Cheetah G Origin Story

After a wild weekend in Las Vegas, Carl the Flamingo found himself with no money, no phone, and no car. Only a pink feather boa lay around his neck. Having gambled away his belongings, he wasn’t sure how he’d get home.

So, there was only one thing to do.

“Hitchhiking? Please. This thumb’s gotten me into stickier situations." He said to himself. 

Carl’s eyes burned underneath the warm Arizona sun. He looked for his sunglasses. Gone. Just like his dignity and prepaid debit card.

He groaned, trying to keep down the savory shrimp martinis he’d chugged all weekend long. After walking for what felt like hours, his dehydration finally won. Now, on the outskirts of Las Vegas, headed west, he sticks out a thumb.

“If I get picked up by a cult, at least I hope they have snacks. Some caviar would be nice.” Drool trickled down this beak.

No cars were stopping, but after a while, a vintage pickup truck slowed to a stop. Carl fluffed his feathers, expecting maybe a record exec or an eccentric heiress behind an expensive wood grain steering wheel. As the engine settled, he heard it. *Cluck cluck cluck* Chickens, cooped up behind the truck.

Before he could take back his thumb, the driver yelled out, “You ridin’ or what, big bird?” 

He looked around. Tumbleweeds rolled across the shimmering asphalt. With a heavy sigh, he went for the passenger door. “Seat’s taken,” said the man. His Saint Bernard propped itself up, yawned, and slobbered on Carl’s face through the open window. The dog immediately gagged.

“Where do you expect me to sit?!” Carl exclaimed as he used the slobber to gel back some of his feathers.

“With the rest of the fluff nuggets.” The driver motioned behind him with his thumb.

Carl’s now smushed in the back with the chickens. Still hungover, hot, and hungry. 

“Got any extra bird feed?” he asked as he looked around the coops. The chickens just clucked. As he scoped the cages for any extra food, a chicken pecked at his feathers. “Watch it, will ya!” Another chicken plucked a feather right out of him. And another. “OWWW!” He yelped. “If it weren’t for the bird cages, you’d be coyote food right about now.”

That unleashed a peck attack from the flock. He unlatched the coop and let them out. He was ready to fight, but they were faster and swarmed him. The truck screeched to a halt. Chickens flapped. Feathers flew. Carl tumbled face-first into a sack of cornmeal.

“Hey! No fighting the cargo!” yelled the driver. “They started it!” Carl yelled back. 

The driver calmed and gathered his chickens. He pointed at Carl, “You. OUT!” 

A trail of desert dust filled Carl’s vision as he watched the truck become nothing but a dot on the horizon.

Now, somewhere in the desert between Arizona and California, he began to walk. 

Hours have passed. The sun sets, leaving the sky blood orange. His pink feather boa is now wrapped around his head, acting as a sweatband. He drags his feet. His mouth is dry. He’s seeing double. Sounds fade in and out. 

Desert: 1. Carl: 0.

“If I don’t find water soon, this might be it.” A rustle. “Who’s there?! Just so you know, I’m a certified black belt in whoop a$$.” A cheetah emerges from behind the bushes.

Carl rubbed his eyes. “It can’t be.” The cheetah stealthily moved toward Carl without breaking eye contact. At that moment, Carl knew: this cheetah was here to save him. Instead of pouncing on Carl, the cheetah sprinted past him, heading west. Carl ran after it. “Take me home, you fabulous giant cat!!!”

The moon now illuminated his path, but the cheetah was long gone. As he climbed one final hill, still searching for the fierce creature he may or may not have hallucinated, he found something better: a small town. His salvation.

He fell to his knees and wept. “Oh, cheetah. All mighty. So fast. So fierce. So, so, so…branded.”

A breeze rolled through, tousling his wilted feathers as if on cue. Carl whipped his dirty boa off his head, “That’s it!!!” At that moment, Carl didn’t just survive. He evolved. “Cheetah G,” he said breathlessly. “I need to call the patent office now!”

He stood up, wobbly but reborn, the desert dust catching in the moonlight like glitter.
It wasn’t just a hallucination. It was a vision. He took one triumphant step toward the town, but promptly tripped over a rock and rolled down the hill straight into it.

Unaware, at the top of the hill, the bushes rustled. Out of the darkness emerged a chicken with a pink feather boa draped over its head. It clucked quietly behind Carl.

Safe to say, Carl found the nearest payphone and called the patent office before hitchhiking became his personal catwalk. Meet Cheetah G: world-record speed in a performance cat-eye frame so fashionable it stops traffic.