Redheads have souls
Last week, during downtime in her freshman CA class, Molly engaged in a vigorous defense of her eternal essence.
The instigators of this deep, philosophical debate were Trey Parker, Matt Stone and Molly’s mischievous pal who said, “If your mother’s a ginger, you don’t have a soul.”
South Park references aside, I’m here to defend my copper-haired, freckle-faced brethren.
We have souls, man, and back in the day we had street cred too.
We had whip smart comediennes like Lucille Ball and Carol Burnett; talented authors like Emily Dickinson and James Joyce and resourceful beauties like Tina Louise, the only castaway elegant enough to pack a full wardrobe of sexy evening gowns for a three-hour cruise.
Ask yourself this: in a comic strip full of cuties, who stole Charlie Brown’s heart? That’s right, the Little Red Haired Girl.
Back then redheads had pride. My sister Jenny, for instance, once won…
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