Being that neither C nor myself are cathaholics—she a teetotaler and me an apathetic—we have tossed in the proverbial towel on this so-called St Valentine and his alleged day.
In case you didn’t know (and most don’t), St Valentine had an imaginary friend. The guy can’t stop talking about his imaginary friend. Just loves him. Says he is loved by him. A match made in heaven. But it’s over and over, relentless, like the pounding of the waves upon the beach. Everybody he meets stares in awe as Valentinus Sinusitis regales the very air with luscious adulations of said imaginary friend.
Then he meets an emperor of Rome—let’s call him Claudius—I like the name Claudius—I might name my next cat Claudius—anyway, Valentinus continues to avail every breath which might reach those imperial ears ever-toward the tiresome goal of shouting from the top of a mountain that which could just as effectively be slipped into a note in the pocket of one’s robe like a precious telegram.
have imaginary friend stop
lots of love stop
Long story short… so Claudius says “if you don’t shut the fuck up about your invisible companion I’m gonna have a couple of the boys take you out back and beat you to death”. Valentinus, being a smooth negotiator, talks the emperor into beheading when the beating is done: “if you’re going to do it, your highness, at least do it right”.
Clearly this is the most magnificent symbol of romantic love in the many millennia of humanity’s struggle to find someone with which to enjoy chocolate, perhaps rivaled only by Big Bird’s love of Mr Snuffleupagus—assuming of course someone were to then beat and behead Big Bird.
But hey, Big Bird’s been through a lot lately.
Let’s leave him and his romance to blossom as it will. It’s a harsh world; we should never endeavor to hamper love.
So what might lovers do to spontaneously express their gratitude and joy, nay to celebrate the very fabric of love which binds so many of us together?
Let me turn your attention to another historical figure.
This chiseled human specimen is a novelist and a playwright, loves spanking servant girls in his spare time, did most of his writing in prison, was subsequently elected as a delegate before the National Convention, and can often be heard saying “Seigneur, Madame le Guillotine”.
Let’s have a big round of applause for our first contestant, the Marquis de Sade.
(Actually he’s our only contestant as I don’t plan to stay up all night trying to convince you to laugh.)
The Marquis de Sade was probably born in June of 1740, not that it matters much. Holidays get tossed all over the calendar. If someone doesn’t like where a holiday lands they have always had the option to just move it.
Granted it’s a lot harder with a holiday like the Fourth of July, but as long as it’s named Lumpy Rug Day or Ether Day you have a bit of flexibility. And thanks to the amazing magic of double-think you too can think “it’s always been on that day”.
So 14 February it is.
Don’t be silly.
Happy Marquis de Sade Day. Enjoy your
spanking chocolate. You can thank me later.