Giraffe did something stupid back in ’87. This something was so stupid that the stupidity of it all landed him in the back of a paddy wagon, with a gang of hobos picked up for thieving milk from tipped cows. Giraffe’s corneas were searing from the teargas. Giraffe done deserved that though, seein’ he done something so stupid in the first place.
In time, that Giraffe found himself apart of a chain gang, digging ditches along a deserted stretch of highway. Some folk say the ditches had
something to do with irrigation, but my pop always told us he was certain the warden was lookin’ for somethin’. Bones, teeth, some kind of people
Giraffe told pop he always imagined that if he were on a chain gang, he’d be equipped with one of those litter spears. Not a rusted shovel. He also didn’t imagine that he would really be chained to the other prisoners, and darn if that didn’t make for some awkward moments. Like when Jimmy Sardine would whip out his manhood and start wackin’ the everlovin’ shit out of that fucker.
The way pop tells it, Giraffe thought that he might have just enough slack in his share of chain to reach the relaxin’ floral chair that the warden lugged out that day from his office, where he sat on his pimply ass, shouting out racial epithets to the various hues of the incarcerated. But after tearin’ up three beef and bean burritos doused with a heavy blanket of Tabasco sauce, the warden found himself scampering off to pinch a runny loaf behind an abandoned bait shop a quarter mile away. Pop says Giraffe waited until the warden was nothing more than a red blob on the horizon before shuffling over to the chair. He just reached it.
But Giraffe, he ain’t careful enough. That warden came back, soiled gutchies and all, and caught him goldbricking in that pretty floral armchair, and suddenly, Giraffe wasn’t so much digging them ditches as he was decomposing in one.