Archive for February, 2010

The Anguish Of An English Geek On The Internet

Posted: February 17, 2010 by kaostheory in Rants
Tags: , ,

Not all of our articles at Dan Eats Cat Food are drunken, vitriolic rages at holidays and women. Sometimes we go deeper, further down the rabbit hole, exploring new, horrifying areas that require our attention. This entry is one of them. But first, some back story.

We were not always the multinational corporation with thousands of stockholders and a quite lucrative pension plan that we are today. No, in the beginning, there was just we few – we happy few – who fought and scrapped and dug for every last comic idea we could find, even to the point of resorting to wholesale plagiarism from similar low-key comedy websites. It was a nasty world back then, but we had to put kobe beef on our plates, damn it! Where was I? Oh yes. In that time, we had reporters scouring the earth for unmined sources of comedic gold. This is the tale of one such brave reporter.

This article has been in our files for many years. We have always felt that to publish it it would sully the memory of such a brave man, reducing him to tears and vomit of insanity instead of those of drunken irresponsibility. However, the flood that he speaks of has begun to re-emerge and it would be foolhardy – nay, dangerous – to deny the world such insight in such a time as this. Be forewarned, however. A man seized with madness tells tales of unimaginable horror. Your dreams, as ours, may become haunted with the spectre of such evil. Let us begin.
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Entry 1: My hand…it shakes as I write this. It as if my very nerves themselves rebel against me now. And who would blame them? For all that they – I – have seen, I would expect no better from them. Perhaps a tip of my flask will calm me.

It is later now. I have begun to relax, the anxiety seeping away from me with every sip of my whiskey that I take. I curse the day that I accepted this assignment from Code Name KaosTheory. That son of a bitch. He knew that sending out here would be a suicide mission. He just wanted me out of the way so he could place his sorry excuse for a pecker betwixt the breasts of that new accounting clerk. Well, I’ll show him! I’ll make it back and expose him for the –

(It is at this point that the next seventeen pages of this entry appear to have been badly water-damaged, either from moisture and condensation from the air around him or perhaps an unfortunate encounter with the entirety of the contents of the office water cooler. The world may never know. Sadly, the damaged pages were unrecoverable. Heh. – ed.)

Entry 2: Regardless of my feelings towards that snake KaosTheory, I have been assigned this task and my sense of duty, honor and the fact that I am only paid upon completion of an article compel me to see it through to the end.

I suppose I should start from the beginning. What IS this mission that has so damned me? Where am I? What am I doing? Even now, these are as unclear to me as bathhouse glass, but I must try. I have been assigned to peruse that most foul of entities on the Internet: Facebook. Over the course of my assignment, I must go deep into the jungle of ignorance and attempt to analyze what godless atrocities are being perpetrated on my second love, the English language. My first love is Miss Penelope Wizenstein of Palm Springs, Florida. As a sidenote, if I do not return as I so often believe I will not, please send this entry along with proof of my death to her at her address. She must know of my love and of my sacrifice to my art. If you have any decency, you will comply with this wish.

(We just tossed the journal in a drawer and left it there for a few years. Our bad. – ed.)

(Also, I fucked her. – KT)

As I was saying, I must penetrate (Heh. – KT) as far as I can into these barbaric subcultures known as high schoolers and, as KaosTheory so verbosely calls them, “stupid fucking wastes of oxygen who deserve no better than to be beaten to death with a 2X4”. While I don’t approve in the slightest of his manic hatred of these creatures, I do agree with the assessment that these poor, backwards animals do create a sense of savagery that puts one ill at ease. They seem to gleefully cheer any time one of their miserable herd damages our language, going so far as to torment and cast out some of their ilk who strive for a better life. I will begin further investigation tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet Penelope. May you be looking at the same stars I am with the same love I give to you.

(Nope. Biting the pillow. Several times. – KT)

(KT, shut the fuck up and let the man tell his story. That’s an order. – ed.)

