There are some people in this world who feel bad for polar bears. That’s fine. I occasionally catch myself feeling bad for Tim Tebow, so far be it from me to police anyone else’s sympathetic leanings.
But then there are some other people in this world who expect ME to feel bad about polar bears. They show me photos of polar bears floating away into the ocean on tiny, globally warmed, pencil-eraser-sized icebergs. They show me this photo as though it is a depiction of a kitten stuck in a tree, or an infant plopped carelessly atop the hood of a moving Camaro, or an indigenous culture crushed under the heel of the White Man’s boot. As though it were something to feel bad about it.
Listen: I don’t feel sorry for polar bears. Guess what? Tyrannosaurus Rex is fucking extinct, and I don’t feel sorry for him, either. So good luck getting me to shed any tears over a giant predator that’s feeling a little peckish.