunham. But I am sad to report that with the oncoming press cycle for Dunham’s film adaptation of Catherine, Called Birdy, that blissful moment has come to a close.

I regret to inform everyone that Lena Dunham has tweeted, and once again, it falls to us to mock that tweet with everything we have in us. It is our sworn and solemn duty as queers, as sh*tposters, as people on the Internet.

Yesterday, Dunham sent out a truly baffling tweet about wanting her casket to be driven through New York City’s Pride parade.

Instantly, queer folks took issue. Precisely who told Lena Dunham that she was a queer icon? It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you, and it certainly wasn’t anyone we know.

So we did what we do best in this community: proceeded to sh*tpost with impunity.

Sorry Lena but if you don’t post, you’re not a dyke.

The cis, straight audacity on display here…astounding.

Between this and the “Bros” drama, we’re living.

Why are we having so much fun reading Miss Lena to filth? Possibly because we hate living in the world she created for us.

She can’t sit with us. Sorry.