(FINE. Spoilsport. – KT)

Entry 3: The first place I am meant to explore more fully is a group entitled “Parents call it “Back Talk” we call it “explaining why their wrong”.” Oh. Oh dear. Well, setting aside the horrific arrogance explicated by the title – I fully believe that anyone who says this phrase is, in fact, talking back, I’m sure that the misspelling of the title is just a simple misunderstanding. Surely, people won’t be so stupid as to actually defend such a mistake.

“And nobody has to spell correctly enless ur in school and most of y’all are spelling these things WRONG!!!” Ah…hm. Well, one bad apple, right?

“Ok number one u fags who use numbers- there cant be like twenty number 3 and 2s number to for the ppl who rlly dont have n e thinf better to do- wtf does it Matter the diffrence!?! I dont even knoe the diffrence between most of them!! Now stfu and get a life get a gf or bf and get out and do something!! Ty for all the ppl who rnt total dumasses!!! ♥ / lyndee” – I…what? What in the world does having a significant other have to do with using proper linguistics? Clearly, madam, you are correct in your assertion that you do not know the difference between many grammatical issues. Such prescience is rare these days.

“Omfg… y isz yall fuckin kidsz so fuckin gay… lyk i put money… the dude whp made the mistake will beat the fuci outta all of yall…. with mah help…. to me yall just some fuck boysz who have no lyf… and stay on the computer all day… HOW ABOUT THIS…. GO KILL YURSELF YU FUCKBOYSZ… INCLUDING THE HATIN HOESZ….” – Erk. I was…I was unaware of the grammatical usage of the letter “z” to further explain…I don’t even know.

” Secondly, if you wanna be “grammatical” sentences do not start with because! Why? I do not know I didn’t make the rules. That was somebody who wanted to make life harder for people.” – Madam, I can assure you that the intent of the creators of that usage was not to make life more difficult but to offer a set of rules for writing, that is all.

“haha. Wow. Its the internet. Shit. Its facebook. No one says ne thing right on here. Iz no biggy. Their, they’re.. Sounds the same.. Gets the point across.. Why fuss ovr it?. – Why…why fuss over it? They are incorrect, that is why! If you use it wrong here, you will use it wrong everywhere.

I…I must leave this damned place. Rest my weary head to dream of cognates and thee and thou. My brain is stretched to capacity. Goodnight world.

Entry 4: It is another day. I fear it. As I opened my eyes, I cursed the world that I still was drawing breath. Today I am…no, it cannot me. I have…multiple groups to study. Lord, please guide me through this hell.

The first is…oh no, seriously? This can’t be right. “Seeing your ex with their new partner and noticing they have down-graded.” Maybe it’s not so bad.

“HAA TOLD U UR GONN REGRET THIS. NOW ITS CLEAR 2 U DAT AM D BEST U WILL EVA HAVE. COS DUDEANYTHING AFTER ME IS A DOWNGRADE! DUNNO WAT D HELL I WAZ THINKIN GOIN OUT WIT A LOSER LIKE U! KINDA FEEL SORRY 4 D POOR NEWGIRL HAAA YALL PERFECT 4 EACHOTHER:)” – Jesus Christ, my eyes! Blood is gouting from them as if they contained stigmata! Let me bleed out, O merciful fates!

There…there. They are clean. I feel woozy and I believe that the drying blood is attracting bugs and various native fauna to the site. I must depart and find a new group to study. Quickly now. We don’t wish to be consumed here. Not like this.

Next is…*sigh*…”Huh? Nothing. What did you say? Never mind. OMG JUST TELL ME WHAT YOU SAID!”. Oh THIS will surely be a bastion of good grammar. I’m starting to go numb finally.

“Sumtimes it’s wen u accidently talk to urself u hav to say nevermind or wen u say sumthin that If it was heard the first time it can’t b said again if it was supposed to b a funny in the moment thing….. Nevermind is for many uses but u still do a gud point haha.” – “Do a gud point”? Is this some sort of mating ritual? I can’t decipher it. Capitalized words in the middle of sentences? Wen? Hav? B? It’s like some primitive language bastardization.

