Valentine’s Day, blech.
I mean I could basically leave it at that, right?
I’m sure it’s no shock to anyone that this girl’s cold, dead heart does not warm in the slightest to the idea of an entire fucking day dedicated to love and romance and doing unnecessary shit for people in your life when all you really want to do is look at the internet and drink a glass of stainless steel chard in your pajamas.
I mean seriously.
Here’s photographic evidence of what I look like in love:
Do you know what I want for Valentine’s Day? For Valentine’s Day to go the fuck away. Shouldn’t it have disappeared with the United States Postal Service and newspaper delivery and Hallmark stores?
Um, those things all still exist.
Really? No they don’t.
Just because you don’t use them doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
Sure it does. And following that hypothesis, since I’m not actively observing Valentine’s Day then it too should go away.
Cause you know what I don’t want is a box of fucking mismatched chocolates with unidentified cream filled centers, 80% of which will taste like shit, 100% of which will give me a goddamn migraine.
Do you really want an overweight, cranky diabetic wife slapping your hand when you attempt to eat one of those orange filled balls of goo? Didn’t thinks so.
What about those shitty little candy hearts so unromatically called “Conversation Hearts”? What is the fucking point to those? Giving someone a box full of sugary chalk eerily printed with phrases like “I love you” or “fax me” or “be kind” or “hugs” or “lick my balls” that you purchased at the gas station on the way over is the opposite of love and really just makes you seem like an asshole with stalker tendencies.
Then there’s the jewelry. Oh the fucking jewelry. All of which looks exactly the same. Love pendant. Promise ring. Precious gems. Solitaire shit. Teardrop blah. Bag of dicks. If I get anything less than an actual anatomical bleeding heart I’m throwing it in the fucking trash.
Speaking of trash. What a bunch of garbage Valentine’s cards are. Imagine how much less trash we’d all have if we nixed V-Day cards all together. Yeah, yeah, I get it, you love me. But come on. Now I have to keep this goddamn piece of signed cardboard around for anywhere from two weeks to the rest of my life or risk being deemed “heartless” and “inhuman.” When I do decide to throw it away, I’ll be filled with massive consuming guilt about what a terrible person I am in general. I’ll have to sit at my desk and look at it standing upright in the trash can staring at me as if to say “you ungrateful bitch” until the cat vomits and I toss the barf filled paper towel I used for clean up on top and forget all about it.
God.
Look, I know I haven’t even addressed flowers yet. This is the one place I can give a little leeway. But if you do buy flowers, don’t get a pile of fucking cliched red roses to sit around all trashy and hypocritically pokey. Get something else. Do what any normal person would do: stop at the grocery store and buy the cheapest fucking bouquet you can plus a halfway decent bottle of whiskey. Scratch that. Fuck the flowers, get the whiskey. It’ll show you really care.
But the worst — THE WORST — is bitches who are all depressed when Valentine’s Day rolls around because they “don’t have anyone to love them” or are “still single.”
Bitch, please. Let’s get to the bottom of the issue: You’re unloveable. Get used to it. There are going to be many more lonely Valentine’s Days ahead so crack open that whiskey and settle in. You have 365 more days to drown your lonesome sorrows and concoct a plan to con some poor sucker into putting up with your crazy shit day in and day out.
After all, isn’t that what love’s all about?
