And the sun isn't even cool about it, either. It's like, if you're going to burn me, at least do it evenly. Maybe I missed my elbows when I was applying sunscreen, or forgot I had a neck, but I tried to 'screen properly; the sun doesn't even cut me a break and suddenly the tops of my feet are the colour of Carrot Top's favourite red tshirt. How was I supposed to know feet burn? They're feet!!!
My family is from Scottland, Ireland, and England, a trifecta of paleness. I've never stood a chance against that stupid giant star that all life depends on. I have probably only avoided skin cancer at this point because the sun feels it would be unsportsmanlike, like taking candy from a baby and then giving him skin cancer.
There's signs out at the beach that are supposed to help protect you from the sun. You know the ones: Slap on a Hat, Slam on Some Shades, Stab on a Shirt, etc. But what they don't tell you is that the sun isn't satisfied with ruining your albino good looks in the summer. Oh no, UV rays are around even when it's cloudy, and even when you think you're safe tucked away in a tanning bed.
As they always say, though, the best defense is a good offense. That's why I'm starting a postcard campaign to eliminate the sun. Mostly I'm just putting my mean-yet-pun-filled postcards ("You're a SUN-of-a-bitch!" etc.) in balloons and releasing them as vigorously as possible into the atmosphere, but a petition to NASA is in the works. Also, I'm starting a novelty-oversized-hose drive (fingers crossed that that is such a thing!) in hopes of eventually cobbling together enough water power to put out the sun altogether. Together, we can accomplish anything! Let's strive for a darker tomorrow.
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