“SOMETIMEZ WEN YU SAY IT THE SECOND TIME IT LOSES MEANING SO THEN IT JUX ENDS UP LOOKIN LIKE YUR LAME… AM I RITE?” – No. No sir you are NOT right. “Jux” is not a word in the English language. It’s not even a word in HINDI, you miserable…*ahem*. Pardon me.

“yeahhhh…. im kinda to lazy too repeat it to lol” – This…this actually offends me. You used both “to” and “too” but incorrectly. You legitimately had the ability to use them right and you DIDN’T. What the FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? I WANT TO FUCKING FIND YOU AND STRANGLE THE LIFE OUT OF YOUR USELESS CORPSE YOU FUCKING –

(This…goes on for several dozen more pages. Had we known the mental strain it was taking upon him, making him break his proper English bearing, we would have extracted him immediately. Unfortunately, we had no way of knowing. It gets worse. – ed.)

Entry 5: I am alive. Still. I do not know why. I do not understand why I am being punished so harshly in this life. What have I done to deserve such torment? This goes beyond abuse. It is as if I am not just actively seeking out Cthulhu but when I find him, I am jabbing him vigorously with a sharpened stick, bound and determined to make the world collapse under the weight of such roiling insanity. I pray for death but death does not come.

What do we have in front of me today? Oh, wonderful. “No you idiot, it’s not my “time of month” you’re just pissing me off”. Because frank discussion about the ins and outs of menstruation were what I desired the most today when I awoke from my tortured dreams.

“omg lads should realy 1be kikd in the balls every day for a week to understand wah pain ios lol” – Are you saying that we men deserve physical abuse of our testicles because we cannot empathize with the agony of bleeding from our orifices for a week each month? Madam, are you one of those feminists who demand equality in EVERYTHING? Or, as is my theory, are you just a cunt?

“time of the month?…. why do men think that periods are the answer to our moods……. it’s usually a load of b**ls: if it’s got balls or an engine it bound to be trouble – us women? we are almost perfect!!!! they just want to dismiss our opinions!!” – I can safely say that you are not almost perfect, to be quite frank. There is almost nothing more imperfect, in fact, than a woman!

(We here at DECF do not condone such rampant sexism. We fully believe that women are more than just warm holes to penetrate. – ed.)

(Speak for your damn self. – KT)

“Hahah. Wow Freddy and all the other douche bags on here saying crap. First of all I doubt that girl Sammy is a lesbian and even if she is NO GIRL str8, bi or lez would want you or your balls. And I surely as hell don’t and I am GAY LMFAO. How you like em apples?” – I…I don’t understand this. Not one bit. If she is a lesbian, surely that is an implication that she does not, as she put it, “want him or his balls”. Does that require raucous laughter?

“ok den ima invite my dad nd my mum my 3 brotherz nd 2 sisterz haha to join fb first then ur page lmfaoooo fukn old generation dumb fuks they cnt even use a fukn pc omg its sooo embarising haha” – For the love of God, Montressor!

(Here is where the tale ends, at least that which is decipherable. The last multiple pages are coated in a mixture of blood, tears, vomit and feces. It appears as if his gentle soul could no longer take the pressure building inside his brain. When we found him, blood leaking from his eyes and ears, he finally looked at peace. Requiescat in pace, my friend – ed.)

(So long and don’t let the door hitcha on the way out! – KT)
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Our story is now complete. Let us, however, never forget the sacrifice this man made for the good of all peoples. He suffered horribly and died, a broken, insane man. If you are one of us – bright, smart, lovers of grammar – fight the fight he began. If you are one of those evil multitudes that drove him to death…I hope you fucking rot in Hell.

Peace out, y’all!


My apologies. We here at DECF have spent the last multiple days in a drunken stupor in celebration of the New Orleans Saints winning the Super Bowl in grand fashion. Pred3000 is still unconscious. Raybesto has been throwing up for hours. God bless America.

