Here it is, my third annual Valentine’s Day shitting-upon festival. And let me tell you, I’m as pissed off about this “holiday” as ever. The problem is, I’m pretty much beating a dead horse here. What hasn’t been said in one of my previous entries (both now lost because, well, Modblog is a fucking shithole of a site)?

The answer is: nothing. No rock has been left unturned in on this subject. However, since both of my earlier entries have been lost, I will iterate, and reiterate my main problems with this, the fourteenth day of February.

Everything about the holiday is fake as hell. How many people, honestly, want to spend all of this money on shitty candy and wilted flowers and cheesy-ass Hallmark cards? No one really wants to. But it’s expected of us to give things to our significant others during this hellish reign of Cupid. It’s unprotestable. Try bringing this up to your girlfriends, guys. Say that you dislike everything that this holiday stands for, and that you’re not going to get her any chocolate, any roses, nor any $3 cards with anthropomorphic animals and schmaltzy puns. See how she takes it. If she’s like 99% of women out there, she’ll either call you cheap, or claim that you don’t love her. Love, on this day, is measured in material goods. It’s a sad truth. You can do the most romantic thing ever for your girlfriend, but if there isn’t a floral bouquet or a heart-shaped box full of cacao-based confections, you’re going to be flying solo tonight, chances are.

I guess it’s sort of indicitave of our materialistic society. You can win over any girl’s heart if you spend enough money on her. The ninety-nine hundreths I previously mentioned, they’re completely vapid individuals, and pretty much use guys as their personal credit cards. Really, it’s a brilliant method they have collectively devised. Want to go to the movies, but don’t want to throw down the $9 ticket price? Promise a guy you’ll give him a handjob in the theater, and you’ll get in, and probably be able to drown yourself in popcorn and Skittles, too. Need something excessively pricey, say a new purse or one of those cuuuuuute new iPod Shuffles? Give your man access to the Hershey highway, and you’re golden (but be sure he stops and gets some Vaseline on the way home if you decide to go this route).

It’s essentially prositution, except mostly legal. V-Day is basically prositution too, except the guy gets royally shafted. Sure, a lot of them will get more Poon than a Chinese phonebook, but in the end, the essential question remains: was it worth it?

Was having sex with your girlfriend, with whom you’ve probably had sex dozens of times before, worth unintentially degrading both of you by perpetuating this vile, superficial holiday?

Oh. It was?

Well, was having sex with your girlfriend worth the amount of money you spent on god-knows-what to get there? I’m talking about the $2.99 Hallmark card, the $50+ bouquet of roses, the $10 box of chocolates, and…god have mercy on you if you had to throw down a handful of Benjamins for jewlery, or even more so if you happened to purchase a goddamned eighty dollar teddy bear dressed as an antiquated thief or a wife-beatin’ truck driver.

Oh, it was.

Well, then, that pretty much shits all over my plan.

Women aren’t entirely to blame for the Valentine’s Day fiasco. It’s men accepting this horrid truth, and really only thinking with their penises.  Penises, regardless of popular belief, do not have brains. Therefore, it would be wise to not let them think for you. Trust me, my wang is often like a guided missle, and I just have to trust myself that where it takes me will usually not be a good place. It will never hit its target, and always ends up blowing up in my face. I think the word I’m looking for is “pussywhipped.”

Don’t be that.

So I’ve convinced you that typical Valentine’s stuff is not worth it. Now, you’re thinking, “How do I show her that I love her?” Really, it’s simple. Tell her that you love her, and be completely serious about it. And, just a helpful hint, try to tell her without staring at her chest. It helps, trust me. You can also take her out to eat, which is less outwardly-focused, because you benefit as well, but she thinks it’s just as sweet. Let her pick the restaurant though. Even better: make dinner. Cooking isn’t hard. Find a good recipe, get a friend to help, whatever. It’ll usually be a lot cheaper than some swanky downtown eatery, and a hell of a lot more romantic. Speaking of romantic, another idea is to have Roman-themed festivities (for those of you who are clearly fucking retarded if you didn’t pick up on it, “Romantic” = “like the Romans”). Wear a toga. Stage a gladitorial fight with your pets. Have a Ben-Hur-style chariot race with your sedan. Don’t explain any of it though. If your girlfriend doesn’t get it, promptly dump her ass,  because if you’re reading my blog, you’re clearly too smart to date a plebian like her. Unless she has a nice rack, then by all means continue the relationship.

Essentially, be creative. Show her that you love her, not that you’re willing to spend a lot of money on her. Or actually sit down with her and discuss exactly why you don’t want to celebrate at all. Basically, you want to cut your dependence on Russel Stover, Hallmark, and FTD. Don’t give them the benefit of a profit from you. Become a one-man army and revolutionize the holiday. Most of the things I laid out in this “guide” of sorts should be a last-minute tactic, if you realize that V-Day means a lot to your lover. Ideally, you shouldn’t even recognize its existance. But we don’t live in an ideal world, and sometimes otherwise well-meaning girls can be bitches about this kind of stuff.

So that’s it. You may be wondering what I’m doing for Valentine’s Day this year. Well, since my “Good, bad, insignificant” incident has thus far proven”insignificant,” unless you count the fact that I’ve really thought about nothing but that since it happened, I am happily single. I don’t have to waste my money, or think of creative excuses for not wasting money. Instead, I’m going to wallow my sorrow in the candy my mom left for me this morning, and masturbate to internet pornography. I think that’s the way St. Valentine himself would have wanted this day to be spent.