Volume 2, Number 1 -- January, 1997
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Volume 2, Number 1 -- January, 1997 |
Love, Skippy
Well hey kids, the ol' skipster's back. Hope you are
all alive and well after the holidays. Of course with
the losers that read this column it wouldn't suprise
me if a few of you had bought the farm, and I doubt if any
of you could ever remotely be classified as well. Just
kidding folks, you know that I love each and every one
of you. With that mental picture before us, let's move
directly to the heart of this month's adventure. It is
February, gents - cold, wet, windy and miserable. Football
is over, baseball hasn't started yet, hockey won't be
interesting for another month or so, and Roller hockey
isn't even on the Radar yet. So, what is the perfect
thing cheer our weary souls? An extension of the football
season? Early spring training? Perhaps the NHL on a real
network? Nope, we have Valentine's day, the holiday that
makes us all long for the relaxing days of Christmas. I
am of two minds on this one, guys. On one hand, if you
are the sort of guy that is ...well...a scumbag 364 days
out of the year, this is your day to make it all better.
Some flowers, a nice dinner, maybe some candy and...boom!
...all is forgiven.
If, on the other hand you are like
yours truly, a true romantic in the classic sense, then
this is a minefield you would do real well to avoid if
possible. All year I treat my sig/oth like the queen
that she is, I surprise her with flowers, I take her to
dinner. Hell, I even write her poems. So what could I
possibly have to worry about on this of all days, you
ask? Expectations, Jack! By the time V-day rolls around,
she's expecting a damn BMW with a red bow on it. Candy,
flowers, dinner - hah! If that is best I can come up with
on V-day, I don't see her naked for a month (before your
little minds can come up with any cracks about that last
line, let me assure you that my sig/oth is well worth
seeing naked, not that a loser like you will ever find
out about that).
Who is to blame for this fiasco, you might ask? What sort
of cur would set men up to be knee-capped on a yearly
basis? I know what you're thinking, and you are wrong,
this time it wasn't a woman. No, the rat fink that did
this deed was male. Not only that, but a male for whom
I would normally hold the deepest admiration. Valentine's
day was created lock, stock and barrel from the overly
fertile imagination of an advertising executive. How do
we sell more flowers? How do we unload all that heart-shaped
candy? How in God's name are we supposed to get rid of
all of these moronic edible underwear? I'll tell you
how, by holding the gun of celibacy to the head of every
man in America if he doesn't deliver the goods. Oh I'm
sure it seemed like a good idea at the time, but CFL
expansion into the United States probably seemed boffo
at one time as well. The fact of the matter is, what
started out as an advertising ploy to bump retail sales
in February is now threatening to destroy manhood in
America as we know it. I can only hope that the swine
that perpetrated this evil deed has a special place in
hell. I hope that he is eternally a chubby third grader,
who every day for the rest of eternity has to sit and
watch every other kid in the class get a V-day card.
Meanwhile he sits at his too small desk and stares at
his too big V-day card box. That's what I hope happened
to that man.
You can see the change in the commercials. Where we once
saw, "Show her you love her with flowers." We
now have harried and harassed men, looking like extras
from "Planet of the Apes" during the hunt scene,
scrounging about 7-11's at midnight looking for those
cheesy rose/panty combinations. That's right, men buying
panties in a 7-11. What's next, tampons at the hardware
store? Keep an eye on the ads this year, men. Watch and
see how many use not-so-subtle threats of horrible punishment
for the man who doesn't deliver the goods. Why last year,
even Al Bundy went out shopping for the wife. I don't know
what your ideas of right and wrong are, but I guarantee
you that this is wrong under any belief system.
I myself have been caught in this nasty trap more than
once. I recall a time that I patiently explained to my
sig/oth my objections to this ugly little extortion-fest.
I was subdued, I was reasonable, I pointed out all of the
wonderfully romantic things I had done for her during the
course of the year. She was demure, she listened politely,
she even nodded in seeming agreement during portions of
my little spiel. I thought to myself, "Skip old boy,
you've got this one beaten." Do you know what she
said to me then? " That's all well and good,"
she said, "But if you don't give me something to
acknowledge Valentine's Day we will never have sex again."
If that doesn't wrap up the spirit of V-day in a nutshell,
I don't think anything does.
So what can we do? Are we to allow our manhood to be snuffed
out like a child's birthday candle? Shall we sit quietly and
watch while our sons and their sons are forced to pay larger
and even larger ransoms to retain the use of their privates?
In a word, you bet your bippy. Why, because we are lying, no
good scum, and you just know that the minute you attempt to
stand firm and ignore this pseudo-holiday, some greasebag
with a dozen roses will swoop in and play Romeo to your
beloved's Juliet. You just know that even if every man in
America were to take a solemn vow to "Just say no,"
to V-day and all of it's trimmings, it would do no good.
Within half an hour, the morally challenged among us would
be stocking up on candy and polishing their datebooks. You
want to know why the world will never truly be at peace?
Because even when faced with something as purely evil as
Valentine's Day, do men stick together and weather the storm
as brothers locked in a common cause? No, we sell each other
out in a heartbeat to get a little loving from the fairer sex.
We are a pathetic and mean little species, my friends. Is it
any wonder at all that the apes took over in the end?
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