However, our absence does not mean we have been caught unawares at what is happening very soon. Singles’ Awareness Day. VD, Fuck You And Fuck Everyone That Is In Love Day. Whatever you wish to call it, we understand. Some of you may be happy. Some may be sad. But you all know that if you’re going to do the day right – whether that is by drinking so hard that you vomit blood or by loving so hard you cum blood – you have to have DECF giving you a little background on this most vile of holidays. That’s why we’re going to explain to you what different traditions seem to symbolize and what they really symbolize. You can never be too careful!
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Tradition: Flowers
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “You are more beautiful and more fragile than this rose. I will take care of you forever and keep you flourishing.”
Actual Symbolism: “Yeah, it’s pretty. I’ll give you that. It is going to die within a week though. Isn’t transience grand?”

Tradition: Chocolates
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “Something sweet for the sweetest thing I know. You are more delicious to me than this chocolate.”
Actual Symbolism: “Clearly I don’t find you fat enough. Hope you like empty calories!”

Tradition: Cards
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “This card can only barely scratch the surface of the words I wish to say to you. My tongue, though, is stifled and my thoughts jumbled at the merest sight of you, so this has to do.”
Actual Symbolism: “Yeah, I guess I love you ‘n’ shit. Can you believe they charge $6.50 for this crap? Highway fucking robbery.”

Tradition: Hearts
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “I am giving you the key to my very being by giving you this heart. It is a metaphor for love and trust.”
Actual Symbolism: “I…um…want you to have access to my organs? Or maybe just one BIG one, amiright? Haha! Fuck, that’s a lot of blood.”

Tradition: Cupid
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “Childlike innocence! It spreads a beautiful message to the world.”
Actual Symbolism: “Are you suggesting something? I don’t want kids. Especially not mutants like that. Are those wings? Did you live next to Chernobyl when you were growing up? Maybe I should put the poor bastard out of its misery.”

Tradition: Jewelry
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “Our love will last far beyond the lifespan of this sparkling stone! It will be dust before I stop loving you.”
Actual Symbolism: “At least I don’t think you’re a CHEAP whore. By the way, this entitles me to anal, right?”

Tradition: Champagne
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “This is bubbly and sweet, just like you my dear. Also, you are ten times as intoxicating.”
Actual Symbolism: “I’m spending a few hundred bucks on this dinner. Why the hell would I not want to be drunk when I pay? Come on.”

Tradition: Red
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “The red represents you, the very essence that flows through my veins.”
Actual Symbolism: “Just to be clear, you aren’t on your period right now, correct? I don’t feel like sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Tradition: White
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “The white is the purest of heart, mind, body and soul. It is the renewal of your virginity.”
Actual Symbolism: “Wait, what? Shouldn’t dealing with virginity be RED instead? I mean, logistically, it’s more sound there.”

Tradition: Pink
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “Pink – expressing how you are eternally female, beautiful and soft.”
Actual Symbolism: “Female, beautiful, soft and pink? Well, that certainly CAN describe you. If you know what I mean. I mean your pussy.”

Tradition: Spending money
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “I would give all I have and own in the world to make you happy!”
Actual Symbolism: “Oh God. I’m going to have to declare bankruptcy now.”

Tradition: Sex
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “This is us physically expressing our love for each other in the most intimate of settings.”
Actual Symbolism: “If I don’t cum three times tonight, I am going to be so fucking mad.”

Tradition: Love
Commonly Accepted Symbolism: “This is who we are. Together. We not only are in love, we represent it. The world itself will bend a knee and weep in awe of the strength of our togetherness. You am I and I am you. One body. One mind. One soul. One heart. Love. I love you.”
Actual Symbolism: “So, yeah…just to let you know, I’m seeing like three other people on the side. You’re just not giving me what I need. For instance, blowjobs. Those might move you up the rankings a bit. So…see you. I’m off to another one’s place. You might want to get tested, just FYI.”
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And there you have it. For all you poor men not knowing what you’re doing symbolizes…well…we’re here to help. Just remember, if you feel yourself falling too deep, a swift punch to your balls and biting your tongue will clear your mind enough to escape from the Siren’s Curse. Best of luck. I’m going to drink until I puke.


