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It’s that time of year again, when the shelves at Rite Aid turn a sickening shade of pink and hearts stare back at you from behind rosy display windows. St. Valentine himself would spear his own gut if he could see us now. Yes, the holiday with the power to destroy any relationship is nearly upon us.
Most would agree that commercialism has taken over the romantic’s favorite day, and twisted it into a massive marketing scheme. Here’s how it breaks down: Chocolate sales reach an all-time high, flower shops are inundated with desperate, last-minute calls, and girls are trying to help their single friends by giving them bottles of Baileys and reminding them that “guys are pigs.”
Ask women what they think of Valentine’s Day and more often than not, they’ll tell you they despise the thought. It seems whatever gift expectations they have, their mate cannot deliver. That means disappointment and a sad, pissed-off chick.
My not-so-scientific survey revealed that most hot men in Park City believe the holiday is “a crock of shit.” This may be true, but gentlemen, listen up: If you dig the chick you’re dating and think you’re going to hang out with her and continue to get laid for the remainder of this season, you had better not call February 14th a “crock of shit.” Instead, heed Sky’s advice. Order the fucking flowers, take her to dinner, give her some cute undies from Victoria Secret, or if it’s serious, get her the damn Scarpa T-2 boots she can’t afford. Whatever you do, don’t mock this day. We want you to do something – and you know you can.
As for the ladies… if your man is diggin’ you and you know it – bust out with a goodie or two. Don’t overdue it though… too many gifts stress out the male species, and they may run. Instead, why don’t you deliver that blow job you’ve denied him the last few times you’ve been together? Or treat yourself to some hot lingerie item he will enjoy as much as you.
That’s all the advice Sky has regarding this “crock of shit” holiday. Remember: this too shall pass. Those couples still in tact on the 15th of February… here’s to you. Those folks left laying in the gutter, sobbing—join the club. Post-holiday-carnage is just as much of a Valentine’s Day tradition as that goddamn naked baby with the bow and arrow.
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