love, and the stomach flu, are in the air.

So the corporations are wishing you a happy Valentine's Day, eh? They're hoping that you'll get one of each of their plutonium byproduct-dyed squishy things so you can give them to your significant blubber and then...I don't know, you can go dancing in the moonlight gnawing wheat and thinking of sushi.
The red and the pink and the ohdeararethoserealarrowsthatcupid'sshooting? strikes me as discomforting, actually. It's worse than, for example, hobbits doing the YMCA dance (The Shire People!). You just can't see them doing that after fighting so hard to dispose of the ONE RING TO RULE THEM ALL that they would just break out into song. The world is much too sombre most of the time with all these horrible things to make one day simply focused on the feelings that we have for one another when really...
a) It's easier, and more fun, to be cynical about it (as I am), and
b) Why do we just love each other this one day? It strikes me as hypocritical, like hugging a cow when you so knowingly ate its relatives' flesh. Love is for torturing one another all year round, people.

Beaver eight, beaver nine. Stop - it's snippet time. (Doesn't work? Eh.)
The bank robber followed the salesman out into the parking lot and into the car. "I swear! You'll love it! I really can't believe it's not Cupid flesh!"
"AGH!" screamed the salesman. "The irony! Oh, the irony!"
As the smiling donkeys drew bananas on each others' ears, they realized that the only sandwich that could solve the ham bludgeoning was the sandwich of LOVE.
Well, it was the sandwich of LOVE and VARIOUS DISEASES, but it was almost the same thing.
"I wanna hula," said the gosling.
"Doop," sang Johnson, who was simultaneously standing on his head and playing a snipped-up accordion.
The smuldger said hello, and then they all receded into the darkness until the next post.

[Insert fish body part here. Not fin, because it's been used. Oh, I know. Tail. That's better.]