Super Bowl Sunday. A real MAN’S holiday, not like that wimp-ass Valentine’s Day designed to rip the testes off of any man unlucky enough to have access to a bank account and a pussy that demands recompense for the privilege of using it. The only days that compare are St. Patrick’s Day – a day to celebrate the act of getting drunk – and Halloween – a day to celebrate getting drunk while watching girls in slutty costumes get drunk. Truly, Super Bowl Sunday is in the Pantheon of Manly.

What, though, is a man or woman to do if they do not care about/understand football and are viewing the game with/dating someone who is more rabid than Cujo about it? Well, we’re going to offer you a little bit of help on this most holy of football days. You know, to take the edge off.
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The first – and most important – piece of advice is at least pretend that you give a shit about the game. Too many Super Bowl parties are ruined by “outsiders” pissing and moaning about how it’s boring and why are we watching this and how about we turn it to the History Channel instead because there’s an utterly fascinating program on the mating cycle of the African I Don’t Fucking Care Bird. Relationships have ended with less reason than that. Fun fact: it is legally accepted that if someone is bitching about having to watch the game, spectators are allowed to A) headbutt them in the face (if they are male) or B) take them into a different room and rape them (if they are female). Do yourself – and your face or vagina or ass – a favor and at least act like you care. Well, that or don’t come. Don’t watch. Stay at home and let fans have their fun.

Secondly, it is advised to learn the basics about the game and teams before the game. While the complainer is one of the most annoying of guests, the questioner is right up there. The enthusiasm and desire to care about the sport is welcomed for sure, but nothing saps the energy out of a room faster than having a critical play missed due to asking “Why did they call timeout there?” or “So the guys in the striped shirts don’t get the ball?” or, God forbid, “Why doesn’t that team in the red just walk up and take the ball from the guy holding it?” Please. For the sanity of those around you, either attempt to understand the basics beforehand or just suffer in silence and ask during the commercials.

Speaking of which, for the love of all that is holy, don’t ignore the game by doing other stuff but run into the room and shush everyone because the commercials are on. Yes, we understand that for whatever reason the commercials during the Super Bowl aren’t hated and muted like all others but are held up as exciting and fresh. Yes, we understand that you may not care about the game and the commercials are the only reason you’re watching. Yes, we understand that you want to feel involved with what’s happening. But come on. If you don’t give enough of a shit to pay attention to the game, don’t act like you have the fucking right to quiet everyone – probably pissed or excited about something that happened – just because a fucking eTrade commercial has a damn monkey.

Next – and this one does depend on the audience you’re seeing the game with – know when to cheer and when to boo. If you’re watching a game with all – let’s say – Saints fans, don’t cheer for Peyton Manning of the Colts unless you are goddamn sure you are rooting for the Colts. An innocent mistake by someone who doesn’t quite understand what’s happening is fine and glossed over. Mistakes happen. But if you are cheering against the team with the overwhelming support in the room, you are treading on dangerous ground. Devil’s Advocate is fine in some situations. Political discussions for example. But actively cheering against the supported team because you think it’s funny to make them angry is a bad, bad way to go about things. Since parties usually include a lot of alcohol being poured and consumed around the house/room/bar, if you don’t get your face bashed in by a drunken biker you pissed off because you wanted to, you got lucky. You fucking cunt.

Along with that, please, please know why you are cheering for the team you are doing so for. It is acceptable to cheer for a team because A) you have always supported them, B) you live in the general area and they are the team that is the closest by, C) they are a great success story and a win would cap off a remarkable year, D) the opposing team is so hated, so reviled that unless you live in that area, you have no right to like them, or E) the opposing team is a direct rival of your favorite team. You are allowed to “adopt” a team in the case of E. However, it is NOT acceptable to cheer for a team because A) you like their uniforms, B) everyone else is cheering for the other one, C) the other team’s colors are ugly, or D) because you think players on the team are attractive. That last one applies mostly to girls. Jesus Christ. Having “cute players” is absolutely fucking unacceptable fandom rationalization. We men don’t support a WNBA team because their players are “hot”. If “their player is hot” is the best reason you have to back a team, you are not a fucking football fan and don’t have any right to call yourself one. Other fans of that team should be ashamed to have you as a fan. It’s the truth.

