It’s Valentine’s Day. I’ve purchased a number of things to emphasize my love for you.
First, I present you these beautiful red roses because you are a beautiful lady. Some factory worker in Shenzhen plucked the thorns off these flowers for you, baby. Her hands bleed and she’s got carpal tunnel because a rose this perfect gotta be done by hand. She has carpal tunnel for you, lambchop.
Baby, take this Valentine’s Day card. It’s a Hallmark card and it shows my love for you in foldable format. There’s a failed copywriter in the midwest who wrote this card for you. His name is Paul, and he wasn’t serious enough in high school to get into a real college. So he’s got a mail-order degree and he spends his days thinking of greeting card couplets. He’s in his duplex right now, sweetums, with a plastic jug of whiskey in one hand and a Beretta .380 in the other, just wondering how he got there. Trying to feel the weight of things. Trying to feel something, anything. Crying like a little bitch. The answer’s in your hand Paul-o. You just gotta choose and start dancin’. Just dance.
Open the card, lover. Get it? Yeah, those are some clumsy kittens. There’s also chocolate heart inside, honey.
The heart shape is apt because there’s human blood mixed in with that cocoa. I don’t mean literally, baby. I mean like, figuratively. On account of the rebels in the Ivory Coast hacking each other up with machetes, fighting over those cocoa fields. Giving those kid soldiers methamphetamine so they can pick those cocoa beans. all. night…
…for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.