Ah yes, that most wonderful time of year shall be upon us yet again. A holiday filled with love, mushy notes, boxed chocolate, stuffed animals, and guaranteed boo-tay. The sun shines, the day is bright, and the robins whistle to the tune of Celine Dion's biggest love ballad: "Near, far, wherever you are... I believe that the heart does go on. Once more you open the door... And you're here in my heart and my heart will go ooOOooOn and ooOOoon." Meanwhile, in amber's world, the birdies are crooning the latest Backstreet Boys hit "Show me the meaning of being lonely. Is this the feeling I need to walk with. Tell me why I can't be there where you are. There's something missing in my heart." Couples traipse around, hands clasped, parading their girlfriend/boyfriend status in front of wistful lonelies like myself.

So what are my plans? I dunno, I'm weighing the options. I could go to a club... I figure that on valentines day the single boys just might be as desperate as they were 5 minutes to the new years countdown. Or a strip club. I've never been and I'm sure it'll be an undoubtedly nauseating experience. On Friday when mam was over she forced me to turn to the pay-per-view cable porn that she o so enjoys. I did not. Everyone's so damn nasty. Ahh..speaking of nastiness, which reminded me of Ron Jeremy, which reminded me of an advertisement I saw in the Georgia Straight. There's a new compilation CD that's coming out. It features the hottest songs from the hottest porn movies of the 70's. The title is Pornosonic, Ron Jeremy is on the cover, it's "recorded in sexophonic sound" and includes unreleased songs such as "Dick Dagger's Theme", "Nice N' Sleazy Does It", "Spiderpussy", "Sex Starved Secretaries", and "Her Magic Carpet". Interesting... Bow chicca bow bow! O yeah, so what else can I do this monday? I could buy a big bag of popcorn and find myself a prime sitting log at the beach...then when couples walk by with hearts in their eyes I'll watch and coo "Awww...how sweet." Right before I pelt their bitch-ass faces with my scalding butter covered kernels. Or i can go to the local lookout point type deal and harass all the horny teens. Say I come upon a particularly steamed up car..."Knock Knock. Hey Harry! Your mom says she wants you home to help wax her bikini line!" Ah yes, cupid amber's always there to set the romantic lovin' mood. The boy won't be able to get that image out of his head for the rest of his life, let alone the next 7 minutes.

So here's the deal. I don't have a valentine. It saddens me. I just may be on the brink of suicidal. I'm not lying. As I type, I'm setting up my intricate death trap. I've crashed my car into the living room. Boy will the landlord be pissed. I've insulated the gaping hole in the wall with decorative shower curtains I recently purchased at Ikea. There are dancing poodles on it. Hopefully not too much exhaust will escape. I've got my last meal before me. A lovingly constructed Spamburger, complete with processed cheese. A mini Sunny Delight sits beside it. I smile at the irony. My last beverage will be a Sunny Delight. I am neither sunny, nor delighted. So unless you want my mother to find me late Valentine's night (after she comes home from some wild banging boo-tay lovin of her own), my body limp and lifeless, overdosed on carbon monoxide, as she who bore me dances around my corpse in glee, singing "Ding dong, the witch is dead, the witch is dead, the witch is dead!", I suggest you do me a favour. Because unlike what all the grief counselors will tell you, my death will, indeed, be YOUR fault. And my ghost will return from the depths of hell to haunt you. So please, have pity on this poor soul and send me a valentine at [email protected]. Please.