Save the Gingers: A Call To Arms

I read a disturbing article recently that said redheads could very likely be extinct within the next 100 years.  Extinct.  Gone.  Wiped off the face of the earth, never to return.  Like silent movies, or my current apartment’s damage deposit.  Redheads are going the way of the Dodo bird and we are just letting it happen.

Perhaps we need a little perspective:

For Gals – this would be like “Ladies Night” disappearing.  Imagine being forced to buy your own drinks the whole night, plus those of a member from the opposite sex, who you undoubtedly are going to strike out with, the way a guy does.  Bars would shut down, as women are far too fiscally responsible for such shenanigans.

We might well just start rioting right now.

For Guys – This would be like…really bad for us.  Emma Stone, Isla Fisher, Julianne Moore, Christina Hendricks.  For crying out loud, Emma Stone!

"With great colour, comes great responsibility."

My first real friend that was a redhead was my buddy Dennis.  He was a menace.  I’m not joking.  I danced the line of the law with Dennis from ages 10 to 12, taking me on spirited misadventures, all of which I shall remain silent about, save one.  He introduced me to “liberating” freshly tossed pornographic magazines from convenience store dumpsters.  To a twelve year-old boy, this is the rough equivalent to discovering a cure for blindness.  Or perhaps a cause for it, depending on who you talk to.  Oh Dennis, words cannot express my gratitude to you, for introducing me to:

Miss July 1986 – Lynne Austin

TURN-ONS:
Men’s buns, expensive cologne, green eyes, diamonds, kisses and … OK, Rob Lowe!!

FAVORITE MUSICIANS:                                            Bruce Springsteen, The Cars.

FAVORITE TV SHOWS:
“The Cosby Show,” “60 Minutes.”

FAVORITE FOODS:
Corn bread, fried okra, pinto beans, lasagna, cheese popcorn & light beer (together).

The Cosby Show, Bruce Springsteen, Lasagna…I was probably the only twelve year old that watched 60 minutes religiously.  I didn’t stand a chance.  I refer to those times affectionately as “The Lost Summers”.  Now, I know some of you purists might be saying she should have been a redhead.  Well, she’s not.  Get over it.  Dennis did and so did I…over and over again.

Moving on.

The “Gingers” are a funny group.  Not funny, like the “face” that the parts guy made at Audi, when I asked him if they offered some sort of a payment plan, after learning the cost of a  replacement headlight on my parent’s Audi A4.

"Pay cloze attention, Zis is vhere zee German otto mekaniks, shteal mein spirit, one Euro at a time"

Still for sale, by the way.  I mean funny, like the time my sister walked in on me, while I was “rounding third base” with one of her girlfriends.  Trust me, even at the time, it was a barrel of laughs.  Why, oh why, did you have to turn on the basement lights, Sis?  Still a memorable event.  And that is what my experiences are with redheads.  Whenever I’ve been around a copper-top, I’ve laughed, I’ve often felt worried for my life. I’ve always felt entertained; kind of like I was at Disneyland.  Or at least Six Flags.  Oh, by the way, my sister’s friend, the one who engaged in some “teenage exploration” with me…none other than a “Cherry-Top”.

In my humble experience, with such fantastic encounters under my belt, I put forth a modest proposal.  We start a “Save the Gingers” campaign.  Perhaps we have a global day-off, in their honor (Except maybe in Asia, where I’m pretty sure redheads are still considered demons of the highest order).

Just a heads up gingersnap, this is how they see you in China.

After all, what happens to every other endangered species?  We quarantine them and force them to mate until their numbers are respectable enough, so that they can once again be considered a reliable food source in a pinch.

I think we need to stop playing favourites.  Consider the Giant Panda.  I’m not saying the furry bastards aren’t worth saving, though I would love to see the Blobfish get even a shadow of the attention the Panda gets.

Pandas: A marketing department's wet-dream

Blobfish: "We're not Clownfish, but we grow on you."

