When I was a younger man and actually believed in ridiculous
things like basic human decency, humility, and love, people called me gullible.
Now that I’m older I can dust off the ash and dandruff the LifeMonster vomited
all over me and say through Clint Eastwood-like clenched teeth that everything
we’re taught about romance and love is bullshit.
We’ve all heard Valentine’s Day is a holiday created by
greeting card companies and confectioners to sell cards and chocolate. It’s the
most pussy-whipped, superficial and ill-conceived holiday in the calendar next
to Groundhog Day and Arbor Day. In fact, I’d rather plant a tree and watch a
groundhog than participate in the inane rantings of a bad couple who stay
together because it’s Feb. 14.
Before you say such a negative attitude is cynical and the
people who are grumpy around Valentine’s Day are alone, I have to say two
things:
1 1. The name of this blog is the Angry Reporter. I
work in rage and frustration the way Picasso worked in paint or Bill Clinton
worked in pussy. You should know what you’re getting into when you read my
screeds o’ fury. And,
2 2. Fuck you.
Valentine’s Day suggests – nay, forces everyone, like a tinpot dictator issuing decrees through a bullhorn – to be happily in love and romance the shit out of each other:
“All couples will meet in the town
square and sweethearts will hold hands! If hands are not held, the firing
squads will pick you off one by one! Love! Love! LOVE!!!!”
I’ve been in a serious
relationship for over two years, and each year my girlfriend wants us to do
something for Valentine’s Day. This usually translates to us going out to some
overpriced restaurant, which is more excruciating and horrible than being raped by Bigfoot and Gary Busey in a truckstop bathroom.
Valentine’s Day insists you reward
your beloved with romantic trinkets like chocolates and roses and buy them
steak and lobster. If you don’t do these things, you’re a horrible boyfriend
and secretly desire to see your girlfriend murdered by Al Qaeda.
I treat Valentine’s Day like I do
anything antiquated; a sad remnant of a simpler time when a hastily-made
valentine, decorated with lace and intricately-cut paper, contained the dreamy
musings of a lovestruck bachelor who only wanted the schoolmarm to see through
his awkward country ways.
As a holiday, Valentine’s Day is a
clunky throwback, a nonsensical charade which has no baring on modernity. It’s
the 21st century, Skippy! If your woman doesn’t know you love her
because you bought her a diamond tiara and Cuisinart juicer for Christmas, she’s a cluless
harpy and unworthy of your attention. Fortunately, my girlfriend doesn’t
need decorative baubles from me to know I love her.
Romance is a really stupid thing.
When you’re young, in love is where you want to be. As you age, you just want
someone who understands you. I guess that’s what love really is. It doesn’t
have anything to do with chubby-cheeked cherubs with a bow and arrow, or boxes
of candy or expensive flowers. Love is that feeling you get at night when both
of you are watching that home improvement show on HGTV and your hands drift toward each other and fingers briefly intertwine and she looks at you and
smiles and without saying a word, you change the channel because HGTV is
complete crap and anyone who habitually watches is a braindead chinchilla.
The point is, you don’t need some
goofy holiday to celebrate your love. You should be doing that every day, with displays
of affection. Tell the person you appreciate them. Say how much they mean to
you.
Later, when you’re giving her
epically orgasmic, sweaty, eyes-crossed, toe-curling, screaming-to-the gods sex,
you’ll thank me for saving you a dinner reservation and not buying into the
Valentine’s Day scam.
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