Fuck Pandas

By Ann (Dedicated to Lara, for her mutual rage on the subject)

Here’s the thing:

Fuck pandas.

Fuck ‘em. I’ve had it with their bullshit.

People are always going on about pandas. “Oh, good heavens, the poor pandas are so endangered!” “Oh, my stars, we have to save them!”

Great idea. There’s just one problem.  You can save those giant failure-bears from poachers, but there’s no way to save them from themselves.

You see, pandas don’t want to be saved. They want to die. Because God made them to die. Think about it.

First, let’s talk about their food source. In spite of the fact that pandas were designed to be carnivores—they even have a carnivore’s digestive system—they scorn meat with all its life-giving potential and concentrate their efforts on obtaining… yep, you guessed it, bamboo. But why, you ask yourself? It must be because bamboo is better for them. Pandas couldn’t possibly be so bad at living that they made a species-wide decision to turn their backs on the food they’re supposed to be eating in favor of the shittiest, least nutritious plant that ever existed, right?

Wrong. Bamboo is the shittiest, least nutritious plant that ever existed. It is the most hideously inefficient source of energy nature was able to come up with. Pandas could eat three goddamn tons of that shit and only have the energy to sit up, sneeze on themselves, and then lie the fuck back down.

This sneeze is the most action this panda baby is going to see for the next three days of its life. I would’ve said three years, but let’s get serious. It’s going to be dead by then.

So, okay, okay, maybe their food source isn’t the best choice. But maybe God gave them a break and made them especially good at having lots of hot panda sex?  Nope. Wrong again. Pandas hate having sex with each other. Probably because their potential partners (of which there are how many left? like, three?) are all lazy bags of crap who are about as sexually appealing as stuffed teddy bears—because, let’s face it, pandas are basically inanimate objects.

And even when, by some act of divine intervention, two pandas muster up enough energy to hump each other for the requisite thirty seconds required to produce an offspring, they’re too tired to take care of it. So, unless we step in to nurse the fucking thing ourselves, it dies just like its parents intended.

Humans have done everything to save pandas. We give them all the bamboo they could possibly require, we force them to have sex despite how creepy that is, and then we even take the fucking babies away and try to raise them ourselves, because for some reason we think it’s necessary help these incompetent, lazy-ass bears survive another day, against the manifest will of God.

Face the facts, people. Pandas don’t want our help. They want the sweet release of death. Just let them go.

“But they’re so cute!” Sure, they’re cute. You know what else is cute? Every other fucking mammal. So let’s stop giving our time and energy to a creature too sleepy to live and bestow it upon one that’s going to go out and do something for itself.

I don’t know, like wolves maybe. Wolves are go-getters.

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