You ever go on a few dates with a ginger and just think… “Damn. Cartman was right. This girl has zero soul.”

Personally I thought he was just being a little intense, maybe a little hateful even. But after three dates I realized: nah… the man was a prophet.


But I’m a man of science, and one thing I do not ignore is data. I went out with a ginger, and after date number three I had to sit down and write the definitive paper on this. It’s Title:

“Photodermatological Soul Migration: How the MC1R Gene Causes Seasonal Affective Disorder, Chronic Sadness, and Spontaneous Soul Ejection in Homo Gingirus.”

Here’s the peer-reviewed proof, folks. Follow the science.

Step one: Red hair = MC1R mutation. That mutation makes you allergic to the sun. You step outside for six minutes and you look like a boiled lobster wearing freckles. Specifically, a lobster that’s been caught in a drive-by shooting with a pepper grinder, a freckled crime scene. 
So what do gingers do? They are forced to stay indoors. Like vampires, with slightly better PR and worse dating profiles. “Hi, I’m pale and photosensitive, let’s Netflix in my basement forever… bring SPF 1000.”

Step two: No sunlight = Seasonal Affective Disorder. That’s the fancy doctor word for “I’m sad because the sky is gray and I haven’t created vitamin D since 2019.”

Step three: Chronic sadness builds up. Your soul is like, “Bro… this basement-goth life is depressing. I’m out.”

”And just like that — poof — the soul packs its bags and ghosts the body harder than she ghosted me after date three.

.

What you’re left with is a perfectly operational human body that can order avocado toast, ghost you after three dates, and still look mysteriously hot in black turtlenecks… but zero soul behind the eyes.


That’s why she could laugh at my jokes, slide the bill over to me, like most women, and still make me feel like I was emotionally dating a Roomba with better cheekbones.

I tested the theory live.…
I said, “Babe, you wanna go to the beach?”

She looked at me like I suggested we set ourselves on fire.

Exactly. Soul already gone. It left years ago and is probably living its best life in Miami right now while her body is stuck here sliding the tab my way, in the one area of the planet where gingers thrive, Northern England in mid-February.

So yeah, I’m done dating gingers. From now on my dating profile says:

“No gingers. Must have documented soul. Recent soul photos preferred. References from priest or exorcist acceptable.”

Cartman tried to warn us in 2005. We called him a bigot.

Turns out he was just ahead of the peer review.

Thank you. I’ll be here all week. Tip your waitresses… and check your date’s freckle count. Each one might be a stolen soul.