Ahhh February, the glorious Technicolored month of love. It is a time of enchantment for all young lovers; a time for romance, of wonder and of candle lit suppers. It is traditionally the month in which sonnets are composed, poems written, proposals made, vows committed and cards exchanged. Sweet words ooze thick like treacle as if set upon the soft fluttering of fairy wings drifting in the summer breeze and unto your beloveds’ waiting ear – sickening isn’t it? --.
For some strange and inexplicable reason that I am yet to grapple the concept of, February also appears to be a time when you humans are compelled to throw all caution, commonsense, self-control and self-respect to the wind and do something really pathetic in the name of that four letter word LOVE. Apart from being stupid, what are you people… lemmings? If so there’s the cliff - I’m sure you can jump further than the last poor bastard did before it hit the ground --.
My safer than jumping of a cliff option for you this month if you want ‘real romance’ is to stop reading my blog here and now; go out and buy yourself the latest Mills & Boon and find yourself a nice quiet train going to East Bumfarq. I can guarantee you two things;
- You will find love and romance. It may only be between the pages of the book and not the sheets, but you will find it.
- I can also assure you that you can be happy in the knowledge that you will be able to enjoy your book in peace as the world outside your window passes by. No-one in their right mind will want to mug you, attempt to strike up a conversation or try out their latest pick-up line on you while that book remains in your hand. You’ve now been ‘100% Bearified’ by me as a contaminated product. Just imagine the word ‘LOSER’ tattooed cross your forehead from here on in.
But honestly, this romance caper is crap. From this little bears perspective Valentine’s Day appears to be nothing more than an elaborate, commercialised, profiteering, money making hoax put on by chocolate manufacturers, florists and sundry other businesses each year. Furthermore it seems as though it is also a sad excuse for a bunch of attentions seeking frumps to have a day out and try their luck one last time before that last flush of blossom finally wilts and dies. Let’s face it folks, if you’re anything like the House Human and Plan A: the beer goggles didn’t work, then duh, any plan that flows – Plan B or otherwise – is also doomed to failure. If you ain’t been pollinated one way or another after 45 years… it ain’t gunna happen. I’m sorry, but as I keep telling the House Human, give up and get over it. Its time to move forward, learn to self-pollinate and appreciate the ‘self’; celebrate your freedom; you now have a life and can leave the roses on the bush and the white doves in their cages (by the way House Human if by any chance you read this, the money you’ll save on trying to trap a lover with roses and doves is to go in to buying more chocolate – you’ve run out again! --. Oh, and can you stop putting it on the top shelf of the pantry I can’t reach it. Thanks).
For the speed readers amongst you who find my pace of typing slow, and for those of you who are a little slow and haven’t quite grasped my point this month here’s a quick summary: This little bear finds the whole idea of romance a repugnant and tiresome concept – if a vaccine has been developed to combat this debilitating and insidious disease then please let the inoculations begin. If, like me, the thought of love and romance makes you sick to the pit of your stomach – get a chuck bucket. If on the other hand you are one of these pathetic losers drawn in by this terrible deception inflicted upon humanity and the world around you is glorious and grand; where love bounds from every direction; rainbows appear before you and little birds weep in your very presence – don’t you think its about time you got rid of the rose coloured glasses and moved out of ‘Neverland’ – seriously, love sucks!
I for one, and I know I’m not alone here (just ask GI Joe, Action Man and the neglected Cabbage Patch Kid their opinions), consider the very notion of love to be an inconsequential, futile, irrelevant and disturbingly disgusting emotion that is wasted on the weak; lost on the young; tolerated by those that can least afford it, and nothing more an irritation in the jocks of those that don’t want it. Good grief Charlie Brown do you humans not realise the Age of Aquarius with its hippy flower power children and era of free love is just like… so twentieth Century! Why don’t you stop batting eyelashes at each other long enough to do something worthwhile this month other than thinking about love? Surely your time would be far better spent on a more pertinent and worthwhile activity such as bee-keeping; or perhaps you would like a more social networking pursuit, I hear the Four-legged Madagascan Screaming Chook Appreciation Society is always looking for new members (for those who are unaware new activities such as these can be found in your local telephone directory. For example: under ‘A’ for Apiary and ‘O’ for Obscure Hobbies).
Not wishing to come across as mean-spirited, I did give careful consideration to putting together a list of romance related books, poems, movies and songs for this month’s blog for those of you who really want it. However, after said careful consideration (which took about as long to deliberate as it did to write this sentence) I decided against it. Why? Because I just new the list would be littered with the likes of Billy-Ray’s ‘Achy Breaky Heart’; Fergal Sharky’s ‘A good heart’; The Notebook and Sleepless in Seattle. Apart from any thing else I just couldn’t be bothered. If you want to look it up go for it, but I ain’t wasting my time or the House Humans internet connection on it. So instead you get to suffer one of my poems
A Valentine’s Day poem for the disenchanted
Be my Valentine, I think not
No matter when, how or what
To think you love me I know not why
Such a thought, I’m nauseous, I’d rather die
‘Tis true your beauty is beyond compare
And looking at you is hard to bear
Your hair is grey and falling out
Your skin is wrinkled, your lips don’t pout
Your teeth have yellowed, your complexion greyed
Your mind has wandered, your thoughts have strayed
Please don’t caress me, nor kiss me
Don’t hold my hand
If I’m in trouble by me don’t stand
For my pulse don’t quicken
And my heart don’t still
I’ve said it before you make me ill
Please don’t say that you love me
Don’t say that you’ll stay
You know where the door is
Now start heading that way.
FYI folks, throughout the month of February I’m going to be the little furry guy picketing outside the Toy Box and handing out placards and pins to the other toys declaring ‘Love is a sham’. You never know we may even burn Barbie at the stake in protest.
I think in preparation for this time next year I’ll have to start a new Love Sucks movement – if you have any ideas on what we can do to celebrate it drop me a line at Theodore.Bear@hotmail.com.au or send me a tweet.
In the meantime if you’d like to join my anti-happy, anti-love, anti-social anti-group, you can post an anti-comment on this anti-blog or visit my anti-facebook page. For those of you who haven’t located my blog, facebook or twitter account yet you’re not trying hard enough. Look under ‘B’ for bitter and twisted.
Until next time, big hugs to all
Love
Theodore H. Bear
:o)