Finally, don’t act like you’re above it. This is a development off of Point 1. We understand that you may not want to be there or are there to support someone. That’s fine. Pissing and moaning will bring bad things upon you but there is worse that you can do. You can act like everyone else is silly for caring about the game. “It’s just a game” should never fucking leave your mouth. We understand that. We don’t care. For the length of time we are watching it, nothing else matters to us. “This is so stupid” is another one that should stay at home. If you think verbalizing that is a helpful thing, YOU should stay at home. You are there so just enjoy yourself. Seriously. It’s an excuse to get drunk, cheer and lose yourself in a moment. If you can’t enjoy that, take the stick out of your orifices and let yourself be human.

Follow these and your Super Bowl experience will be a happy, healthy, fun one!
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Alternatively, you can get hammered as balls drinking. We’re going to offer a bonus with this article and give you some basic drinking game ideas!

Field goal (your team) – Cheer and drink

Field goal (other team) – Curse and drink

Touchdown (your team) – Stand up, cheer and drink

Touchdown (their team) – Throw drink, curse, make another drink and drink

Turnover (either team) – Finish your drink and refill

Missed field goal (either team) – Pour out half your drink

Shot of owner (either team) – Give the finger and drink

Shot of players’ wives (either team) – Groan, complain about how you don’t care and drink

Beer commercial – Kill your beer

Financial commercial -Call your financial planner

Repeat commercial – Drink until the commercial is over

Controversial commercial – Drink until you can see both sides of the issue

Win (your team) – Celebrate and drink until you black out due to happiness

Loss (your team) – Swear repeatedly, maybe cry and drink until you forget that the fucking game even happened

There we have it! Please don’t die, readers!


Greetings faithful readers (and totally unfaithful commentors, you whores)! We have a special treat for you today – a piece from The Archives! No, not the archives of this set, but The Archives of my past. As we have reached February, we will be experiencing not so much technical difficulties as drunken, lonely, cynical, pissed-off vitriol – also known as my reaction to Valentine’s Day. The closer we get to that damned day, the nastier the entries will be. So let’s start out the festivities with a piece written – and performed – back in the spring of 2007. Enjoy.
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Stop. Freeze frame. Halt. Silencio, por favor. Whatever phrase you choose, use it. Just listen. I come to you concerned about the state of the world at large. No, I don’t care about Darfur. No, I don’t care about Iraq. No, I don’t even care about saving baby seals from oil-soaked killer whales with AIDS. Fuck those seals. I’m much more concerned about something more insidious, something that’s infected the very core of our society.

I’m talking about Valentine’s Day.

Picture, if you will, the following scenario. A man in the seventeenth or eighteenth or whatever century gets himself thrown in jail and is taken care of by the jailer’s ugly son who falls in love with him. Before the man is executed, he writes a note to the son telling him to “piss off” and signed “Your Eternal Despiser”. Now, imagine if years upon years later, a day becomes commercialized honoring this man and, in the spirit of the day, people tell each other to go fuck themselves. Pretty ridiculous sounding, right? Then why the blue hell do we have a holiday that exists as the polar opposite and nobody is concerned about it? How is this not seen as a blatant hypocrisy?

Oh, oh wait. I think I understand it now. Because the day is something positive! It’s something that makes people feel good about themselves! It’s a day where people say that they love to love loving love! Ugh, okay, I couldn’t even make it through that last sentence without feeling sick to my stomach. Excuse me a moment.

That’s better. As I was saying, the general consensus is that this holiday is something good, something that makes this world a little better place. But is it really? I would tend to argue otherwise. Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before. I’m too cynical. I’m too bitter. Someone will find me someday and then I’ll change my view. Okay, sure. Let’s set aside my crippling emotional issues for right now and actually delve deeper into the holiday to try to figure out whether or not this day is worth anything more than a date on your calendar.

