I pulled a few heartstrings last week when I shared an article about a ginger seal in Russia. Shunned by his own mother and rejected by the seal colony for his unusual colour, a photographer spotted him hiding under some logs – blind, frightened and all alone.

I’m happy to report this ginger mammal has found a new home at a dolphinarium. Now, if only we could stop the discrimination of ginger humans…

According to the Globe & Mail yesterday, nobody wants redhead babies anymore. Cryos International, the world’s largest sperm bank, is now rejecting donations from redheads on account of low demand. Spread your seed elsewhere, Ginger Joe. Take your scarlet sperm and shove it (anywhere but in these women, and preferably not in Octomom.) These would-be babymakers don’t want none of your red-hot lava love.

I know I’m not a dude, but I am a ginger. And frankly, this rejection hurts. In the words of Ron Burgundy, I’m too hurt. I’m shocked and offended – and hurt.

Not really.

Cryos is just giving the market what they want in order to remain the world’s biggest, awesomest turkey baster. The company has impregnated 18,731 women since 1991 and hope to knock up hundreds of thousands more. Cryos is also the Greek word for Arnold Schwartzenagger.

Nobody wants your lil’ swimmers, generous gingers. Try the food bank. Or the bank bank. Or maybe a dolphinarium? Oh wait, Ireland wants you! Yay, Ireland! Redhead sperm sells in the Emerald Isle “like hotcakes”, the director of Cryos says. I knew I should have been born to an Irish family. Instead of a freak, I’d have been a star, frolicking through the clovers while people threw Lucky Charms at my freckles. Shag the Blarney Stone; people would want to bend over and kiss my sweet snow-white ass.

Then again, maybe the Irish are so drunk, they don’t even know what they’re asking for! They probably think they’re ordering… (oh my God what a kickass invention)… Ginger Ale! (I hereby trademark that.) Beer, made from the golden locks of gingers. No, the SPERM of gingers, yeah yeah. Dragon’s Den Ireland, here I come. You can cut my cheque in advance.

But alas, the rest of the world sees things differently. They think we fugly. Nothing new, I suppose. There’s a Kick a Ginger Day for God sakes. This news is just another kick in the pants to those poor redhead pervs who only get their rocks off at the sperm bank.

So it’s true then – the ugly complex I had as a child was not all in my imagination. People – mothers! – don’t want redhead babies, because they think redheads are unattractive. Or, they think the chances of Adult Onset Ugliness are far greater when you’re born a redhead.

Piss poor logic, ladies! Granted, there are some unsightly redheads out there. But we’re such a small fragment of the population. You notice our imperfections more – because you notice us more! We’re unique! We stand out, good-looking and butt-fugly alike. What about all the blondes who have faces like boiled boots, and all the brunettes who look like leatherback turtles? Come on, they are evvvvvvverywhere! Your chances of an ugly kid are just as high, no matter what colour hair is on the noggin of your baby-daddy. Maybe you should worry about the hideous contents of that egg in your abdomen. Maybe that’s enough ugly for everybody, missus.

I blame the literature of yore for the bad rap. Little Orphan Annie. Anne of Green Gables. Pippy Longstocking. All poor, raggedy-ass rejects without parents, without an inkling of sexuality. I had more than one Halloween costume in the likeness of the aforementioned. One Halloween I didn’t dress up at all and people said, Oh, let me guess… Raggedy-Ann? Go f*ck yourself.

No wonder I hated my hair growing up. For two reasons:

1. Some people called me Carrot-top, to which I replied, without fail: Carrot tops are green, bee-otch! (Or whatever we said before bee-otch was invented by crossing a bitch with a crotch.) Idiots. Then the ridicule evolved into Fire Crotch. At least that was kind of clever. Kudos.

2. The haircuts inflicted upon me by my mother. She clearly hated me. Her weapon of choice? Scissors. I believe one time she also used a bowl.

The cruelty did not cut too deeply though, because it was also endured by my brother. Misery loves company. I had the mullet: business in the front, party in the back. But we both had the dreaded Danny Williams split. Our heads looked like furry, orange Muppet asses.

I can’t even talk about the wardrobe. Or Glenn’s freakishly gigantic hand.

I prayed to the gods to grant me a more magnetic mane. And then, somewhere in my teenage years, my prayers were answered…

[Insert really hot pic of me with hair of goddess.]

It’s all about the product, baby. I can tell you my secrets, for one millllllion dollars and your first-born child. As long as it’s not a redhead. Nice try; I ain’t taking that reject off your hands.

Okay I’ll stop being a crazy bitch now (it’s the savage ginge in me.) Truth is, I totally get it! You’re barren. Or you’re a lesbian. It’s all good. You and your spouse don’t have red hair (only 3% of the population does), so why would you select that trait in your male-order baby? Understood. I mean, if you’re a brunette/blonde lesbian couple and your kid is born with red hair, people will think a third party was involved. Gasp!

But hey, genetics is a bitch. You might wind up with a ginger out of sheer luck (or retribution), because your lil’ ol’ egg could be brimming with the nectar of the ginger gods. Muhahaha!

Come on redheads, let’s breed! Let’s not let the dwindling ginger population die of rejection! But don’t count on me – because of the whole vagina massacre thing. I already did my part. Check out the view from above:

Amazeballs. Old ladies pay big money for that which my boy has naturally. Dear old ladies: too bad, so sad. The only thing you can have from this photo is my purple slipper.

So breed on, gingers! Don’t let this sperm bank nonsense discourage you. Stay the course on Copperhead Road. Breed with other gingers (as long as they’re not your cousins). Squirt your scarlet juice into the wind until it sticks! Do whatever it takes to keep our kind alive and one day sweet victory shall be ours: total global ginger domination.

Tired of looking at pics of my boy because it makes your kid look even more ordinary by comparison? Fine. Then look at Christina Hendricks from Mad Men… Her hair, pervo!

Or Jessica Rabbit…

I said her hair!!! (Wow. And here I was thinking – with red hair comes pale skin and freckles. Apparently the big boob segment of my ginger gene package got lost in the mail, or ran down my mother’s leg. Robbed again.)

Or Carrot Top.


Okay, forget Carrot Top. Also forget the Weazley dude from Harry Potter, Sally Jesse Raphael, that crazy chick from the Weakest Link, Danny Bonaduce, and Lindsay Lohan. (She’s pretty, but the beauty is trumped by the bat-shit crazy).


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