Giraffes at the OC Fair, or, God is definitely pissed off about the fried butter.

The Orange County Fair descends upon Costa Mesa for 23 days every summer. For over one hundred years, millions of people have flocked to the fairgrounds to eat ridiculous fried food, ride the crazy, rickety rides, and watch the pig races. The OC Fair is actually the 9th largest fair in the United States, and attendance has grown steadily with each passing year.

Annually, the Heart Attack Cafe unveils some new deep fried abomination guaranteed to tempt the most deviant souls. 2010 was no exception. When I first heard the rumors of deep fried butter, I felt sick to my stomach. It sounded absolutely abhorrent. What kind of person would even think of such a thing? Oh, the humanity!

My husband and I decided to hit the fair one sultry August evening for a nice, quiet date night. We had purchased tickets to go see one of my childhood favorites, Weird Al Yankovich. I was really looking forward to a fun, uneventful night under the stars. But that cruel mistress fate had other plans for me, as she so often does.

One of the first things I noticed at the fair was the people. All around me, people were stuffing their faces with things they normally wouldn't even consider edible. The air itself smelled like it had been dipped in batter, wrapped in bacon, and fried. I was both revolted and enticed at the same time. We set out to find some dinner before the show, preferably something that wouldn't fill me with weeks of self loathing.

As we turned down the second stretch of food stands, I saw them. There, not 30 feet away from me, stood a small group of tall men holding handwritten signs with such charming slogans as, "Repent!" and "God hates fried foods!" and "Death to fats!"  They appeared to be congregating right across from the Heart Attack Cafe. I looked at my husband to see if he noticed these freaks, but his attention was elsewhere.

Feeling unsettled, I excused myself to run to the ladies room. Pushing my way through the throngs of sweaty people, all happily chomping on their deep fried Mars bars and twinkies, the air was redolent with anticipation. Something was definitely going to happen...but what?

As if on some cue, several tall men in the crowd stepped forward, including the creepy guys with their creepy signs. In unison, they all removed their sunglasses, then their baseball caps, to reveal those hauntingly long lashes and deadly laser horns. There were giraffes all around me. The crowd was surrounded by about 19 of the fiercest predators on the planet. My first instinct was to run away and hide somewhere, but my feet were definitely not connecting with my brain. I couldn't move a muscle, I just watched, helpless, as the scene unfolded before my disbelieving eyes.

The giraffe nearest me leaned down and, in a movement almost too quick for me to follow, tore the throat out of a man not 3 feet from me. I watched in mute horror as his half eaten deep fried Oreo fell to the ground. Moments later, a woman's head fell next to it. Her mouth was still full. Everywhere I looked, my eyes befell some fresh horror. It was like watching Saving Private Ryan all over again, without the delicious buttered popcorn.

It ended in moments, although to me, it felt like two lifetimes. 46 people were ripped to pieces in less time than it took to eat a whole piece of fried cheesecake. The ground was slick with blood and unidentifiable body parts, and as quickly as they had arrived, the giraffes were gone.

Several police officers arrived on the scene first, followed by dozens of men in suits and sunglasses. They cordoned off the area and began to herd eyewitnesses into big, white vans nearby. I knew if they caught me, I wouldn't be seeing Weird Al that night or any other. I took advantage of the chaos around me and slipped away like a ninja, catching up to my husband outside the Australian Battered Potato stand. He looked at me, questioning, "Want to try these? I know how you love potatoes."

I grabbed his hand and shook my head. "Let's go find some chocolate dipped strawberries."

I may never know why I was spared, but I do have a theory. Something about the fried foods seemed to have roused the giraffes to a frenzy. I think maybe they had been trained to seek out and destroy the ingestors of any and all fried monstrosities, but I'll be damned if I can even speculate as to what end. Looking back, I can't help but feel I was spared for a reason, a purpose that will some day make itself known to me.

Giraffes - 0, Jennifer - 3.