 

 

            Versus

 

 

Hardly seems fair, does it?  No, I’m not saying that redheads are Blobfish.  Just that they often get the same amount of attention.  Meanwhile, the unworthy blondes (Pandas) soak up all the attention.  Besides, I always root for the underdog.  The pandas are cute and spoiled, which gets old fast.  Unless I’m dating you.  Apparently then, it can go on for years.  The Blobfish on the other hand, you just know has been stood up more than once.  The Blobfish has humility and an unexpected charm.  If it came to my door selling chocolate covered almonds…well I’d probably slam the door in it’s jello-like,  little face.  A few seconds later though, I’d feel really bad about it.  Such is how the redhead is treated and there is simply no excuse for it.  Unless they actually are vampires, which is a commonly held belief, at least in my neighbourhood.  In that case, never ever invite them in.

Potentially blood-draining risks aside, I think redheads deserve a second chance, a fair shake; we need to help them flourish.  Perhaps we should give all the redheads an island, kind of like a Club Med for the freckled and short-tempered.  It should be a place where they can have a chance to procreate like rabbits.  In fairness, we should probably ply them with alcohol; as redheads tend to be shy, until they get a bit of the “honesty juice” under their belts.  It would be a place where “fire crotch” is a used as a term of endearment.  A place where they can escape the sun, like the Ginger Ninjas they are, when it comes to UV rays.  Perhaps we should give them Ireland.  We can let Carrot-Top entertain every night (What that wouldn’t do for his self-esteem, along with hitting the gym), and they can have a national “Punch a Non-Ginger” day.

The new "unofficial bad-boy" for redheads. I mean, well done, though I still don't think I'd buy the workout video.

A few last things to consider:

Redheads going extinct would be like the Belgium or Ecuador disappearing from the world map forever.  It may not have a huge impact, though it would really screw up my strategy during a game of RISK.

Mmm...Belgian Chocolate. I know, right? Yeah, wouldn't exist because neither would Belgium.

Redheads make up approximately two percent of the world’s population.  Imagine the world as a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle.  Now imagine you are just about finished putting it together, only to realize you are missing the final two pieces.  How chapped would you be?

Having no redheads would mean we wouldn’t have any of those cute ginger girls, who are splattered with freckles.  That’s like having leopards without spots.  You know what a leopard without spots is?  A big, generic-looking predator that still wants to eat you.

Let's be honest, you probably wouldn't strike up a conversation if he didn't have spots.

There may be a time in the future where emerald eyes and matchstick coloured hair become integral to our survival and advancement as a species.  Go ahead and laugh, though there was a time where the kid with no physical abilities stood a chance either.  Then those physically hindered lads, who were forced indoors, came up with things like the world wide web.  Now those guys own Google and Facebook. They no longer live in their parent’s basement and eat only pizza pockets.  Okay, maybe they still do, though the point is, they could now afford to move out at any time and pay someone to heat pizza pockets for them (even flipping them part way through, so they wouldn’t still be frozen in the middle). Speaking of which, they should start a Google and Facebook strictly for redheads.

Future Mark Zuckerberg?

For the small price of a hug, or a nod of recognition, you can make the difference in a redhead’s life today.  Hug now, the gingers are standing by.

That is all.

 

4 thoughts on “Save the Gingers: A Call To Arms

    • Wow B, thanks for the self-esteem boost! I may just consider bathing again. Coming from the “Queen B” herself, that means so much. Me thinks you may have a new handle. A bit ostentatious, perhaps? I say try it on for size. You could always go with a more zen approach, like “Just B”, or a little more youthful and reckless, like “Dirty B”. Maybe “34B”(Referring, of course, to the number of marriage proposals you’ve turned down). Just thinking out loud. You’re my girl, bschooled.

    • It’s comforting to know that even at the end of the world, you’re still willing to play favourites. Way to stick to your guns Amy. It’s that kind of unwavering one-sidedness that gets your house egged at Halloween.

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