Ladies and Gents and Bitches (and Non-Bitches, for the quick-to-be-offended type of bitch),
When I was first asked to do this blog, telling you what I think about Valentine’s Day, my immediate response was: “Fuck Valentine’s Day.” Seriously. Fuck it. What’s so important about it? Why do we need a day set aside every year for us to remember to tell people we love them? Are we so goddamn selfish and ignorant that we can’t remember to do that shit every day? What’s so hard about picking a flower and giving it to your girl on the 13th, or the 15th, or the 18th or the 19th? It takes all of thirty seconds. Just pluck that bitch from the ground or steal one from your neighbor’s rosebush and hand it to her. I promise she’ll appreciate that shit any day, not just the 14th. Hell, she’ll probably appreciate it more other days, because she’ll know you didn’t feel fucking obligated to do it.
And this is coming from a guy who used to think buying strawberry flavored motion lotion for a girl to use when they sucked my dick constituted a dinner date (as long as they swallowed, of course).
So, okay, I know what you’re thinking: “You dumbass, there’s history behind the holiday.” And you’d be right (about the history, not about being a dumbass… fuck you for that). So go ahead, tell me what it is… tell me the history… I’ll wait… *taps foot* *looks at watch* *sighs dramatically* *grumbles impatiently*
Yeah, you don’t fucking know, because nobody knows. I watch the history channel (when my TiVo turns that shit on and I can’t find the remote). Even those motherfuckers can’t agree on the history. And I bet some of you even started thinking about the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, didn’t you? *shakes head* Regardless of which story you believe, none of it has any goddamn thing to do with giant teddy bears and musical cards and lingerie and champagne and boxes of overpriced disgusting ass assorted chocolates with no labels so you gotta bite that motherfucker to see what’s inside. Why the fuck do they keep making them, anyway? I swear we’re all masochists for buying it. And don’t get me started about chocolate covered cherries. You bitches are ruining the cherries. Just throw those fuckers in a glass of coke and be happy.
So that’s why I said no, I didn’t want to talk about Valentine’s Day. Fuck Valentine’s Day. But then I thought about it (in other words, Haven said “you should think about it” and like a good boyfriend, I listened to my girlfriend and I fucking thought about it, because that’s what we’re supposed to do, so here I am, doing what I said I wouldn’t do… talking about it).
My parents were married on Valentine’s Day. Haven and I made love for the first time on Valentine’s Day (SPOILER ALERT…. but if you don’t know that, why the fuck are you reading this? Stop creeping on my shit, troll). So maybe none of that other shit means anything…. the cuddly, ooey-gooey, lovey-dovey, buying flowers and chocolate bullshit on a day where it might be about a dude who was beheaded but might not be because no one really fucking knows what they’re talking about… but to me, February 14th has true meaning, and that meaning has nothing to do with a fucking guy in a diaper shooting arrows at people. It’s the best day of my life, and I know it was the best day of my father’s life, too, because it was the day someone looked at us and said, “hey, this jackass might actually be worth keeping”.
So because I’m feeling generous, and because you made it this far in my pointless rant, the HBIC says I need to give you a little teaser. This is from that book that has no name that. I don’t know what the fuck is up with it, or why you’d want to read a book with no name, but here it is.
Happy Fucking Valentine's Day,
Carmine Marcello DeMarco
"Do you remember the first time we made love?" she asked quietly."Of course I do.""You worshiped me that day," she said. "Actually, thinking about it, you worshiped me every time. You were so attentive and always made me feel your love, but I never really had the chance to do the same. I tell you I love you all the time, and I do... I love you so much, Carmine... but I don't show you enough.""But you--"She held her hand up to silence him before he could object. "Just shut up, okay? Why do you always have to talk?"He cocked an eyebrow at her, a surprised chuckle escaping his lips as he waved for her to proceed. Sassy."I don't show you enough," she repeated. "You do so much, you go through so much in life, and you need to be shown love, too. You deserve to be worshiped."Carmine remained right in front of the door, not daring to move. He held his breath, watching intently as Haven removed the rest of her clothes and stood in front of him completely naked. He slowly scanned her, drinking in every drop of her petite frame, his eyes tracing her soft curves. The silvery scars that coated her skin glowed under the moonlight, intricate patterns that told countless stories--some of which only he would ever know. They were secrets she'd told him, secrets he would take with him to the grave, whether that be tomorrow or a century away.