Candy Hearts or Burning Crotch??
Is it a coincidence that Valentine's Day and Venereal Disease both share the same Initials? Been thinking about this one ALL day.
Of course . . . I have been thinking about some other shit, as well. It was obviously enough to awaken me from my "Blogging Coma". Despite my cynicism, skepticism, and extremely dry sense of humor. . . I am a very loving guy. Really. Stop laughing, and ask the people that actually know me. I have a lot of love, and have no issues sharing it with the people that I hold in my heart. There are a lot. BUT , , , today I am sickened and feel the need to express no love at all. Look, men are fucking stupid and pathetic. Why does a boquet of flowers, today, make up for the fact that you never call her any other day of the year? Why do you have to take her out tonight? A conversation, at home, lasts longer than the semi-expensive dinner you are treating her to. She will shit out the bread rolls that came before dinner, before the night is over. She will atleast hold that conversation until she chews YOU up and shits you out a few months down the line.
Really though. Buy her candy that was made in a factory by a machine, send her flowers grown from the dirt that was toiled over by another, and be sure to give her a card that was written by someone else. This is sure to score you a slot in her black book. Or, if you're already there, you'll avoid "the hunt for poon" for another month or two. Come on. Does love have a dollar sign in front of it? Men, you are pathetic . . . I expect this from you. But ladies ... I had higher hopes for you. How are you going to let this shit fly?
"I wasn't really interested in dating Jim. But, he showed up at my door with a dozen white roses"
"James slept with everyone in my office, including the new guy in the mail room. But, Cynthia, he bought me candy"
"I know Franklin has that huge hump on his back, the third nipple, halitosis, and drools when he gets ovterly excited. . . but he got me the most adorable card with Garfield on the front".
Get the idea? Any woman who accepts monetary or physical gifts, in exchange for affection . . . that makes her one thing in my book. Sorry.
Quality lies outside Publix, and happiness can be obtained far from the door of a Hallmark store. Talk to your someone. . . or your potential someone. Write them a poem or a note. Love them without your wallet. Love them with your heart. I'm not saying that I have never bought someone a gift. I buy them all of the time. It's never the most expensive "anything". It's never the shiniest "whatever". It's always something that I know holds more value than the numbers on its' receipt. I can afford shiny expensive things . . . but they are only worth the box they come in . . . and that's the first thing to wind up in the trash.
Of course . . . I have been thinking about some other shit, as well. It was obviously enough to awaken me from my "Blogging Coma". Despite my cynicism, skepticism, and extremely dry sense of humor. . . I am a very loving guy. Really. Stop laughing, and ask the people that actually know me. I have a lot of love, and have no issues sharing it with the people that I hold in my heart. There are a lot. BUT , , , today I am sickened and feel the need to express no love at all. Look, men are fucking stupid and pathetic. Why does a boquet of flowers, today, make up for the fact that you never call her any other day of the year? Why do you have to take her out tonight? A conversation, at home, lasts longer than the semi-expensive dinner you are treating her to. She will shit out the bread rolls that came before dinner, before the night is over. She will atleast hold that conversation until she chews YOU up and shits you out a few months down the line.
Really though. Buy her candy that was made in a factory by a machine, send her flowers grown from the dirt that was toiled over by another, and be sure to give her a card that was written by someone else. This is sure to score you a slot in her black book. Or, if you're already there, you'll avoid "the hunt for poon" for another month or two. Come on. Does love have a dollar sign in front of it? Men, you are pathetic . . . I expect this from you. But ladies ... I had higher hopes for you. How are you going to let this shit fly?
"I wasn't really interested in dating Jim. But, he showed up at my door with a dozen white roses"
"James slept with everyone in my office, including the new guy in the mail room. But, Cynthia, he bought me candy"
"I know Franklin has that huge hump on his back, the third nipple, halitosis, and drools when he gets ovterly excited. . . but he got me the most adorable card with Garfield on the front".
Get the idea? Any woman who accepts monetary or physical gifts, in exchange for affection . . . that makes her one thing in my book. Sorry.
Quality lies outside Publix, and happiness can be obtained far from the door of a Hallmark store. Talk to your someone. . . or your potential someone. Write them a poem or a note. Love them without your wallet. Love them with your heart. I'm not saying that I have never bought someone a gift. I buy them all of the time. It's never the most expensive "anything". It's never the shiniest "whatever". It's always something that I know holds more value than the numbers on its' receipt. I can afford shiny expensive things . . . but they are only worth the box they come in . . . and that's the first thing to wind up in the trash.