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Rated: 18+ · Essay · Comedy · #2182138
An essay/short story about the history of and in no way cynical commentary of the holiday.
Love, an Ode to Valentine’s Day
By Xavier Cockroachal Damon

Valentine’s Day, the day of all days, meaning, truth, flowing through, for me and for you, corporal not corporate, day of love one could not hate, for true meaning so embraced, whatever hell you have faced, this the truth that I tell, not forever falling, tumbling down a well, flowers do give off such a sweet smell, but what the hell of Melancholy Mel. Hey you stick the poor guy, eyes so sad, solitary canine, amidst sea, never fine, the poor dude trapped amidst a sea of glee, happy bears, happy something he will never see. So I had to spend ten fuckin dollars to rescue a stuffed animal from this ocean of smiling teddy bear misery and motherfuckers my money is dwindling and to a fuckin sidewalk I’m heading, as seconds count down, the day heading to bedding, towards a day that is painted redding, but motherfuckers, Mel, he’s a good dog, but which one of you was going to rescue Melancholy Mel from a life of pure hell on or before the day of Valentine? And so Mel I had to make mine. So much I wouldst like to say all was fine. But let’s be perfectly honest. Twould be pure folly to assert I could make one less, not more, melancholy. He should be jolly. Not like my sad wife. Damn is that woman sad. To see the sorrow in each eye, guarantee it would make you cry. But then there’s evil wife. Oh dear God evil wife so help me she’s evil. The most evil person ever been. And, damn, the two of them together, evil wife will invariably do something truly evil and thus make sad wife extremely sad. But Mel, come on, can’t someone give Melancholy Mel a good home. What the fuck am I going to do with a stuffed animal holding a fuckin pink heart that has written on it “Be Mine.”? Jesus Ganesh you bastards what the hell did Mel ever do to you? Adopt an unwanted sad stuffed animal. Give Mel a good home. That’s my plea, so he might be less melancholy. The way that his life it should be. From sadness kind soul set him free. So happy. Mel he might possibly see...

Um, o.k., this was never intended as a campaign to get adopted a ten dollar stuffed animal I bought because I felt bad for him. Creative endeavors seem to always take on a life of their own but this seems a life that should have the respirator chord ripped from the socket, extinguishing electric life, final knife inserted, last breath deserted, death, eternity reign, perpetual rain of bleeding pain, nothing more that you could gain, hope a dream you cannot feign, blind man on an empty train. Wane away your final hours, in bed with funeral flowers. Flowers how sweet, defeat, they smell, in this endless, eternal hell. And so...

...Um, dude, you do realize this began as an ode to Valentine’s Day don’t you? Tis a story bout love. Love as it should be, love with meaning, for that is in no way an overused four letter word. To suggest such a thing would be absurd. The most blasphemous thing I’ve ever heard. Um, though anyone who has read any of my other writing might postulate I personally have a tendency to overuse other four letter words. But that’s complete shit you dick, go fuck thyself...Valentine’s day, a gift from heaven. Because sure God wants you to spend hundreds of dollars on flowers and dumbfuck cards, to repair the shards of broken hearts, now alive not woeing, the spirit glowing, love’s annual parade, winter monetary raid, while corporations are thusly paid, but, off the topic, what about that extra tip I promised the maid for her birthday? Don’t think my money will hold out that long. I guess that means I have to, well I don’t know, said I would so...

Oh Jesus Ganesh, this fuckin thing has completely derailed before it even began.

This being about love, the true meaning of Valentine’s Day.

So let us begin again...

Valentine’s Day, oh blessed you, so wondrous be, the bestest day I long to see. Egregiously non vile, so bringeth smile, to this here face, no erase, take thine place, as money flows, emotion bleeding, the heart it knows, where it is all the money goes, tis to the soul, float as that dove, not to corporations who reign above. For how did Valentine’s Day come to be? Allow us to peek at its fabled history...

