Valentine’s Day Revelations

It’s almost like The Fate’s thought it was a bad idea to post these thoughts, so they instructed my internet provider to shut me off. Joke’s on them. I have 5G on my phone! Shouldn’t we be perfecting our infrastructure in this country before playing King Dick to the rest of the world? I live inside the metropolitan area of a major city and our electricity and internet goes out every single time a drop of rain falls from the sky.

It’s Valentine’s Day once again. As with every other holiday on the calendar, Christians and greeting card companies have altered the origins to fit their beliefs, fearfully control the populous, or make tons of money.

Do you know the true pagan origins of Valentine’s Day?


“Every year on February 14, the world marks Valentine’s Day. Millions send messages and gifts of love to the most important people in their lives.

You’d be forgiven for thinking the fourteenth has its roots in the Christian faith, with the day seemingly named after Saint Valentine, a priest who lived during the third century AD. However, many historians believe the day originated from the Roman pagan festival of fertility called Lupercalia, an event filled with animal sacrifice, random coupling and the whipping of women; not quite the romantic chocolate and roses day that we celebrate today.”

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To put it in terms my readers will understand, we beat, screwed, and killed things. Not much different than how Valentine’s Day is celebrated in the American South, though. I remember working in law enforcement on February 14th. It was always a shit show. Domestic violence arrests pouring in the door for twenty-four straight hours. If this trailer’s rockin’, don’t come a knockin’!

I personally have zero complaints on this particular Valentine’s Day. I have the greatest woman in my life who loves me with every ounce of her being. If she doesn’t, she’s putting on a good act! I’m not here to brag, though (unusual, right?). No, I want all my readers to feel damned good about themselves today, no matter how dire their romantic situation is. So, here is a list of all the BAD stuff that’s happened to me in relationships! You might want to buckle up for this one…

Let’s lay the groundwork:

My very first kiss was from a girl at a cub scout camp. We were both counselors. I was 13 and she was 16, I think. We did it in a huge crowd of people and you could feel the air get sucked out of our surroundings when the lip lock happened. I never saw or heard from this girl again after that day. Not that it was a bad kiss or anything, it’s just that cell phones and the internet weren’t a thing yet. She lived in another town and calling her forced ‘long distance’ charges on our phone bill. Remember those? I grew up so poor, my father had to cut holes in my new blue jeans so I could have something to play with! Yep. That’s a dick joke.

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The first time I ever had sex? It was my high school girlfriend who I remained with for four years. We walked deep into the woods with no blankets and a sticker bush was strategically placed beneath my scrotum. I got stabbed with each backward motion. I don’t recall if I liked that or not, but it would explain a few fetishes I developed later in life. She was my first love outside of my own family and the first person to show me how excruciatingly painful love can be. She cheated on me with her preacher’s son, and then one of her coworkers, and then her drug dealer, etc. Ah, to be a stupid teenager again. No thanks.

It didn’t stop there, though. My life has been mostly lengthy relationships full of heartbreak and Hell. With heartbreak and Hell comes gallons and gallons of alcohol. Trust me, no matter how much you drink, the pain remains when you wake up the next morning.

My first wife cheated on me with a scraggly looking construction guy who lived across the street. It was the mid-nineties and he reminded her of every country singer being played during the infancy of CMT. I, on the other hand, was an office guy who wore a tie to work every day and bathed regularly. People like what they like, I guess.

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Next? My second wife had an affair on me with one of my coworkers in the Army. I found this out because she left her “diary” laying out on the couch one night after she went to bed. A diary? Were we thirteen again? The Army forced us to go to counseling and refused to allow me to file for divorce. Two years later, I caught her banging some dude who thought he was Vin Diesel. I chased that guy all over our apartment complex with a broadsword at 2am. Good times. Again, I let it slide for the sake of keeping my family together. Finally, she started screwing a line cook so I just washed my hands clean of the whole situation. They’re still married today and barely have a mouthful of teeth shared between them. Meth is a hell of a drug, or so I’ve heard.

My third wife? We’ve been divorced for seven years now and I’m still getting damage reports. She’d been one of my best friends since high school but employed more cocks than an egg farm! If the old television show “This Is Your Life” ever makes a comeback, her episode would be thirty minutes of running blindly through a cornfield with her mouth wide open. Think about that for a second. It’ll come to you.

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After all my mental anguish, I decided to see what all the fuss was about in regard to this whole “cheating” thing. I was obviously missing out on something! I dated a girl for almost two years who made sure my heart landed somewhere near the bottom of the metaphorical barrel. Friend is an extraordinarily strong word, so I’ll say she was one of my lifelong acquaintance’s wives. I tortured myself for a year and a half while she still pretended to be happily married. Daily, yes daily, she would sneak by my place for a little fun and then go home to her family. We didn’t last long after she finally left her husband. The lack of fun and danger was no longer a turn on for her. I was somewhere on the verge of drinking myself to death when I finally put a stop to the whole thing. I found out later I’d been recruited to be the scapegoat for her divorce, and she’d been dating one of her coworkers behind all our backs. They’re married now, I’ve heard. Good for them. I left that relationship with shredded sanity and nothing else. Every friend I’d gained since birth has left my life since then because we all belonged to the same circle. I deserved nothing less, and I have no problem admitting to my fault. I’ll never expect anyone else to do the same.

