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The Story of Squeaky the Giraffe

Nine thousand years ago, there was a vast empire, the likes of which have never been seen, the Fezertine Empire. Cradled between the rivers Abercrombie and Fitch, it was the envy of all the gods and men.

Unfortunately, it was also built on the back of giraffes. A population sentenced from the time of antiquity to do the work others would not. When a male giraffe turned six months of age, he was ripped asunder from his mother and given a job based on need. Some giraffes were carpenters. Others worked in the lime mines, digging with their teeth and hooves to get the precious limes needed to complement beverages. Some were given paint and brushes and canvas and were forced to learn how to draw caricatures for the tourists that came to town. The work was laborious and never-ending. A population to be kept in check from here until the ever after.

How? You wonder to yourself as you drink an Ol’ Fashioned from a brown bag on the train you’re currently riding on.

The answer is both cruel and unimaginable to the enlightened mind.

The Fezertines, as they were called, instilled upon the giraffe population one absolute rule. If a giraffe made a sound, it was punishable by death. No words, no speech, not a sound could be made by any giraffe living inside the Fezertine border.

But why? You wonder as you take the old Subway sandwich, you purchased two days ago out of your coat pocket — the pastrami proving to be chewier than anticipated.

The Fezertines kept their giraffe population in check because they knew of the prophecy.

The Coming of the One.

It was foretold by the soothsayers that one day, a giraffe would not feel burdened by his task. That, in fact, he would take great joy and express that joy with a squeak. And when that day came, the giraffes would no longer be slaves; they would rise up and be free.

For slaves don’t squeak, or so the ancient texts read.

So the Fezertines watched and waited.

One day a young couple from Bavaria came to town. They were walking through the streets of downtown Fezertine when the girl spied a giraffe drawing a caricature of an elderly man who wound up being the soul of Bob Dylan, but that is neither here nor there. The girl grabbed her love by the arm and said they just had to have their very own giraffe-drawn caricature. Her Bavarian friends back home would be ever so jealous!

The couple was still in the honeymoon stage; therefore, her beau acquiesced to her request for a keepsake. A mural they would hang above the bed in their future home fashioned out of adobe.

Once the giraffe finished his drawing of the soul of Bob Dylan on a surfboard, the two kids sat down, one in love, the other in lust and posed while the giraffe took the brush and paint and went to work. Every now and then they heard a noise.

A happy noise.

“Awww, are you enjoying our time together, my love?” The girl made sure to keep her eyes straight and her smile firm.

“Huh?” Her man eloquently replied.

“I heard you make a happy noise. Clearly, that must mean you have future intentions.”

“What now?” His replies were losing their eloquence, and the girl noticed. It was becoming harder to maintain her smile while the giraffe drew the two of them climbing the pyramids. Her cheeks flushed as she choked out the words,

“What does that mean?” The boy, anticipating three hours of fighting in public replied,

“It means whatever you’d like it to mean.” The sound rang out again, and the girl turned to face her love.

“There! You see! If it’s not you making the happy sound then — ” An old soothsayer named Reggie Jackson happened to be hobbling past the couple and heard her remark. His face went white, and Reggie could barely get the words out. “Was it a squeaky sound?”

“Actually, I believe it was.”

“NOOOO!”

Reggie ran to the center of the town as best he could with his hammertoes, climbed the eighty-one steps to the top of the tower, and blew the Horn of Lovitz.

The residents, tourists, and everyone in-between stopped in their tracks. The Horn of Lovitz had stood quiet for hundreds of years. No one knew what came next…

Except for Reggie Jackson:

“THE PROPHECY! THE PROPHECY! IT HAS COME TRUE!” Just then, a shot rang out like a bolt of blue. Reggie Jackson’s hammertoes had exploded, and he died on the spot.

Squeaky, the Giraffe, as he came to be known, cast down his brush and raised his hooves high in the air in triumph.

Suddenly a mighty wind roared from the east. The sounds of giraffes casting off their yokes had spread across the empire. Buildings were on fire, the townspeople ran off in fear, and in the middle of the carnage stood a young boy with curly blonde hair. He was crying for his mother, crying for the ice cream cone he had just dropped, crying for a future he would never know…

And was then trampled underfoot by a sea of giraffes, a scene captured by one giraffe who wanted to finish his caricature painting. He was an artsy giraffe, so he used mainly charcoal, the only sign of color being the red pooling underneath the kid’s body.

The carnage lasted for four days and four nights. When it was over, the Fezentine Empire was no more than a whisper. The giraffes had gone from beasts of burden to gods of creation. They banished all men and women, save for one…

Squeaky, the Giraffe, took pity upon the soul of Bob Dylan. It was the drawing of the soul of Bob Dylan that had been the impetus for the joyful squeak that put all things in motion. The other giraffes, fearing a spy in their midst, protested, and a compromise was reached. The soul of Bob Dylan was allowed to remain in his home, with one condition:

A team of giraffe doctors performed a surgery on his vocal cords, forcing the soul of Bob Dylan to communicate via mumble. The soul of Bob Dylan was a smart one, and he secretly wrote a number of songs, including “The Times They Are a-Changin,” as a way to warn his fellow human beings of the events happening inside the land formerly known as Fezertine.

Hundreds of years passed before enough men found their courage to retake the territory from the giraffes, using, “One of Us Must Know (Sooner or Later) as their rallying cry, resulting in the Battle of the Bulge and a victory for humanity. Under the terms of surrender, giraffes were once again never allowed to make a sound.

What sound does the giraffe make you ask?

You better pray to your God you never find out.

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