Join me now, those of you with iron stomachs, as we contemplate the massive pussygrab that is Valentine’s Day. It’s a national mega-bootycall in a paper-lace heart-shaped candy coating. Dudes throw a bundle of plastic-wrapped gas station roses at the straight girls once a year, and the straight girls are supposed to go to pieces over this magnanimous declaration of ‘love’. According to cultural narrative, the macho male is supposedly hardwired to ‘forget’ Valentine’s Day; this is so that even the crappiest box of stale Russell-Stover chocolates will be received with tears of wide-open-beaver gratitude. Overwhelmed that he has actually remembered to observe the cheap valentinian conventions with such clumsy pink-and-red love pantomimes as are prescribed on the great day, the woman’s learned behavior is to obligingly turn out in the Frederick’s of Hollywood stripper drag that properly feted Valentinees are expected to wear, poised for the humpty-hump.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
[Valentine's Day] Twistyfaster Says It Better Than I Ever Could
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
You know, when you grow up and your teen angst dissipates, you will probably fall into some ruts. And eventually you will look forward to a parade, or a family reunion. Christmas may seem much less the bother. And maybe, just maybe, you will will become a romantic man in a committed relationship. If that happens, you may well find that Valentines day is an opportunity to do something for a woman that is so frivolous that it just could not be more frivolous. $100 for delivered roses. A diamond.
And the message is that the man honors the woman so much that at least once a year, he will throw rose petals at her feet. It is a beautiful thing.
Anonymous:
Teen angst?
Are you quoting Cracker or something?
Let's just say you are obviously making some unwarranted and incorrect assumptions about me and leave it at that.
Post a Comment