I can do anything I want, there’s no creature who believes in itself more than I do. Oh yes, I can do anything I put my mind to. I’m the pride in Simba’s pride, I’m the “pop” in Mary Poppins, I am the nation in carnation. If there’s anyone who can finish the job and do it well, it’s me.
I live amongst the other zebras, or shall I say, newspapers. I call them newspapers because they’re full of words but really boring. I’m much better than any newspaper anyways. I’ve climbed Mt. Everest, I’ve tamed lions, I’ve eaten poisonous frogs and lived to tell the tale, I saved a baby duckling from the punishment his mother was about to inflict upon him. Sure, I may have trampled the mother until she cried uncle, but I saved the duckling nonetheless. But wait. What do I see over in yonder pond. A crocodile, swimming peacefully, just waiting to be thrown into a tree or drowned in what he lives in. Ha! He is no match for my cunning, my skill, my reflexes.

“Hey moron!” I spat at him.

“Why, hello tasty morsel. How are you today my luncheon?” he said.

“You are a funny one all right! Today I will throw you into a tree, just wait and see!” and with that, I charged at him with everything in me. Today was the day, I could feel it. That proud croc is going down. For that is what pride deserves, DEATH.

After that, the zebra spoke no more. For in the jaws of a croc, all that is expected is the death roll.