Fellowship of Freckles: The Importance of Gingers Sticking Together
Jan 5 2012 | by Lucky O'Connor GVTW
Introduction
_
February 11th starts off much like the other 364 days:
wake up from nightmares of the elementary school bully that used to give you
wedgies during P.E. Jump to your feet and look out your window to acknowledge
the beauty the day has brought. Take a long warm piss, then wash your hands
with your favorite watermelon soap (Gingers love the smell of watermelon).
Then--oh damn...
You just
looked in the mirror and remembered that you have red hair: a token passed down
thousands of years ago from your ancestors who abhorred sunlight and stalked
around in the darkest of night hunting on their sleeping prey--much like
vampires. Yes, you do have red hair. And yes, you have had it your whole life.
And yes, you most likely will have a bad rest of the day. Ok, you accepted it.
Good.
Whether this is a man, woman, or a set of conjoined twins is still under investigation and irrelevant. What's important to note here is the affectionate looks. Go ahead, no one is watching. Give yourself some lovin'. This will probably be the only affection you are shown on this day.
_ You finish
getting ready by choosing what clothes to wear. Two options are in front of
you: the shirt that is so tight and conductive it bakes your love handles into
the perfect mold of a muffin or the one that is so baggy, you seem more wimpier
than Harry Potter pre-Prisoner of Azkaban. You probably choose the latter and
walk downstairs to the kitchen where you break your fast upon the food of the
gingers: oatmeal.
Yes, you
hate it.Yes, it sucks. We all do and we
all know. But the misconception that permeates the life of a Ginger, almost
more so than our love for red bellies and swirlies, is that we enjoy this oaty
concoction.Our mothers, girlfriends, or
wives (pffft on the last two) by some unexplained law of nurturing instincts,
feel that this is the nourishment our pigment-challenged selves need to get
through a day of endless suffering and video games. This is probably due to the
same logic that makes us believe seagulls love Alka-Seltzer.
Just eat the
damn oatmeal so you can leave for school, work, or go back upstairs and surf
tirelessly for hours in search of new internet memes.
Everybody understands that Gingers aren't normal. We run most efficiently off of week old Crisco and questionable starches.
_ Let's
pretend you are one of the first two, who actually have productive lives. You
leave to go to where you were meant to go, content in a sense that you have
already accepted the dreariness of the day ahead of you. Step out that door
into the blistering sun. Bop. Kapow. Kyow. Thump. Squish. Thud. Clank.
Stompstompstomp. "Moooooooooooooooooooommy."
And you
think, "Oh Hell. It's Kick A Ginger Day."
One of the few survivors who lived to tell of the brutal events that occurred during last year's KAGD. Under the constant crying and occasional asthma attack, lies a story of almost overcoming in the face of adversity and showcases an impressive ability to take a whole lot of kicks. Utterly breathtaking. Two thumbs up.