THE GIRAFFE AND THE SKUNK

"Stripes may be interesting for some people," said the giraffe rather haughtily (as was her nature), "but when it gets down to brass tacks, having `spots' is the only way to travel!" "Hmmmm... .," said the skunk somewhat enigmatically; and that was all he said.

The giraffe attempted to hide the fact that she had been terribly unnerved and up to her neck with embarrassment by the laconic, understated position that the skunk had taken by proceeding to pummel the skunk with even more heightened, high-handed affectation, pretentiously continuing to ramble on and on about the classic and well-founded position that she was sallying forth with regarding the superiority of spots over stripes. But they both knew that a single word (or rather sound, since "Hmmmm... .," can hardly be called a word), had pierced her arrogant vanity to the quick.

"This inane balderdash has a very hollow ring to it," thought the skunk, "I wonder if she's aware of what a jackass she's making of herself?" (He considered using "jillass" but rejected it as being too overly PC.)

Twice, the skunk almost interrupted the giraffe to actually ask that question but each time he thought the better of it since the giraffe had a mean front hoof and often discretion is the better part of valor.

After some time had passed, the giraffe realized (right in the middle of a brilliantly presented pontification of one of her cleverest and most salient points), that the skunk had completely fallen asleep and, without a moment's hesitation she gave the skunk such a mean whack with the sharpest part of her right hoof that it sent the skunk sprawling a good twenty yards.

It took the poor skunk more than two months to heal but when he finally got on his feet again people said how marvelous it was that he had changed, that it was as if they were talking to a different person. Unbeknownst to them, during his convalescence the skunk had found a guru-healer who had enlightened him as to the downside and dangers of his taciturn nature and had patiently instructed him in the ways of a new movement coincidentally called "The valor of openness" or, as many Russians like to put it, "The sparkle of glasnost." Thus, whenever he had a wicked thought, he never held his tongue but let anyone who happened to be around have it right between the eyes; and when that didn't work, then he..., well, you know how skunks can be when you piss them off.

His new candor and openness worked quite well for a while but one day when he least expected it, the skunk had a second face-to-face confrontation with the giraffe who, frankly, was still as obnoxious as ever. "This time," thought the skunk, "I'll be more open, pay more attention and stoically put up with her BS before I finally bop her." But the skunk's recently released new personality soon took hold like the tip of a chameleon's tongue to a wayward fly, and before he knew it, the skunk had blurted out something to the effect that although some people merely thought that the giraffe's head was up in the clouds, for the skunk's money, he was betting that it was up her ass.

This observation didn't sit too well with the giraffe, and being in a nasty, prissy snit as she haughtily turned to leave, she let the skunk have it with a hind-hoof that knocked the poor skunk's head clear off.

Moral:

When it comes down to stinking your neck out or loosing your head, discretion is still the better part of valor.

Editor's note: Sorry ladies, but only female giraffes have "G-spots," so it had to be you!

© 2004__Muldoon Elder