What followed was a year’s worth of standard definition “dating”. I won’t go into details, but I don’t recommend it. Especially in the internet, dating app age.

Now for some deep thoughts. Why did I endure so many failed relationships at the hands of infidelity? I handled business, so to speak. I worked and provided everything a husband is expected to provide, I think. At least, I did so when the ever-building flood of depression allowed. I think I’ve figured it out, though.

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Gen X based their entire lives on superficial, sex crazed lunacy fueled by every form of pop culture imaginable. Music and movies all insisted that we look our best, make the most money, and screw everything that moves. If you couldn’t provide someone with these qualities, then you were a nerd, a geek, a loser, and fodder to the guys who could. Every music video on MTV was filled to the brim with beautiful people who probably sat in a makeup chair for eight hours to appear as such. With that being said, Generation X fell victim to smoke and mirrors. Real life isn’t like that at all. Not every girl is a supermodel and not every guy is the game winning quarterback.

Everyone cheated on everyone else because soap operas and music videos painted it as glamorous. You can’t feel heartache from a television show, right? At least the girls couldn’t. Boys cried when Optimus Prime died in 1986! Don’t lie!

So, what is my secret to a happy relationship? Find someone who is a decade or two younger than you. No, this isn’t a brag because I’m a hideous chud of a man, but this is the true key to happiness. I’m giving you these words of wisdom absolutely free with no strings attached.

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Within that time, later generations have figured out that outward appearance is only skin deep. They’ve focused on healthier mental states and acceptance of all physical traits. Somehow, they unlocked the key to viewing an individual’s soul rather than the picture painted by the unforgiving mirror. Color, size, attractiveness, and career success no longer seem to matter in the same ways it did in the eighties and nineties. Most, if their closed-minded, religious freak, conservative parents allowed them to, have developed a more liberal way of viewing the world and take pride in their ability to accept things outside of the previous generation’s “norm”. It’s amazing.

I’m married to someone now who is seventeen years younger than me. She’s a successful businesswoman with two college degrees who accepts me for who I am. Why is she this way? Because her generation decided to do something with themselves rather than striving to be someone’s trophy soccer mom wife, slurping down Starbucks, and living vicariously through their significant others. She’s the only woman in my history who wanted me rather than needed me. This makes all the difference. In the end, how can you love someone if you’re not even happy with yourself? Although the media from my generation would disagree, it’s better to build yourself a strong life before intertwining it with the construction disasters of others. Also, if Wal-Mart is the be all/end all of your partner’s psyche, run. Do you really want to be stuck with someone whose idea of fancy dress is an oversized t shirt displaying an outdated quote from “The Minions” and flip flops? Get out of your comfort zone, think bigger, and take chances. Stealing trash from the junkyard and polishing it up for an Instagram photo is not something to treasure. It’ll be dull trash once more when the sun rises, and you’ll just have to polish it up again. And again. And again. In the end, how long do you think your polishing elbow is going to hold out? Also, I know it appears as though I just contradicted myself bringing up someone’s physical appearance but I’m merely calling out their inherent mentality. Some just don’t know any better, and probably never will.

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Some say they were lucky enough to get it right the first time, but is there any real truth in that? Did they really find their true love first thing out the gate or did they just accept the outcome out of laziness and outdated, imaginary religious law? Nothing says “I’ll be with you until the end of time” like an invalidated fear of the invisible, all-powerful man in the clouds. What are these people using as a basis of comparison? It all sounds like bullshit to me.

Do you buy the first car you see on the lot, or do you test drive a few before making up your mind? Forever is a long time to fuck a lemon, but good squirters are far, few, and in between. Just make sure you have good eye protection. Yes, I’m going to end it on that note. You should’ve seen it “coming” from a mile away.

Happy Valentine’s Day to my beautiful, amazing, caring, giving wife. I hope the Hell I’ve endured will always be enough for you. I tried the rest. Repeatedly. It’s only fair I close out my days with the best. I think I’ve earned it. So have you.

To anyone reading this who may be sad they’re spending Valentine’s Day alone, go to sleep. Tomorrow is February 15th, and it means absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things. The quicker you can get there, the better. Some people will be stuffing teddy bears down the garbage disposal and crying while eating cheap chocolates…but not you. Nope. You have 365 days to prepare for next year’s inevitable sex, whipping, and slaughtering festivities. You’re a traditional kind of person, after all.

Now, don’t you feel better about yourself? My job here is finished.



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