Thoughts of the Pigment Impaired

When I see some conspiracy idiot raving about “research grants” being the reason most scientists say the climate is changing — why the fuck is it always a white dude.

And it’s always a whiter than white dude with ghost-like skin that no amount of make-up and cut-back lighting can hide. It takes generations of lost pigment or a serious birth defect to get that fucking pale.

These idiots are going to be the first fucking people to fry under the hotter sun, and they are too stupid to seek shade.

I’m skeptical of most things, and I understand people asking questions and not following the “group think” like farm animals.

But when you start making scapegoats out of the scientists who study this shit for a living, you’ve become the dumbest fucking sheep on the planet. You are letting little bitches like Hannity and Rush herd you toward your own destruction. Dumbass.

I’m a member of the pigment impaired — a proud descendant of the inbred survivors of the Emerald Island. Go Irish.

I was visibly reminded of my impairment last month when I spent a week in San Diego. I live in Phoenix — the Valley of the Sun. But apparently I live like a fucking vampire.

In La Jolla, I got burned sitting under an umbrella on the beach wearing a hat and a shirt. That radiation reflects off the sand and went right through cotton.

My lips swelled and turned purple by the 3rd day, because I spent more than 4 hours a day in the “light”. And that was in 70-degree temperatuers.

It was 117 in Phoenix when we left, and it’s only getting hotter. This heat isn’t good for me or “my people.” We need to be the first ones in line to cut back the carbon and figure out how we can create more clouds.

But I’m losing faith that humans can manage to save themselves. They will burn coal and gas until it gets so hot only the fire ants will be able to go out in the noon-day sun. How long that will take is still a question. So I need to plan for the future.

It’s too late for me, but I was lucky enough to breed with the Bear.

She’s half-Italian with olive skin. The dermatologist told her “I won’t have to see you for a long while.” That asshole calls me every 6 months to remind me I need to get something dangerous “removed.”

So the Boy has some pigment, and every girl he brings by – I give a skin test. I shake her hand and look to see if her forearm is at least 2 shades darker than my largest liver spot.

And I check her politics. She’s gotta pass the skin test and be smarter than these pale idiots to get my vote. Of course the Boy doesn’t fucking listen to me, and the last woman he “loved” was a pale-ass Alt-Right Republican. By some miracle he broke up with her, and he hasn’t brought many by for testing since then.

I know this “testing” is fucking lame, but I’m trying to evolve the species one bloodline at a time.

At least, I’m not one of those goddamn ghostly conspiracy cocksuckers on TV.