Once there was a rap group in the Sahara Desert called the Jy-Raffs.  It was a group of giraffes that loved to sing and rap.  They sang about eating leaves off trees and making sexual innuendos about those sexy giraffe bitches drinking from the watering holes.

One day an exuberantly manly lion named ReggIster Stupenstein published his first reggae/rap album.  He sang songs about legitimate love with his lioness pride without any baby killing beforehand.  He sang of lounging in the shade and eating yesterday’s zebra carcass with no hassle form the vulture community.

In essence, it was everything the Jy-Raffs were not and all the random lifeforms living in the Sahara Desert raved about the album.  This made the Jy-Raffs so jealous because deep down inside they were depressed that they were forced to sing about partying and smoking trees and looking at giraffe buttholes all day.  Most of them didn’t even like buttholes — they were mostly all about that tongue-action.

The Jy-Raffs decided to kill ReggIster Stupenstein because there was only enough room in the “politically correct reggae rap” niche for one successful artist.

Little did they know, this would be their demise.  As they were plotting their revenge in the cramped corridors of a secret underground cave, a genie’s lamp accidentally fell out of an encased tomb of sap that could only be unlocked by uttering the words “lion,” “reggae,” “kill,” “masturbate,” and “grind his liver between three calculus books” in the predicate of a 356-word-long run-on sentence with no correct punctuation.  They were rappers, after all…!

Anyhow, the genie, named Jardan Maura, didn’t come out of his lamp and grant the giraffes three wishes like you would expect.

Instead, the genie was a rebel genie who banished his victims to do irregular to insane monotonous tasks in a sweat shop in China that he owns.

The Jy-Raffs were fucked.  Instead of having to decide four different jobs for the giraffes to do, he combined them into one super giraffe — a four-headed, 16-legged monstrosity of a giraffe, doomed to forever lick closed 0% APR credit card applications sent to random people for the rest of their unnatural lives.

Moral of the story:  Appreciate the hard work that goes into mass-produced junk mail!