Fuck Valentine’s Day

Yeah yeah yeah, I’m 25 and every year around this time my grandmother and sister become a little bolder in asking about my so-called love life. Never had one, never want one. Call it a spate of extremely bad luck, but all the girls I’ve dated have been sociopaths, bottom-feeders, or emotional train-wrecks that worked their magic spell to make me just as fucked up as they were. Maybe this is the mysterious change that women are supposed to have on men, they unleash their problems and see if a man has empathy or if he turns the volume of the TV up a couple notches to drown out their incessant wailing.

I’m not trying to generalize, except I have to generalize because the representatives of the female species who have crossed my path are pretty damn rotten. This is not to claim that I am “all that” or anything of the sort, I mean hey, I have a horrible case of bachelorus habitatus (translation: there is a 3 foot pile of clothes on the bedroom floor) and my fridge contains more beer and sandwich meats than the local deli. One redeeming value of my bachelor lifestyle is that I get to decorate any which way I like, unfortunately I have discovered my taste is expensive antique furniture, leather sofas, velvet drapes (Gawd not Elvis, think Baroque), all intermingled with modern electronics. Whoa, let’s kill this tangent, back to why I hate women… wait shit that’s not what I mean… back to why I hate Valentine’s Day.

First of all, the month of January (and sometimes February) has the highest rate of domestic violence (which has been directly linked to Super Bowl Sunday), whereas February has the highest marriage rate. Statistically speaking, you are encouraged to beat the shit out of your girlfriend when she whines about not respecting her [whatevers] and interrupts your precious football game, only to make it up to her with a box of chocolates or a ring or a teddy bear the following month. And it’s not even a real holiday, Hallmark made it up so you wouldn’t feel bad about the black eye and busted lip that was finally healing. Don’t you feel good about yourself. Oh wait, I forgot to mention love.

Yes, love… okay, love has nothing to do with Valentine’s day. The truth is that women are looking for some mad loot and if you don’t give them something to tide them over until Spring/Easter shopping season, they are going to take your credit cards and max them out, then dump you. Guys basically want sex, that’s pretty sad but men are just plain horny and Valentine’s day means badonka-donk. Think about it the next time you are buying a card for your girl… are you thinking: “Hey, I love her”, or do you think: “Man I hope I don’t fuck this up, I hope this isn’t too cheesy, I wonder if she would laugh at the card with the monkeys kissing, nah, I’ll just get her the one with the angels, dude I’m so getting some tonight”. Guys, if it’s the long drawn out one, that means you are thinking with the little head, it likes to talk like that, except it sounds like Mr. Roper from Three’s Company, or at least mine does. But trust me, if you hear Mister Roper, call for an escort, they are cheaper and they leave when you want them to, and you get to skip over the smarmy love crap and get right to the whoopee (which, by the way, is still a socially acceptable term for sex). It’s win/win, but an awfully expensive cab fare. But again I digress.

Another hilarious statistic has to do with menstruation, or as I like to call it, “Dear lord the woman’s bleeding from her {bleep}ing {bleep-bleep bleep} someone call a {bleep}ing ambulance”. I garner than roughly 1/6 of all women are seeping on the glorious Red Heart Day itself, and why wear your heart on your sleeve when you can wear it in your panties as well. Well excuse me for saying so, but that’s just disgusting. If you are in the unlucky 1/6th of that population, I have pity on you because all that junk you bought won’t mean crap unless you have some really freaky girl who likes to get it on in the middle of a crimson tide, and chances are you probably won’t be too turned on by it yourself.

Again our subject at hand, Valentine’s day and it’s trappings: chocolate (which in the event you date a stripper, should be given in concentrated “white powder” form to fully express your love), lingerie which hits the floor in .0005sec, card, dinner, drinks, wine, jewelry, theater, etc, etc. You can easily spend $400+ on a woman just to get some of the tang, and even then you might have some fat chick that you’re afraid to let go of lest you be alone on Valentine’s Day (or just plain alone). Listen up loser, save half of that money and get an X-Box, and spend the other half on a hooker, it’s definitely cheaper.

And for God’s sake, stop beating the shit out of your woman during the Super Bowl!

Update: Joe Stump tried to tell me that my claiming that domestic violence rises during the Super Bowl is not true. My response is that there is strong evidence that there is indeed domestic violence related program activities. We’ll let it go at that lest any of you unpatriotic wife-beaters dares to call me a liar, you goddamn liberals.

2 Comments
  1. The superbowl abuse is an urban legend, just like water pipes bursting all over during half time because of all the flushing. Check out snopes.com

  2. scot: please read the entire post piece, I already addressed this, but I suppose some people can’t be bothered to read the BIG RED LINK.

    *sigh*

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