She knew he was trouble. He was, after all a rogue elephant. He didn't march to the beat of the same drums as the other elephants, no sir. He wore greasy black hair, a greasy black leather jacket and he rode on a greasy black Harley in the blackest, greasiest parts of town. He was everything she had dreamed of, the kind of elephant that had no remorse crushin' clowns and stomping ringmasters into the dirt. He was the kind of elephant every chick wanted to be her ever-lovin' elephantfriend. With his swollen elephanthood he had made her his woman and when you're a rogue elephant's woman, there's no turnin' back.
But her daddy didn't approve. Too much man, too much elephant. He put on his favorite pith helmet and monocle and loaded up his favorite elephant gun and waited for the elephant that had taken his little girl away from him. He caught them in the throes of passion and to show her the price for disobeying his wishes, he shot the punk then and there. But it ain't wise to shoot an elephant when he's on top of your daughter. Elephant/girl sex is an intricate balancing act that took a lot of concentration and no small knowledge of anatomy to execute. When the elephant went down, he tumbled onto his lady, crushing her to death. Her daddy was full of grief and adopted a gorilla to replace his daughter, a gorilla that grew up knowing that her father accepted all of her choices. Funny this is he was right about the elephant all the time: he'd been in it for the money.