O.k. One of those two sets of facts situations. Church of Catholicism, part of story deriving from a schism, seems maybe once again telling a fable, of God’s powers, how they’re able, with acts of impossibility, to allow a daughter’s eyes to see. O.k., o.k., one of those times where apparently the church seems to be latching onto, hatching lies, as it seems it always tries, promote itself with miracle divine, so you the church it can say then you are mine, sheep that travel its ordained path, else thy suffer biblical wrath. Because demon thou would not walkith his way. And to him you never pray. For that he will make you go away. Sent to hell. Please tell, why is this? Because his ass you would not kiss. But indeed I would be remiss if not did I say this, thy ass I will not kiss.

Um, butt, well what if I kissed Julia’s ass. Know to you those types of things one may do should have relation only to procreation. But! Is kissing her ass allowed? Asketh me to ye upon your cloud. I know, kinda kinky, but sometimes, well, kind of into that, but if I kiss her ass, would I be sent to hell? In no way possibly an act of pure procreation, though if that act did somehow lead to procreation, dear God, abort, abort! You must agree even though it would contort, distort thy teachings, but really now, a child arriving unto the world from that particular act? Come now God...O.k. I think I just did...But, um, but...Use a different word dude...Well, yes use that word, better path to travel... Um...Um...Phrase it differently dude...And so, let me return back... Oh Christ...Is it even humanly or alienly possible to spiral a Valentine’s Day ode of love so inconceivably out of control within the first few paragraphs? Holy hell. Valentine’s Day fabled history...For tis not that day based on love.

Let’s see. One of those situations where records are very sparse...Christ I can’t stop fantasizing, Romanizing her arse...Shut up dude...Return thy thoughts to cleaner, um...Oh Christ!

Let us try this again shall we.

There was a dude. Last name Valentine. The church’s claim is that he was executed by the Roman emperor Claudius II because he defied his edict against marriages for young men, because Claudy felt those without wives would make better warriors in battle, Christians being persecuted by the empire at the time, and Valentini believed in procreating from this hating, unions of pure procreation intending, never ending, till death do us part, for of course that is exactly what the day of Valentine is meant for. Truth it stares you in the face. The day front and center, rightful place, that’s the meaning, meaning more, not entered through some hidden back door...Dude!...As I was saying. Well they say he married a bunch of dudes going off to kill other dudes, I suppose allowing those to first get off before going off and that he was executed for this action on the Godly earth, birth only reason for couples interaction. In the name of amour, it’s said this is what he was executed for, for finding that back door...Oh will you stop already!...Though, the thing is, records from this period...Got your period baby, not at all a problem...Dude if you don’t shut the hell up...but without verifiable facts it’s one of those situations that enables those to make up whatever story they want to tell because, of course, there can be no faith with fact or proof.

What does seem reliable is that Valentine was executed not because he was Claudy’s edict’s romantic wraith but because he would not renounce his Christian faith, executed by a three step method of beating, stoning, then decapitation. But does not that thus best exemplify what Valentine’s Day truly means. Beating, stoning, and decapitation. Sure, why not turn it into a day of dumbass cards, chocolates, don’t you start dude! And flowers. But dudes, might that be a wee bit excessive? An execution in three acts? Sorry to break this to you, but your play, as written really fuckin sucks ...Sucks...Oh Julia how I doth so thusly think of ye...Dude will you shut the fuck up!...But, but...Stop with the buts dude! Well, plays like that I guess they sell, a culture with violence infatuation, leading them to masturbation...Wait, thinking of a particular area on Julia. Give me a few minutes rear, um here...O.k. I’m back, um, I’ve returned. But, fuck it...Oh Christ...But, um...Oh to hell with it. The damn thing is about birds, o.k., fuckin birds, um, actually fucking birds, because it was said birds mated the middle of February. Chaucer's "The Parliament Of Fowls” sort of actually started the whole idiotic charade, corporations money parade, confetti as dollars raining upon their bottom line, from God undeniable sign, the true meaning of Valentine’s Day.

