This holiday is bullshit, created by fearful poets, too cowardice to express their love face to face with the ones they lust after. Chicken shit artists that would rather communicate through pen and brush than use the extremities nature gifted them. And unimaginative men and women, who would give a rose before a caress, a Hershey’s kiss before a real one, or a three dollar card with words they should have spoken in body language.
Chaucer, you Old English prick. You turned fiction into truth, comparing avian mating rituals to human courtships. Shakespeare, you poor confused closet queen, misusing a so-called Saint to demoralize women, turning maids into whores. Valentine, those seven men who apparently did something no one can remember, marked as saints by these popish words, "... whose names are justly reverenced among men, but whose acts are known only to God." Or Esther Howland, abusing her father’s stationary store to manufacture one more day requiring men to buy fake crap for women.
Oh you Hallmark holiday fucks, too lazy to cut giant hearts out of crimson construction paper, too lethargic to crazy glue glittered lace into borders, and too damn dull to inscribe your own words that you need a company to do it for you. Love is overrated, biochemically no different than eating large quantities of chocolate. But we are forced to buy them, just in case the ones we wish to woo but won’t take us home can still feel something later.
I’m not a cynic by nature, I believe in the possibility of love, I’ve just never actually seen it. And Valentine’s day well, it’s really all about glutinous corporate greed pushing chocolate covered candies, flowers, and in some cultures, a chicken, all in the effort to buy into this thing called love. It’s a Catholic holiday masked behind a word and a feeling, tricking everyone into becoming religious without the choice.
They should officially change the name to single’s depreciation day, for being alone I guess isn’t bad enough. They need to rub it in your face, forcing you to watch “happy” couples frolic and prance like a spoiled rich kid with a new car shouting, “look what you don’t and probably will never have.” I think along with the massive amounts of red, white, and pink shit to buy there should be large discounts on hand guns only sold with a single bullet, inscribed with “love stinks” on the casing and a broken heart etched into the tip.