Giraffe was on the verge of defenestration. He was five months overdue on his account at the adult video shack, the landlord of his apartment (in the not-so-prime location above an auto body garage) had just nailed an eviction notice to his broken front door, and the Donut Den had retired his favorite peanut butter and grilled cheese-filled breakfast pastry.
On a balmy May afternoon, Giraffe chugged a hearty intake of moonshine before flinging himself out of his second story tenement. He landed in a supine position right next to Monkey, who was waiting patiently for a routine tune up on her Chevelle, which was being half-assedly worked upon on the other side of the garage doors.
Giraffe could not deny Monkey’s charm as she reached behind her to pat his head. “I too have survived a botched defenestration,” Monkey confessed.
Three weeks later, on their seventh date, Monkey served Giraffe with a basket stuffed with piping hot flaky pastry.
“They’re filled with peanut butter and grilled cheese. I know it sounds weird, but—”
And that is the story of how Giraffe and Monkey embarked on a beautiful journey of cross-breeding.