Valentines Day Causes Herpes

“When I see a woman I look at her vagina, breasts, lips and legs. Yea,” he pauses ignorantly. “I look at them in that exact order.” Wow! I am so lucky. I got to hear those exact words come out of the mouth of a guy trying to pick up on me. Upon hearing it I was so incredibly elated with his obtuse romanticism that I punched him in the throat. Then I ran over to his car an immediately pissed all over it. Being a subtle girl, I wanted to do as much as possible to show him how I felt in return. Where I am from, that type of behavior is called courting and almost always leads to fucking, but not necessarily dating. Gosh, doesn’t that sound like fun? Doing all the dating bullshit to just get fucked over reminds me of the most invalid holiday in the history of holidays, Valentines Day.

Let me explain a few basic things, before I start. To begin, I am awesome. No, really, I have it tattooed on my ass. “I am awesome” in black script font. I figure if you are going to fuck me from behind, you should be reminded of my complete and total awesomeness. Next, I make valid points and you should send me money. With that said, on with the tirade. Valentines Day is the one holiday outside of Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanza that ruins relationships and moreover lives. It makes you feel horrible if you are alone and worse if you are dating someone. Especially, if they fuck up your perfect pink holiday.

Let me explain why Valentines Day can kiss my AWESOME ass. First off, it isn’t a fucking valid holiday. And by valid holiday I mean, I still have to get up in the morning and go to work. Regardless, if cupid is running around and shooting arrows into people’s eyes blinding the fuck out of them. If I have to go to work then it’s a worthless, nonsensical holiday. The only good reason left to celebrate anything would be because I am in bed at home sleeping and silently sticking it to the man. But instead, I have to work on Valentines Day, leaving me with more love for something stupid like Veteran’s Day because at least I get the fucking day off of work because of them. Let the Veteran love commence and it can start, like all objects of awesomeness, with my vagina.

You see, Valentines Day is just this horrific holiday for Guys. They know they will never pull off some spectacular feat of their as a representation of love for their significant other. Let’s face it; most guys are probably not in love with the woman they are with. She is great for the time being because she lets them play with her vagina. And letting him play with her vagina is commendable, trust me, I know. Still, I don’t really think it necessitates stupid cards with roses on it that have lame, sappy messages, or chocolates or ANYTHING. If that’s a fact, from now on, post-coital, I expect to receive a hundred fucking roses, and a ninja.

Next, you have the woman who puts so much validity into this stupid, awkward holiday that it eventually begins the demise of her relationship. When she doesn’t get a ring or some form of “relationship validation” she gets to thinking. This is always dangerous because the whore usually goes to her FATTER, single friend who tells her to “Dump that Chump”, or some other ridiculously retarded episode title from a really bad Jenny Jones show. I mean, just because you suck his dick and periodically listen to his drunk rhetoric you now deserve lavish gifts of jewelry and the heads of tiny Chinese children? Perhaps she is of the awesome variety, but probably not. Maybe, she should just get over the fact that she doesn’t deserve a ring and maybe deserves some flowers, or perhaps only a donkey punch. Who knows really?

Finally, I have a problem with Valentines Day because it causes herpes, plain and simple. You see, if you’re not a total loser, but you’re single you want to go out. Somehow in your stupid tiny little brain getting super shit faced with a bar filled with people you don’t know, that are just as pathetic as you, sounds like a good idea. Although, it’s a horrible idea because you arrive at the bar and start drinking like a swarthy sailor on leave. And maybe you are drinking a little more than usual. Maybe your friends try to tell you to slow down but you throw them a dirty look and they wander off. Maybe you’re flirting a little more than usual. Maybe your tits hanging out a little more than usual. Whatever, you’re having a good time, right? The next thing you know you are being fucked from behind in the alley, while you’re vomiting. Then three weeks later you wake up with that burning itching sensation. What could it be? Oh no, it’s herpes because you needed some validation on a lame fucking holiday.

Lucky for me, I don’t need that kind of psycho-sexual affirmation. Or herpes. It all stems back from when I was a kid. On Valentines Day my dad would stop off at the gas station or something equally sleazy, and pick out a card that had a photo of some lady’s giant tits on it. Inside it would read: “You are AWESOME!” No one really made a big deal out of stupid trite holidays fortified by the media and endorsed by giant conglomerates because the people in my family have beyond an 8th grade education. Maybe your families should look into the same thing.

You can read more of Sabrina's thoughts in her blog, Nymphomania or Narcolepsy?. And we hope to have her back here again, one day soon. Because she thinks our website "doesn't suck too bad." In fact, she "kinda likes it." And that's high praise indeed from Sabrina.