Let’s first start off with looking at exactly what the holiday means to people. It means one of two things and two things only, the determining factor being the current relationship status of the person in question. It is either a day to get closer to your partner, to cuddle up, watch chick flicks, eat chocolates and show affection in public…or a day to get completely bombed/blasted/smashed/toasted/tanked/ripped/shitfaced/fucked-up…in other words, drunk as an Irishman at a split wake and wedding while cursing the day and wishing everyone involved in it gets stricken with a curiously strong case of herpes. It’s one or the other, no exceptions. Thing is, it doesn’t always stay consistent throughout the years. One year, it could be the first, the next it could be the second. Usually though, the longer it goes without being the first, the more the second tends to be exacerbated.

But why does the second happen? Shouldn’t those of us who are single revel in the fact that we don’t have to clear out our bank accounts to make a significant other not leave us? You’d think so, but no. Comforting yourself by staring gleefully at a bank balance of more than thirty bucks can only work for so long – I’ve found it to be about two and a half hours, personally. After that, you realize you don’t have anyone to spend that money on save yourself and you sink further and further into what I like to call “VD Pissy” mode. VD Pissy is different than Normal Day Pissy in subtle, but various ways. First, NDP is random, it can happen at any time. You might get a bad test grade or it might be raining or people in class won’t shut up even if they clearly have no clue what the hell they’re talking about and it eventually leads to NDP, where you just kind of want to avoid people in order to calm yourself and get back to neutral. It’s a pain but it’s natural. VDP, however, is unavoidable. It’s the one day of the year when it is known fully in advance that the state is going to happen. You can feel it coming about a week away – almost like that ability cats have to sense earthquakes – and prepare for it. You stock up on booze and violent movies, check to make sure your black clothes are clean and ready for wearing, and slap a sneer on your face, silently hoping (or maybe not) that something will stop you from careening into full-blown “Jackassery” mode, a logical extension of VDP wherein anger and frustration at people is no longer passive but active. Once in “Jackassery” mode, there is no turning back. You are bound by duty to be, if not outright mean, outwardly disdainful of anything and everything in the holiday.

Let’s put out a sort of practical application scenario, shall we? Our subject will be named Eric. Eric is a typical college student with friends and grades and all that normal stuff. He’s also been entirely single for nearly three years (ed. -four and a half years now) and has been alone on Valentine’s Day since his freshman year of high school. He’s either rejected constantly or simply can’t nut up and ask a girl out. As such, he’s the perfect subject for this little fact-finding mission. Every other day of the year, he is generally contented. Sure, there are problems, but everyone has those. But when February dawns, his mood darkens. An ever-growing thunderhead rumbles on the horizon as he sees the storm begin to come. To his credit, he tries to fight it. He stays out of stores, unless it’s to buy beer. He avoids TV so he can evade those love-drenched jewelry ads. He tries to keep things light, to laugh more. But it keeps coming, rolling towards him like a swirl of red-and-pink stained dust from Hell. And when it hits, it hits with the fury of God Himself.

Waking in the morning, he feels the dread weigh on him, an invisible bear sitting on his chest, slapping him in the face, claws bared. Don’t wake up, man, it growls. Go to sleep and miss the hassle! You know what will happen. He’ll hear the voices in his head…and hurl his more-than-likely massively hungover ass out from under the warm, comfy blanket anyway. And why? Is he masochistic? Or is he…God forbid…optimistic? Nah, nothing quite like that. He doesn’t like getting beat on or think the world farts roses just for him. All that drives him out of bed is plain, generic, overriding stupid habit. He’s a great guy, but he’s stuck in a routine. And since he doesn’t listen to his rational side or even to its fallback plan (fixing cranberry and vodkas until he feels comfortable dancing around his room like an asshole in his Spongebob boxers – don’t judge), he’ll go through the day withdrawn and quiet, silently boiling inside – keeping in the raging desire to throw the seeds of discontent into relationships like a perverted Johnny Appleseed- until he has no more responsibilities. That is when he abuses his liver to the nth degree. Seeing all the happy couples flirting and kissing and being more cute and adorable than a puppy with its head caught in a C-clamp makes him want to suffer cascading organ failure just so he can avoid it all. Bravo, Eric. Chase that drunken, vomiting star.

