You've Got VD

Humpday Asshole is on the way later today.

Blogger is totally misbehaving for me. Though, I should not be at all surprised that the gods continue their campaign to make my Valentine's Day week miserable, now using technology against me. Why not. Also, no picture. Blogger hates me.

Until then, here was the itinerary of my Valentine's 2006:

I get home from work, lie down on my couch and watch tv for a bit while coming up with excuses not to go to the gym. I went with: no one goes to the gym on Tuesday nights. In lieu of gymtime, I call for a double order of hot wings with a side of cheese fries and switched off watching American Idol and men's figure skating.

I begin to make mental, trying to come up with good V-day memories. After coming up with a hazy, if inaccurate 2 or 3, roll my eyes and stumble to bed. I pick out good and bad qualities of all my exes and rank them in order in different categories, such as sexual ability and conversation skills. I masturbate, mutter something to myself and then rank myself first on each of those lists.

I wonder if this is the first time I feel legitimately fat after a meal. Not physically fat, but just overall fat. I do. I read a book that tells the story of a fictional account of what might have happened were a fascist elected in 1940 in America. I thought I should read something light, you know?

I wake up this morning in my bed with an orange stained mouth, cheese on my shirt and my hand around a container of Wawa iced tea, after having a dream about my ex-girlfriend and her new clone stalking me at a ski resort. I drive into work resisting the urge to run someone over for fun. Make a mental note to kill Cupid before the new year arrives.