I was hoping to blissfully ignore the world’s lamest holiday this year, but the couple sitting across from me at the Clear Conscience Cafe right now are making that impossible. They’ve been snoogling on the couch for the past half hour, kissing each other’s hair and wrapping legs over legs. And the real coup came when the girl grabbed her boy’s coffee mug and poured it into his mouth for him.

If there is ever a point in time when I see fit to feed another person coffee (unless both of their arms are broken or they are The Human Torso), please find me, throw me in a sack, and throw that sack off a cliff.

I just don’t get it. I don’t get it. There should be a holiday where couples give single people presents as thanks for putting up with their ootsyness and marrying and sofa-picking-out all year.

As for me, I plan to spend my Valentine’s night spitting black bile into a flaming cauldron, mixing that up with frog spawn and battery acid, then pouring the whole batch at random out of my apartment window. And cackling. Did I mention cackling?

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