But, but...Start with a different word dude...Soeth it was the marriage of Richard the second to Anne of Bohemia, who was so revered at first she was referred to by the Westminster Chronicle as “A tiny scrap of humanity”, though the tiny scrap line was not in any way referring to her young age of fifteen, but kind of a romantic line tis it not, they should really consider making that the new stock Valentine’s Day greeting “Oh tiny scrap of humanity, please be mine, how tingleth you doth make my spine. But do not whine. Oh crap she’s whining again. Goddamn you are a tiny scrap of humanity.” But then, but then...Dude when are you going to learn?...But Chaucer’s words, modernly translated, because what in all hell was that gibberish of the original form, “For this was on St. Valentine’s day when every fowl cometh there to choose his mate”. It’s about fuckin birds. Birds fucking. Fuckin fucking birds! And Richard II’s second wife, after Anne of Bohemia died of plague, was Isabella Of Valois. She was six at the time. So pedophilia too. Pedophilia and birds. Pedophillic birds? Is pedophillic an actual word? Pedophilia enmeshed birds? Really don’t know. Never studied that. Never in hell going to research if there is such a thing as pedophilia enmeshed birds. And plague. Plague, pedophilia, and birds.

Love, the true meaning of Valentine’s Day.

But another Christianity promoted tale of Saint Valentine is that while imprisoned he healed the blindness of the daughter of one of his jailers, jailer named Asterius, through prayer. That daughter, my dearest Julia. Um, not sure how old she was in Saint Valentine’s time but she has aged amazingly, remarkably gracefully since. When we met I was astonished when she told me her age. Looks like she’s just in her twenties. My oh my, how could such a thing be?

Julia hun, feeling like a kiss, though not on the lips, if you know what I mean baby.

Dude, if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to beat you till you’re conscious!

Um, there was also one or possibly two other Valentine’s of Christianity with all three purportedly achieving martyrdom on February 14th.

Ah yes. The true meaning of Valentine’s Day. The day when Christian saints die off in droves, going home again to heaven. No, wait, candy, flowers, and all that, and love, dear sweet love.
Oh and when Richard II married his six year old wife it was on either Halloween or the day after...Um, make of that what you will.

But you know what else Valentine’s Day is all about in modern times. No longer just flowers. But, progression or digression, to each their own...fruit bouquets. Fuckin fruit bouquets. Not in any way completely and totally idiotic. I mean it’s fuckin fruit. You’re just going to eat the fuckin thing. I mean sure you think it looks pretty now, but I guarantee it won’t be looking so pretty to you later.
Though, you know, why not have someone buy up a few hundred thousand fruit bouquets so that company that sells them, owner certainly winner of inventor of the year whenever it was that dumbfuck idea was hatched, can pad his profit margins. Then why not give them all out to homeless and impoverished children. I’m sure they would appreciate the gesture. Tend to doubt they’d fuckin care if it was arranged aesthetically. Kind of think they just want to fuckin eat. Certainly an improvement over the day before when they did not. Or, fine, maybe you’re like me and you in no way comprehend the perverse predilection for fruit bouquets, so sure, skip sending it, just buy them flowers instead. You can put them on their graves when they die of starvation because the fruit that might have sustained them was sold at a several hundred percent mark-up from what it would have cost if some “artist” didn’t expertly arrange it for the eyes to see to thus elicit oohs and ahhs on a day ordained for bloated corporate gluttony.

But you know, I’m not so self-absorbed that I would ever think I’m the only one who views this day as a corporate money grab or who feels any possible meaning has been stripped from its soulless shell with its year after year rendition. Oh yes there are those others out there also practicing sedition against each and every iteration within this and every other nation. Brothers in arms! Together we fight the good fight, so that finally we might say good night to this Godawful excessive sight.

