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Blogging to you from the Northeastern Badlands of The County of Lake, in the state currently known as Fatmanistan, DEEP DEEP DEEP DEEP DEEP inside the heartland of the Banana Republic formerly known as the USA, WELCOME TO THE NEXT CHAPTER! WARNING! ALL FORMS OF SOCIAL MEDIA ARE ADDICTIVE; EXCESSIVE USE MAY LEAD TO MENTAL HEALTH DISORDERS, REDUCED JOB PRODUCTIVITY, INSOMNIA, SOCIAL ALIENATION, GENITAL ULCERS, BLINDNESS, POLITICAL EROTICISM, AND / OR DEVIANT FUNAMBULISM. NOTICE: NO GUNS OR AMMUNITION ARE FOR SALE VIA THIS BLOG. (No, I will not trade my Colt Python for some lubricious adventures with your trophy wife and a future first-round draft pick.) CAVEAT: This blog is not suitable for viewing while at work, while inside a public library, while inside any public or private school, or while inside any public or private restroom. Do not view this blog while driving a motor vehicle or while piloting an aircraft. Viewing this blog may be illegal inside the EU, NYC, Chicago, Seattle, and other parts of the Third World. THIS BLOG CONTAINS (albeit often very childish) ADULT-CONTENT. DISCLAIMER: This blog is a hobby, it is not a livelihood. Even though much of what I blog about relates to firearms collecting and recreational shooting, I am not an expert (by any measure) on any facet of guns, shooting, hunting, or personal defense. Entries at this blog are akin to good old-fashioned campfire chats or post hunt bourbon-fueled barroom-bluster; I offer no opinion on what you should or should not purchase, or what you should be using or doing. What does or does not work for me could be rugged-country-miles away from your tastes and your needs. All products, places, and miscellany that I review for this blog are purchased / rented / leased at retail price by me. I do not accept payment, gifts, discounts, freebies, products on loan, distilled spirits, recreational pharmaceuticals, plea-bargains, probation, parole, Papal Blessings, Presidential Pardons, or sexual favors for doing any review or blog post. TRACKING COOKIES: Google et al stick tracking cookies on everybody. If you are online, you are being spied on via one method or another, for one reason or another; 'nuff said. You may be able to minimize your online DNA residue by using Tor and Duck Duck Go. Vive la liberté! Vive all y'all! Ante omnia armari. To each of you, thanks for stopping by!

Saturday, February 14, 2015

My Traditional Valentine's Day Blog Entry - 2015



“Buy her diamonds,” say the commercials on radio, television, and the internet. Cram it, that ain’t gonna happen. I don’t care how much these commercials try to shame me into feeling cheap or unsuccessful, there ain’t gonna be any Valentine’s Diamond. Nor will there be a new Lexus in the driveway, elegantly wrapped in a gigantic heart-shaped red ribbon.

Many women, if not most, hate Valentine’s Day. Not having a significant other, or having one who doesn’t deliver a gift, can be painful. Valentine’s Day is a cruel day of angst. Even if she has a love who has righteously shown up with a dozen roses year after year, eventually she will wonder why the loser hasn’t bought her a Rolex like Mr. Successful does in the TV commercials.

The only guys who enjoy Valentine’s Day are looking to get Fifty Shades of Laid. Most guys detest Valentine’s Day. Roses can jump to $100 a dozen in some areas, and giving the obligatory heart of chocolates is cliché and considered cheap. When your love says she doesn’t want anything for Valentine's Day, you guys best know that you had better show up with something, and you had better hope your sweetheart did not see that damn Lexus commercial.

The legend says St. Valentine died by execution and I am certain the truth is that it wasn’t just an act of revenge for his womanizing. Once Valentine started giving out the gifts, the little fornicator was doomed; all of the other men knew women would expect gifts forever. If Val had discreetly jumped from bed to bed, he would have died a worn out but happy old man. Nope, he just had to start handing out his flowery business cards. The horny little bastard got what was coming to him; the way I heard it, that short, fat, bald, incontinent hit man named Cupid was hired to put an arrow through Valentine’s cheatin’ heart.

We now need to find out if the fool who started the "Sweetest Day" nonsense is still around, and if he is, we need to paint his sorry ass with honey and stake it to a Texas anthill.

With my eternal love, and all of that other unctuous saccharin rot, 

Your Valentine,

Zack 


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2 comments:

  1. UnknownFebruary 13, 2016 at 7:37 PM

    Awww, you shouldn't have....but I am sooo glad you did! AND it's a Hallmark...you care enough to send THE very BEST!!! ; P

    ReplyDelete
  2. Z@XFebruary 13, 2016 at 9:45 PM

    LOL

    Yeah, I am just a sentiMENTAL slobbering old fool.

    ReplyDelete

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