The latest news I’ve chosen to fixate upon deals primarily with the death of that most useless of animals, the panda. Pandas, which are in fact closer to raccoons than proper bears, are the mascot for the World Wildlife Fund and many other organizations which have as their mission the preservation of species too dumb to live. This panda was of the red variety, and the relation to raccoons is much more pronounced in this species than the charmingly obese Chinese pandas with which we are so familiar.
The newly dead panda was - scarcely a month ago - newly born, making its death all the more tragic to fluff-brained enviro-tards. It is as if the skeletal hand of Death reached out to pet the cute widdle fing and stole its very breath. More likely, the stupid mother or father panda rolled over on it in the night and asphyxiated the unlucky fellow.
I look at the situation of pandas from this perspective: they don’t have sex very often, and they die at an astonishing rate in captivity. The average mortality of cubs born in captivity is around 50%. Humanity, blundering along as we do with the best intentions, is probably doing more to wipe the damn things out by our conservation efforts. There is only so much you can do with an animal that simply doesn’t have much interest in breeding. If it’s too lazy to mate more than once a year, I say let it die!
We have this problem in our culture. We’re unable to let go of things like Pandas, and eagles, and vaguely familiar celebrities. We can’t fathom a world without fat pseudo-bears, majestic flying carrion-birds, and Betty White. But nature comes for us all, friend. How many species have come into being only to retreat into the mist of utter nothingness? Millions! Each day we lose more and more, and there is not, despite the protestations of liberals and environmentalists, a goddam thing to be done about it. Betty is around 90, folks. Get ready for that one.
The sooner we as humans remember that life – precious though it may be – is fleeting then the sooner we shall stop raking ourselves across the coals every time a cute little animal keels over. The hubris we display in thinking that we can do anything so grand as “save the whales” (or the pandas or the stoat or any number of probably delicious and useful animals) is the breathtaking thing. Taken as we are with our superior intellects and “duty to the earth,” we don’t even realize how grandiose our proposals sound.
Yes, yes, I know somewhere out there is a frog that pisses a cure for cancer, and deep in the recesses of some primeval jungle there may be a bird that craps the best treatment for wrinkles. I’m not against conservation so much as against waste in pursuit of futile goals. Preserve what deserves to be preserved. But for Heaven’s sake let’s not be afraid to use animals as a resource to improve our quality of life.
On the flip side, let’s not allow our foolish sentiments to blind us to the reality of human suffering. Since DDT was banned, no anti-malarial measures have ever compared. Mosquitoes adapted to everything else and malaria remains a tremendous problem in Africa. Why did we ban this substance that, among other things, saved the Allied efforts in World War II by cleansing the port of Naples and keeping it from quarantine? Oh, because some dumbass wrote a book about how there would be no more birdies because their eggshells were weaker. So to hypothetically save some squawking avian, millions of humans actually suffer.
Millions of dollars have been spent on Pandas, those chubby, cheery bamboo chewing hucksters. To what end? Could not those millions have been spent in some nobler pursuit? Perhaps a rural broadband network. I would artifically inseminate dozens of pandas by hand if it meant we could get fast internet in B.F.E.