The Old Man’d left a diary
Which told what he had done.
Meant as a bit of mischief
A little bit of fun.

He’d stumbled on some Purists
Whose goal he’d fin’ly snared,
At last to rid this planet
Of genes thought best not shared.

It took a while of fiddlin’
To build the plague just right,
To cleanse the world of wrongness
Without a messy fight.

The Old Man, being naughty,
Had tweaked the bug a tad,
Now Earth’s surviving peoples
Are ALL dark brown and glad.