Saint Valentine was
beaten with clubs, head chopped off:
Fucker deserved it.
I know I haven't been posting as well as I used to, and I was all set to come up with a brilliant mindfuck of a post on Valentine's Day. I wrote it down on my list of homework; right between reading Bacchae and The Sacred Disease was "kick-ass blog post."
After three hours of staring blankly at my monitor (what can I say? Hippocrates can lick my newly shorn balls) I realized that I couldn't do it. Everything was too whiny. So I trolled the internet, and realized that my blog daddy, Faustus, summed up my feelings wonderfully with a haiku.
My thoughts last year weren't bad, if they would have actually worked.
But really, when it all comes down to it, no one can say it better than zefrank, because no one can ever say anything better than zefrank. Plus, I find him sort of attractive.
