A Giraffe's Lament

Hi. I’m a giraffe. That’s right, the tallest brother in the jungle. And I’m typing on a computer. Don’t question the mechanics – just be amazed that a creature whose head is a good 14 feet from the computer monitor is composing a blog. I don’t need to see what I’m typing. I’m a giraffe. We’re known for our touch typing abilities.

I asked Condon if I could have 600 words of your time to address the general public about how my people have been traditionally perceived in all walks of society. I pick this day because of the Yahoo News story that has outlined recent tragic events at a Lithuanian Zoo. For you lazy bipeds who are too lazy to click, I broke the collar bone and the nose of a 22-year old drunk college student who thought it would be fun to climb into my cage. For some reason, the world finds it shocking that this tool’s injuries are so severe. Your Associated Press came to interview, and the only questions they asked the zookeeper concerned how unusual it is for me, a noble giraffe, to attack a human.

Look, damn it. I’m freaking fierce.

This is the problem I have with you people. When it comes to the fiercest of God’s creatures, all my neighbors clean up on that ballot. The lions, the bears, the rhinos, the gorillas – all are feared by children too young to comprehend the inherent safety of zoo cages. I watch people fear pansies like the hippo (apparently fat guys are scary regardless of buffet line proximity), and the raccoon (what I wouldn’t give to drop kick that eye-black son of a gun), and yet I’m loved by all – just because I’m a vegetarian. Hey man, both Spider-man and the Green Goblin are vegetarians. If you saw them coming, you’d soil yourself.

So big deal.

And what’s more, it’s not like you people are overlooking my tenacity because of some diminutive stature I bring to the table. I stand eighteen feet tall and way 1,300 pounds! Look at guys like David Ortiz or Shaq or any huge defensive tackle – you’re scared of them because of their size, aren’t ya? Why not Giraffes? One of these days I’m going to be slowly munching on some upper branches for the world to see and I’m going to move my neck so fast at some poor kid’s bucket of popcorn, he’ll run so fast the cheetahs will get whiplash. If I chose to run right at your sorry little desk, you would totally move. Little known fact: giraffes are considered the ninja warriors of the jungle.

You’re damn right I taught that kid a lesson. I had a few reasons for this. First off, I hate Lithuanians. I agreed to do an eight-month zoological exchange shift with the condition that my next assignment will be in Bali or Fiji or somewhere else that sounds tropical by default. And what’s more, the pride of Lithuania is Darius Kasparitis, my second least-favorite hockey player of all time (you win this time, Barnaby.) Every day I have to hear how great Darius is, I cry a little on the inside. And secondly, I’m a firm supporter of keeping our zoos alcohol-free. There’s no reason that any place that includes a monkey house as part of its landscape should have any ready access to booze. But hey, don’t blame me. I voted for Brazaukskiev.

Face it; you people just don’t appreciate my people. God put us on the Ark to be awesome to look at it, and we didn’t survive all these centuries because we’re strong rebounders and can see around corners and stuff. Do you see any other abnormally tall creatures roaming the African savannah? No? There’s a reason for that. I killed them all.

And yet, the best tribute you invalids came up with is a bit part in that crappy movie Madagascar. Was I portrayed rightfully as a godless killing machine? Nay.

I was a nervous basket case with the voice of David Schwimmer.

No really, thanks.