Sam Gutekunst

Class of 2014

Also known as sqamwise because of the unwritten and unpronounced q in Sam

On a sun-cut mesa, elk tug at a glue/nut mess tuck(ed) under a stone boot—the last remnants of the statue of a grieving family’s lost son.

He had been lost on his second birthday, which the family had celebrated at Emu’s Gluten-Suck, their family restaurant. It was an Australian fast-food franchise sensation dedicated to libations composed of tasty wheat starch.

This would be his coming-of-age party, the moment when he realized that the life of the hedonistic wheat-fermenter was not for him. As silently as only two-year olds can manage, he crept through the automatic doors of the restaurant, leaving his family in the haze they had brought upon themselves.

Nothing could cure the lad’s wanderlust: he stowed away on an animal-bearing ship destined for America, his only companionship in the cargo hold coming from the ship’s two wildebeests. What they ate, he ate. What they drank, he drank, and where they slept, he slept. The beasts adopted him as theirs, and his copious amounts of body hair gave off quite the wildebeestly impression. Only one humanly habit remained of the boy: his compulsive need to wash once a day prevented him from acquiring the characteristic scent of the wildebeest.

The ship’s journey ended at San Diego Zoo, where they were sold and sheltered in the African Savannah exhibit. He quickly became one of the most popular animals, thanks to his human features and comically small size, not to mention his lack of wildebeest smell.

His residence would span three years before his parents, seeking opportunities to expand their business in the states, would finally see their son again at the zoo. Where most saw only a shaggy coat, his father saw the unmistakable curls of the Gutekunst mustache. There was no doubt about it: this was none other than Samuel C. Gutekunst.

“There’s been a mistake. That wildebeest is our son!” said an outraged mother to the zookeeper of the exhibit.

“Which one?” replied the elderly keeper.

“The small one that doesn’t smell!”


With motherly fury she yelled, every syllable enunciated, “CUTE GNU, LEAST MUSK!”


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Last edited December 5, 2010 16:05 (diff)