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Every day, nearly 1.3 million Minnesotans are eaten by bears. It’s a fact. A park ranger told me. Which park ranger? Um... Elfonso. No, I don’t know his last name. Where did I meet a park ranger in Minnesota named Elfonso? Why don’t you go to hell? I’m telling a story here.

Fact: Bears are dicks. They eat your sandwiches. They steal honey from your personal beehives. They flirt with your wife. They poop in the forest, even when county records clearly show that you own that part of the forest. They don’t have any damn respect for this society we’ve painstakingly built. Manners! Rules! Polite nodding when others are telling boring stories! Bears care for none of these things, because bears are assholes.

Can you recall a single time that a bear has done something nice for you? Has a bear ever given you a ride home from work in its car, or returned a book to you in decent condition? When you call a bear, does it answer, or does the call go straight to voicemail after, like, two rings? Do the Christmas cards you receive from bears have personal notes handwritten inside of them, or are they just generic “photo cards” of the bear’s family? I think we all know the answers to these questions. Bears are jerks.

Here’s some wisdom from my own personal experiences. If you build a ramp to the roof of your house so you can do a sweet jump off it on your Huffy dirt bike, bears will use it to poop in your chimney. If you get drunk at a party and start hitting on your own cousin, bears will not warn you. If you have a secret second wife in Mexico because your wife in the States doesn’t like using her mouth, bears will tell her. And they won’t provide any context, either. None whatsoever. Very rude.

I once went to a crowded art gallery on opening night, and bears were standing around chatting with each other right in front of the best paintings, blocking others from viewing them. That’s just wrong. Take it outside, bears.

Every time I use the restroom, I have to lift up the toilet seat and make sure there aren’t bears hiding underneath. Every time I drink whiskey by myself at home, I find that bears have already drunk some of it and refilled the bottle with water. Every time I Google myself, I find that my website isn’t listed until page 10, because the first nine pages are filled with bears who are also named Paul Ryan.

One time I got all messed up on Highland Park whiskey and passed out nude in my front yard, face-up. That doesn’t really have anything to do with bears—I just want the people reading this column to know how interesting I am.

Bears serve no logical purpose in life. What’s that you say? They’re part of the food chain? They eat fish? Well, I eat fish. They eat deer? I also eat deer. They eat honey? I eat Honey Nut Cheerios. Everything a bear provides for the world, human beings can do better, which is why it’s time we got rid of bears completely. I have put together a step-by-step guide that I like to call “The Ethnic Cleansing of Undesirable Bears.”

Step one! Set traps. I’ve placed a series of bear traps around my neighborhood, and it seems to be working. Please note that you have to check the traps each day and remove all the dead cats, dogs, and children who accidentally wander into them. Please also note that if a police officer knocks on your door and asks if they are your bear traps, the correct answer is “no.”

Step two! Buy lots of guns. The bigger the better. Obama’s going to ban assault rifles and Jesus and erotic puppets soon, so it’s important that you buy as many of these things as possible. If you have any doubts as to whether it’s “fair” or “morally correct” to unleash military-grade weaponry on a bear, remember that these bears are flirting with your wife.

Step three! After all the bears are dead, pile their carcasses into a rocket and blast them into outer space, carefully guiding them into a black hole where they will be dissolved back into dark matter. This is the equivalent of giving a “return to sender” notice to God. Try again, Lord. Those bears you created were for shit. Make an animal that doesn’t eat my sandwiches, damn it.

Step four! It seems I’ve forgotten what this step entails. My apologies.

Step five! Sit back and let the cash roll in. Profit. Dollars. Coin. Bling. Pinkberry. Alvin and the Chipmunks. Riches. We’re all gonna be stupid rich. We just gotta get them bears out of the way first. Join the cause, reader. Join the cause.