But should he have to do this? Should he have to drown his anger and frustration in massive quantities of low-grade Jamaican rum? Well, no, but it sure does help sometimes, I bet. But surely, you ask, one day – no matter how lovey it is – cannot drive a man to such depths of blackness, can it? That’s a…fair question. The simple answer is that the day is fine. The day in and of itself can be ignored through some careful planning and movement, or if not ignored, only absorbed in small enough amounts that it means nothing. Kind of like the emotional equivalent of cyanide. You eventually build up a tolerance to it. Or die. But either way the problem is solved! Anyways, avoiding more tangents, it is the people involved that make the holiday such a vile endeavor.

But, you ask again, people are good and just love being with each other – they can’t be the real problem, right? Wrong. With a capital W. They would be fine if they treated the day as something passive – a day to just show their significant other how much they care. In. Private. But it’s not private, is it? Oh no. Dogs in heat don’t draw as much attention as couples on Valentine’s Day. Attacking each other’s faces like zombie badgers. Bodies so entwined that you’d think they were Siamese twins that got into a fight in rubber cement. Cutesy little butterfly kisses that make you wish spiders were around. Drippy terms of endearment that would make even Shakespeare vomit with rage. Flowers in such high abundance that you’d expect rainforests were razed. Enough chocolate to send a diabetic into a coma just for breathing in. Balloons, limo rides, fancy dinners, those terrifyingly emasculating Build-a-Bears. Even the dreaded “hands in seat pockets” makes an appearance. How is this love? It seems more like one dropped pen away from public indecency.

But if this Public Display of Affection overload was not enough to trip your trigger, there’s also the wonderful side benefit of people (generally couples, but not always) deciding that since you’re single, you must need comforting. Lines such as “Don’t worry, you’ll find someone” or the closely related “There’s someone out there for you” get thrown around with “Be happy for us” and “Don’t be such a grouch, it’s a great day”. Degrading. While the general intent behind such throwaway phrases can grudgingly be acknowledged as helpful, the implementation is not nearly so positive. Single, bitter people don’t want to hear stuff like that. They don’t see it as being nice. They see it as being condescending and smug, a sense of superiority drenching the words with insincerity. Lines like that are what nearly provoke violence from the less-controlled populace.

Let me be clear that if you’re in a couple that does not automatically mean that singles hate you. Some couples are very understanding about what the day does to bitter singles and will choose to keep things private. Others won’t even bring it up in public. And not all singles are bitter. Some are cheerful and celebrate the day with good humor (privately, the bitter singles consider these sorts to be a bit mentally unstable…or traitorous). But the simple fact that is trying to be proven here is this: stop making such a big deal about nothing. If you’re happy, be happy but don’t rub it in. If you’re bitter, try to at least be civil and, barring that, just be too intoxicated to react. Let the world turn as it may and roll with whatever happens. Or, if that simply happens to be too much work, firebomb Hallmark. Either one is good.

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Yay, I guess. We’ll be back soon with another installment of “I need a girlfriend or to get laid before I go postal” Theatre. Or…something like that anyways.

A Quick Break…for COMICS!

Posted: February 2, 2010 by kaostheory in Comics
Tags:

Howdy all you wonderful DECF readers. Got a special treat for you today! As you all know, I’m sure, today (February 1st) was Hourly Comics Day in which people the Internet over drew little comics detailing every hour of their day. Well, I joined them! My art sucks and it probably isn’t funny but…well, it’s all you’re getting right now. Enjoy!

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Mostly drunken, to be honest

Internetsie!

Kitty Time

Hateness

Finale, thank God

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Sorry for some of the text not being at the optimal reading level. In order to fit all the panels onto the page, I had to compress things down. If it’s a big enough problem, I’ll edit in transcripts of the panels at a later date, if so desired.

So…have fun, I suppose!