Tuesday, 1 March 2011

The Unrepentant Murder of Cupid

This is, verbatim, the ranting scrawl from my anti-Valentines Day facebook event.  Because I can't be bothered to do anything but plagiarise myself at eight in the morning.  In case you're wondering, we did get the bastard!  Turns out he bleeds chocolate.

Here we go again. The shops are breaking out in sickly pink rashes made out of teddy bears. Couples are panic-booking restaurant tables. And the world is busily informing every Western human being with access to a pair of working eyeballs that if they are (a) single then they are suffering from the most evil and debilitating social disease since segregation, and if they are (b) with someone then they GODDAMN BETTER spend extortionate amounts on fluffy tat this Valentine's Day, or they might as well just rip their partner's heart out and spit on it.

Well, we had some thoughts on this matter. One: single people are not neccessarily all sad, desperate, and creepy, just as not all relationships are smouldering gazes and kissing in the rain. Two: all this cutesyness is more puke-inducing than a bucket of rotting guts covered in treacle. Then we added alcohol to the thoughts, and came to the following conclusions. One: Single people are AWESOME! Our genitals may be rusty, but our minds are clear, and the world shall learn to FEAR US, for we are FREE! FREE! (We laughed maniacally for a bit after having this thought). Two: all this cutesyness must be stopped. Preferably by drowning it in its own neon pink blood.

I therefore suggest that we reclaim the Fourteenth of February in the name of anti-commercial cynicism (if you find that name too much of a mouthful to take a drunken stand under, then I offer the alternative name of the Anti-Kitten Brigade). For one day, all things 'cute' shall be reviled. Cats shall be denied cheeseburgers, no matter how big and upwards-gazing they make their eyes. Teddy bears shall be placed in a pit with their real-life counterparts, and made to fight to the death. Anyone pronouncing 'love' with a 'w' shall have their soul forcibly torn from them and fed to Ostrokotl, the Devourer. 

For my own part, I intend to strike fear into the hearts of all who have 'I wuv YOU more!' wars over their 
facebook walls by getting very, very drunk and having loads more fun than those countless couples stuck inside with their Significant Other, insisting that they do truly adore the useless heart-clutching stuffed kitten they have just unwrapped. I suggest you join me. For an idea of how I think this kickshaw should go down, see this note; http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=491749433850

...otherwise, turn up at the Whey Pat at eightish on the Fourteenth, wearing a white top that you don't mind getting wrecked, and bearing marker pens. Anyone is welcome, whether conirmed singleton like me, player, or part of a couple and unappreciative of the world making you 'prove' your 'love' in sickly Hallmark fashion every year. We'll show those bastards! When they see how air-booting drunk we are, they'll surely change their ways!

Warning one: Screeching may occur. 

Warning two: You will probably be subjected to my rant about how 'romantic love' was a concept invented by cavemen who did not have enough testosterone to get into cavewomen's furry knickers the usual way.

Warning three: Sickeningly demonstrative couples, lock the doors, and tremble. That is all.

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