I Wub You

If I may label myself (with the accuracy of a laser guided bloodhound, barracuda, or heat seeking missile) I would say that I'm probably the most romantic, soft hearted, open minded, lovey dovey, fancy pants, least bitter, most appropriately emotional individual wandering the face of the Earth today. Ask my friends and family. They would certainly agree.  But even I'm not falling for this Valentine's day bullshit. Now don't get me wrong, I always appreciated the chalky taste of conversation hearts, especially if they were given to me by one of the girls in my class who "developed" early.  Don't look at me like that.  It's not pedophilia if you're also 12 years old.  That night my mom would make heart shaped meat loaf.  It was always delicious. I would cover it with ketchup.  She probably thought I was making it red in the spirit of the holiday.  Little did she know I was pretending that I was partaking in the forbidden delicacy of human heart.  The ketchup obviously... oxygen rich blood.  What do you expect?  I went to Catholic school.  Themes of violence and horror were frequent.  I wonder how she would have felt about Valentine's Day meatloaf if she knew that she was actually fostering my juvenile fascination with cannibalism.  Suck on that Esther A. Howland.

But Valentine's Day was, from it's very inception, nothing more than federally mandated affection.  And while it is a boon for the fine people at Applebee's because it's the only night of the year where every other restaurant is so booked up that people are forced to go there, as an official American holiday it's still the illegitimate creation of some of the biggest bastard sons o' bitches to wandering the face of the Earth today, politicians (Was that a run on sentence? Grammar police, get at me).  Admittedly, I'm skipping a few steps.  There was of course the decree of a pope back in like late 400 something A.D. celebrating the life and death of one of several possible martyrs.  But ultimately, Valentine's Day was created to fill the consumer gap between Christmas and Easter.  In short, people weren't buying enough shit.  Well, people in the U.S. weren't buying enough shit.  We don't care what Iraqis or Portugese are buying.  Probably sand.

I'm not lobbying against love.  I'm just saying that if you participate in a corporate holiday then you're indisputably a sheep and you're giving into the man.  You might as well just line up at the post office and get on the next bus to the federal internment camp.  Because that's what's coming next.  That's right.  If you celebrate Valentine's Day, you hate freedom.  Quite a moral conundrum, isn't it you right wing neconservative whack jobs?  If you love someone, I've read somewhere that it's probably a great idea to express it daily in some form.  Tell them.  Give them a hug.  Make them an egg sandwich for breakfast.  Don't read into that.  I literally mean an egg sandwich.  To my knowledge it's not the name of an elaborate sex move.  And then every once in a while make a big celebration of your love.  Write a letter.  Hug them twice.  Make them an Egg Sandwich for Dinner.  That one is what you think it is.  But it shouldn't be forced.  If your major concern is that grocery stores don't sell a large selection of red candy year round, your fears have been addressed. Everyone loves Starburst. Even Iraqis.

Truth is, all this corporate stuff just casts a shadow over the otherwise honest and sincere acts of love that might be taking place anyway.  And that's a shame.  I have to protect the identities of the innocent.  But I know a guy who wrote a Valentine card to his wife after he died in which he threatened to haunt her by switching lights on and off and rubbing her butt.  Just another in a long life of loving actions.  Take notes Hallmark.  If you're not willing to become a "goast" to prove it, it just isn't love.