Volume 94, Issue 74
Friday, February 2, 2001
Skydiver hobos would be a bit over-the-top
Last Valentine's Day I threatened to throw a man off a fourth story balcony, I saw my first corpse being publicly burned into ash, and I spent two hours bartering my way out of an indefinite vacation in an Indian jail.
It wasn't very romantic, but it was the best damn V-day I've had in years.
My dad always told me it's better to be romantic every day then to save it all up for just one day a year he calls it "Hallmark propaganda." Being young and believing this sounded rational, I took it to heart. Unfortunately, he was full of it.
I've learned over the years that my family has a screw loose when it comes to this kind of stuff. I don't really listen to them anymore. My father, as I said, doesn't "do" Valentine's Day. My mother seems to be the only woman on the planet who understands his mentality. My sister, having recently discovered orgasms at the ripe old age of 25, will probably choose to stay in this year. I find myself more likely to watch the slow incineration of a post-geriatric, than to make candle-lit dinner reservations.
However, for the rest of you, crunch time is approaching. You may think it's too soon to start this discussion, but the point of no return is near. Those of you looking to bounce from a relationship only have another few days before you get into the realm of dumping for spite. The "I can't break up with so-and-so now, it's too close to Valentine's Day" period is upon us.
For those who find themselves in a relationship from which they have no intention of leaving, it's probably time to start thinking ahead.
See, women either have an ingrained ability to know what to do for Valentine's Day, or they know they can get away with doing nothing and just get pissed at you if you don't live up to expectations. This is part of the rules we should all be aware of.
And don't think I'm just talking to the people with significant others. We all know there are a pretty vast number of people out there who are going to be looking for some temporary associations, and that means everyone has to start doing some groundwork.
First off, buy real condoms. In the same way dentists are probably responsible for the production of some chocolate bars, I'm sure that some of those free condoms available everywhere are being mass-produced by adoption agencies. You're better off using those puppies to smuggle heroin.
Also, you might want to test out that new glow-in-the-dark, self-heating, fully lubricated, Spanish fly massage oil, before you grease up some unsuspecting victim. Nothing ruins the mood like breaking out in hives while covered in something that could very well be more destructive than napalm. If you're not interested in risking the possibility of sporting a hot, stinky, incandescent rash, wipe it on your goldfish if it explodes, the odds are your girlfriend will too.
Like any master plan, the more complicated the arrangement, the greater your chances of it getting screwed up. Although having a flock of lit-up hobos skydiving onto campus wearing "I Love You" boxer shorts as you conduct "It's Raining Men" is guaranteed to get you laid, having a small, half-naked man plummet into terra firma at just under the speed of sound will not.
Keep it simple, and try to keep the carnage to a minimum.
Copyright © The Gazette 2000