I think that I shall never see, a poem as lovely as a giraffe.

I think that’s how the poem goes — perhaps not. I never really paid attention in English class, I was preoccupied with throwing things at the teacher when she wasn’t looking. I’m a fan of giraffes. If they had a Facebook page I’d like it and leave a nice comment. Then I’d make an alternate Facebook account and bash giraffes, just so I can defend giraffes publicly to show my appreciation. Every aspect of the giraffe interests me because it all seems so horribly wrong. They’re something God made at the end of the sixth day when he was running out of parts and patience. You try creating the heavens and the Earth in six days without messing up a few times.

It’s a little known fact that a giraffe’s mating ritual involves soft lighting, grey sweatshirts, and Marvin Gaye records. It’s strikingly similar to human mating rituals, but giraffes tend to be much more bold. The only reason I mention this is because I had a night of hard drinking with a good friend of mine who happens to be a giraffe.

Yes, he’s a giraffe. We’re in the 21st century people. He isn’t any less of a person because he’s a giraffe. If I’m able to look past the colors of his skin and appreciate him for who he truly is, you can too. Anyways, we decided to get absolutely blasted one dreary night and went out on the town.

We hopped from bar to bar for a while before winding up in a dingy tavern on the edge of town. We spent a few hours inside knocking back mixed drinks and eating complimentary peanuts before the barman shouted last call. I was still conscious at this point, so I was very disappointed. On the other hand, my giraffe friend went from conscious to face down on the floor very after only 18 White Russians. Amateur.

I threw a fistful of cash down on the bar and started wobbling out when the barman grabbed my arm, gestured to my friend on the floor, and said:

“Look, buddy, thanks for payin up, but you can’t leave that lying there.”

As you can imagine I was absolutely disgusted that someone would touch me, let alone address me in such a familiar manner. Before I left in a huff, I belched:

“Look — buddy. That’s no lion, that’s a giraffe.

(This video was spotted off the coast of Gerard’s island paradise: American Digest)