Why those brothers in arms do exist in countries other than this, so let all of us together on Valentine’s Day piss. How about, say Japan, I don’t know, fellow brothers in arms named Kakuhido!...Wait, probably should look at their stance before with them I join this dance... “The romantic industrial complex”...What the fuck! Um, so what is that like the sensitive sibling to the military industrial complex?... “The blood soaked conspiracy of Valentine’s Day driven by the oppressive chocolate capitalists.” Are you motherfuckin kidding me?...O.k. I guess not more sensitive. Guess you don’t want to be around when those two siblings get into a spat. “Blood soaked conspiracy”, you motherfuckers are motherfuckin kidding me right? Wait, wait, what the fuck does Kakuhido even stand for, don’t speak Japanese. She wrote something to me the day before she left, but me, idiot that I am, told her not to write the English translation she began to add. Thought it would be more meaningful and poetic that way. Dude, you were in the fuckin second grade moron. Damn! How I so wish I knew what it was she had written, the second grader with whom this second grader was smitten. Dumbass motherfucker!

But, but, time and a place, um, but, but, for that place tis it not always the time?...silence...So really dudes, very much doubt that even if I allowed the deciphering to progress, it would at any point address, the meaning of your anti-Valentine alliance, standing strong with corporate defiance. So brothers in arms, sound the alarms, rail against this holiday, a holiday that only stands for green, tell me brothers what does the name mean!

Loosely translated. “Revolutionary alliance of men that women find unattractive.”

Oh Jesus Ganesh.

Are you motherfuckin kidding me motherfuckers? You named yourselves that? Who the fuck would ever possibly name themselves that? And you’re not just like two dudes are you, you’re an actual fuckin group?

Oh Jesus Ganesh.

What the fuck! Really, seriously, what the fuck, dudes? What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s the banner you march behind, behind...For the love of the non-existent God douchebag, there are other words in the English language you could be choosing, in place of those you keep using, can you not tell there is a situation here, so stop fuckin thinking about her fucking rear!

Oh dear God...

Um, enough of fantasizing of her butt, but back to the topic in hand...

Oh dear lord and Jesus H. Ganesh...

Let’s try again shall we.

Dudes, what the fuck! You damn bastards have made me want to go out and buy out every single flower and candy store within a one hundred mile radius and get another tattoo on my face, that one slightly out of place, in vicinity, proximity to the story the other does tell, souls of ghosts or ghosts of souls being dragged down to hell. Motherfuckers! The new tattoo is going to be, forever imprinted upon me, and will always say, a fuckin pink heart with “I love Valentine’s Day!!!” etched inside, and now I must carry it till the end of my ride, until that day, my blessed death. Thank you motherfuckers for destroying my hatred of an idiotic day. Oh fuck you fuckers, think I’m about to pray. Oh motherfuckers! Oh you damn bastards I think now I, funds already down the drain, to try to cure this mental pain, so inflicted by those conflicted, ugliness so afflicted, have to motherfuckin go to fuckin Japan...Hmm, maybe Ayako I will see? If so I would owe you all an apology. But dudes it’s not going to happen you dumbass motherfuckers! Things never go that way for me. Oh you dumbass motherfuckers I’m coming there to wipe you out till all are dead, dumbass tattoo newly upon my head, for you motherfuckin, motherfuckin, motherfuckers!

Oh Jesus Ganesh!

Revolution against the revolution while still leading my revolution, which in theory is the same revolution, but...

Don’t worry even I know not to interject at this point. But, ah, interject sort of sounds like, and at this point, wow that kind of--

Dude. I’m going to fuckin kill you.

Ah. Um. Ah. What do you say we stray off from the topic of Valentine’s Day specifically temporarily, onto other words I wish to say. How about another holiday.

How about Thanksgiving. There’s actually a holiday entirely based on killing birds and watching fuckin football? And each year the president pardons one turkey. Um, anyone see something horrifically disgusting about all the details of that particular day in November. No, it’s about the Pilgrims. You got me. I stand corrected. Native Americans too. Who this country essentially attempted to erase from existence. Indeed, celebration doth abound, with family members all around. “Oh hi, how have you been fourth cousin twice removed? And you, oh it’s you! Um, wait, who are you again by the way? What, it’s you, you. You’re the one who molested me! God I hate you. Those horrid memories I managed to repress now they’re all flooding back, flooding back!”
Mustn’t forget Christmas Day, the day when Jesus was born...Um, or very probably not. You see they just pulled that shit out of a hat, by coincidence it might, conceivably, possibly be, but, it’s also very possible the historical figure still known, not formerly, as the prince of God’s kingdom, Jesus that is, was born on an entirely different day, and, well, the whole 0000 thingy, well the birth could have been several decades detached from that hallowed date. Kind of suggests all of you who celebrated so ecstatically the new millennium, well...Aint gonna say it but...O.k., fuck it, I’ll say it. I’m thinking of a word. That word rhymes with the element Boron...Fine, whatever, I’ll just come out and say it. Each of you all might just be a freakin qlorzon.

