To the creators, hosts, enablers, and poor, doomed listeners of the podcast “Beasts Between the Sheets”,

It has come to my most posthumous horror that my scientific masterpiece, On the Origin of Species, is being regularly and obscenely cited in your… programming. A term I use as loosely as your understanding of biology.

Specifically, I must protest the recent trend of pseudo-intellectual audio content wherein my evolutionary theory is being wielded—not to educate, inspire, or even mildly entertain—but to justify the most unhinged conversations surrounding bestiality, cryptid courtship, and other zoological indecencies that would make even a Victorian faint with existential disgust.

Let me be excruciatingly clear: my theories on natural selection, speciation, and the majestic tapestry of evolutionary change were not written to serve as erotic fanfic fuel for those who believe consensual interspecies romance is just “the next great frontier.”

When I wrote of “survival of the fittest,” I was not referring to a bracket-style competition between centaurs and minotaurs for human affection. Nor did I ever imply that fitness involved oiling up a werewolf and discussing his pheromone profile over wine.

To clarify: my mention of “descent with modification” was not, under any natural law or tortured metaphor, meant to condone intimate relations with wombats, werewolves, or whatever creature you’ve decided to eroticize this week. Natural selection does not mean swiping right on a capybara. Adaptation does not include adapting your dating preferences to include marsupials.

You have twisted my life’s work into an ungodly mash of biological misinterpretation and libidinal delusion—and with such confidence! It’s as if Freud, David Attenborough, and a raccoon with rabies co-wrote your script.

This is an official cease and desist:

Cease citing my name while describing “the primal allure of gorilla dominance.”

Desist from interpreting evolutionary adaptation as foreplay.

And for the love of all that is natural, stop using my image in your show art, especially the version where I’m winking and shirtless with a panther.

Should you fail to comply, be advised that the Royal Ghost Society of Scientists will commence nightly hauntings. Expect cryptic Latin murmurs from your attic, inexplicably moist microphones, and inexplicable evolutionary regressions.

You’ll wake up one morning and have to Google whether humans had tails.
(Spoiler: not like that.)

With academic agony,
Charles R. Darwin
Naturalist, Theorist, Deeply Unamused Specter