Fat Kids with Wings

As I count down the minutes to midnight and the restoration of some decorum and decency, I have to wonder when all you bastards became such… well… insensitive bastards.

Valentine’s Day has to be one of the most irritating and irrational holidays we celebrate. This is saying a lot, as I could (and probably will, i future) spill a gallon of metaphorical ink on the remaining holidays and the deranged myths and symbols that are attached to them. And like all the rest of those holidays, V-Day has become intensely commodified and consumerised. Hell, you might as well call it Valentine’s week, for God’s sakes! I’ve not only had to deal with at least a week of drivel in the newspapers, but a week of sentimental crap on the radio and television.

Why? So the stores can sell some more shit.

Stores are so festooned with red it makes you question whether your eyes are bleeding upon entering. If I hear one more run through of a sappy Richard Marx song, either on the radio or in a mall, I think I might be forced to choke the 90’s out of someone. There are roses and chocolates everywhere being hawked for outrageous prices, and people will buy that stuff regardless of cost because to abstain is to doom yourself to celibacy.

In an age when obesity and poor nutrition are lamented almost daily in the media by the medical community, do we really need more chocolate propaganda? Isn’t Valentine’s Day really the confectionary equivalent of celebrating heroin dealers or coke pushers?

And what the hell is this whole chocolate heart thing, by the way? How is it appropriate to demonstrate your affection for someone by giving them an edible effigy of an internal organ? What the hell is the symbolism here? In some cultures, warriors would eat the hearts of their fallen foes. Hunters would sometimes eat the still warm heart of their prey. In both examples, this has something to do with absorbing the spirit of the fallen in order to become stronger. This is well within keeping of the ancient Egyptian view that held that the soul was within the heart; this is the one organ that was left in the body when embalming and mummifying the dead.

How God damn romantic.

Roses? Dismembered sex organs. Seriously. The flower is the part of the plant that allows for reproduction, which means a gift of flowers is really a bouquet of penises.

Cupid? A flying fat kid with archaic weaponry. To be struck by the cherub’s arrow is to be caught in a medieval equivalent of a drive by. Besides, being hit by cupid just means that your free will is being taken from you. You can do the same without the risk of losing an eye by liberally applying the beer goggles, which, I’m sure, more than one poor sap will have done this evening.

Finally, as you can tell, Valentine’s Day is a day when the coupled world applies fingers to their temples, sticks their tongues out, and heartily taunts the rest of us un-coupled types. What about the single people? Having an entire day dedicated to celebrating one group’s fortune at the expense of the unfortunate doesn’t sound very heart-warming. All that shit in the stores is for people who have someone to give shit to. The rest of us are just caught in the sad part of a chick flick. Hallmark movies, Marx songs and sappy gifts, all just salt in an open wound. “Thank you sir, may I have another?”

As you might have guessed, nobody bought me flowers.

I hate you all.

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