My Beard Quivers At The Thought Of A World In Which Gingers Are Hated

Gingers. They complain about sunburn in the winter. They reek of potatoes. They never shower. They steal our jobs. They don’t pay taxes. They abuse welfare. They float to this country on makeshift rafts, then live here illegally. They don’t speak English. They live in absolute squalor. Go ahead, drive by a ginger’s house, which is probably actually a shanty built out of wine boxes where nine of them are sharing two bedrooms. There’s a broken washing machine sitting next to the weight bench in the front yard, but you probably didn’t notice that because the rusted-out car sitting on cinder blocks was in the way. And if all that wasn’t enough, they have red hair.

I used to believe all of these stereotypes. Then I grew a beard. It turns out that my body, most notably my head, is a rich tapestry of ethnic diversity. The thick, ropy Scandanavian hair. The boozy, glazed over eyes and contented grin of a German boy who has overstuffed himself yet again on läger and überschnitzel at the local kraut haus. And then, this: the red beard. It turns out the very peoples who I had come to hate had at some point weaseled their way into my family tree, by dubious means I am sure.

Upon discovering red hair growing on my face, I immediately shaved and then cried in the shower for 45 minutes.

That was years ago. I now wear my red beard with only a small amount of shame. I as a person may not like the fact that I am part ginger, but my beard does, and is doing its best to spread awareness within the community that gingers kind of don’t suck. Sure, their bodies can’t produce “skin color,” and they pray for the destruction of the sun, but we’ve all got our quirks.

So, the next time you’re giving the local redhead its daily kidney beating, maybe lay off, and work the liver for a while. And buy it a drink after. My beard will thank you.

Here’s the Blong (Blog Song) of the day. The Isley Brothers – Keep On Doin’.