But Valentine’s Day, oh day of love, in truth, true meaning, my heart already it is weaning, for once you’re gone, how playeth my song, the one to which all sing along, holidays could never be wrong. For all are epitome that all can see, of truth and meaning, warm embrace, the answer stares you in the face. Love, the true meaning of Valentine days, or so corporate prick a plenty in February says. Love. Dear sweet blessed, wondrous love. Valentine’s Day how so dear thou art to me. How I wish all year that you could be.

“Oh cynic ye, must cynicism be all thou see? Spouting it so shamefully, all of it which is so downright cynicky?”

“Um, dude, who the fuck are you?”

“Why tis me, Saint Valentine. So please allow me to share words that are mine. Delivered by guidance, eternal, divine.”

“Eh, sure, whatever.”

“So help me, if you ever kiss Julia’s ass again or do anything in any way lustful whatsoever with my beloved’s ass, whatever depraved form those thoughts take, so help me dude, I will kick your goddamned ass.”

Saint Valentine then stormed off all a tizzy, in a huff.


Valentine’s Day, that day of love is upon us once again. What am I going to do that day? I was thinking I would just celebrate it with my lovely wife and three lovely kids...Who I met on Christian Mingle...Um, my three lovely kids that is...My lovely wife I met on Satan Singles.Com... Actually we’re planning to sacrifice our three lovely kids to the devil...Should be a fun time had by all involved...Um, though probably not for our three lovely kids. After that, kind of thinking of paying Julia a visit. The overflowing love of the day is certain to make me feel like giving a kiss, um, though not receiving one of the same kind. By the way, my nickname for her is Lupercalia if you’re interested. Of course, after I do, then evil wife, who by the way is not the one I met on Satan Singles, the one I met on that site, she’s actually really sweet and good natured, um, sacrificing our three lovely children notwithstanding, but when I do, evil wife will undoubtedly do something truly evil which of course will make sad wife very sad, and she, should also mention, is not the wife I met on Satan Singles, the one I met on that site not particularly sad by any means, does get moody at times, would say it was just her period but she did of course use the power of the devil to end that vicious cycle so it’s not that, not sure exactly what it is, you know I’ve urged her to consider seeking therapy, I mean therapy for some, me being one, is entirely bullshit useless, but for others it really can do some good, not sure if it would help her but I think it’s worth a try, will then get extremely sad and spend the whole day and night crying, to which some might think me a jerk for bailing and going off to kiss another woman’s ass, though you see, I think she’s sad primarily because she’s married to me, and well, also because of evil wife. Oh God is that woman evil. Evil wife will undoubtedly try to kill me of course. Not because of my rendezvous with Julia. Just because it’s not Monday. Monday being the one day of the week she takes off from trying to kill me. She likes to crochet that day. But. But. Come on, just let me say it one more time. But. Um, once more. But. O.k., promise this is it. But...Fine I’ll just say it in my mind as I wrap this up, this being what is the true meaning of Valentine’s day.

The true meaning of Valentine’s Day.


Um, certainly, historically it could be inserted...Oh dude...asserted that it was anti-polygamy that brought it about but it really wouldn’t work in any way at all to state that as the meaning in terms of this travesty of the written word thusly presented.

Let’s begin again shall we.

The true meaning of Valentine’s Day.


And kissing ass.

Sometimes of the one with whom you’re intertwined. Other times the one who only exists in your mind. Sometimes the one you long to see. Other times a dumbfuck deity.

Pucker up motherfuckers.


The true meaning of Valentine’s Day.

Your Valentine
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