Valentine's Day is a lot like New Year's, only New Year's allows enough leeway for you to convince yourself you made some progress. Maybe you set aside time to think about going to the gym, or perhaps you cut out that indulgent Wednesday-afternoon nap in favor of happy hour. There's always some way to twist reality and salvage your paltry existence.

But Valentine's Day leaves little room for interpretation -- either you're getting some or you're not. You can actually fail this holiday. An F in Valentine's stands for Fucked (figuratively). If this is you, your choices are limited: get pretty in pink, get plastered and wake up next to a lonely slob akin to yourself; or take in Chinese, Ben and Jerry's and Sleepless in Seattle.

I propose a third option: shoot a dart up Cupid's chubby ass and flip ol' V-Day the bird. Adorn yourself in your darkest garb, throw on your favorite pair of combat boots, blast "Love Stinks" on your iPod and snack on sea salt and vinegar potato chips. Tell your Cereality "Cereologist" that Strawberry Fields blows and you'd like prunes in your oatmeal, thank you very much. Stand up to Van Pelt PDA. Boycott TBS, TLC and the like -- instead, watch whatever disturbing flick best suits your angst, be it 21 Grams, Like Mike or the ever-uplifting Bubble Boy.

However you choose to shun this sorry excuse for a holiday, remember, it's not you, it's it. Apparently, Valentine's Day even sucks in Alaska -- in the immortal words of Jewel: "It's Valentine's Day/I didn't get no chocolate/It's Valentine's Day/If I had a heart I'd hock it ... It's Valentine's Day/I just love to say/I hate fuckin' Valentine's Day"


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